To Chain a God

by Biblically Accurate Wife (Quixotic)

Summary:

After Viktor and Jayce are dragged back to Runeterra by a force outside of their control, a recovering Piltover faces a new challenge: how do you imprison a god? Viktor has surrendered himself to the people’s justice, but is still the Machine Herald in form and function, a mechanical monster and boundless font of arcane power. Jayce is the only one who can see him as the man he was before, but he is also the only one who can answer to the other Councilors’ demands.

Jayce Talis was made famous for harnessing magic with technology. Now, he's being called upon to bind the god his work created, all while protecting him from the forces that would exploit him.

Notes:

I'm tapping into that extended LoL wiki lore to make this happen. House Ferros and a secret other thing will be major players. If you don't know who House Ferros is, don't even worry about it. Arcane did whatever it wanted with the OG lore so I will too.

I've been hungering for a story where Viktor remains a god after the end of the series, so I decided to write it myself. It turns out it creates a lot of problems for everyone involved.

Chapter 1

The Machine Herald returned at the tail end of their squadron’s patrol. 

Normally, access to the Hexgates was forbidden outside of a direct order from the Council, but all the Enforcers most commonly assigned to the area’s patrol had been encouraged by House Ferros to report to them about any unusual disturbances first and foremost. If they could prevent the other Councilors from finding out completely, all the better.

This was a clear opportunity to earn their paycheck. The readings had been so strange that one of the attending researchers had called the team over to look. They requested an escort to check it out. It was, albeit nervously, granted.

Everyone still remembered that the Hexgates had been at the center of the invasion, the nexus of an aberration that put the whole world at threat. Jayce Talis himself had said so, not long before his second disappearance. That was why the Hexgates hadn’t been in operation since. That was also why the fluctuations of its core were such a concern.

There were a lot of powerful people that would benefit greatly from the Gates being declared safe for use. The people who had to check in on its hiccups were a lot more wary.

Even so, none of the assembled Enforcers could have possibly anticipated the ugly tear in reality that was about to unfold all around them. When the massive doorway first ground its way open, there was nothing but the monotonous hum of the Hex Gemstones in their sockets and the steady glow of the dome’s panelling. Then, with a thundering crack, space itself had been wrenched apart, and darkness flooded through. Within it, a creature struggled, a skeletal hand grasping for the light beyond with the desperation of a drowning man. 

Only a handful of men and women had witnessed the Machine Herald’s final ascension, and among those, one was almost certainly dead. The rest of Piltover had only felt it, reeling as they were washed away in a tide of its divine will. Now, the enforcers could only guess at what they were seeing.

A half-ruined mask emerged next, followed by a skinless body of artificial gray muscle, wrought with bones of gold. It was undressed, besides the tattered cloak wrapped around its shoulders, not that it was anywhere close to human enough to spark thoughts of indecency. It had more of a resemblance to an automaton, or an anatomical model. It moved with unearthly grace, as if it abided by different rules than the world it was escaping into.

It uttered a single, ragged gasp. It was the sound of a being that had forgotten it didn’t need to breathe. It couldn’t. Not when its true face came into focus. Not when it became clear that what the Enforcers were seeing was not a mask, as there was no face behind it. Its right half had been shattered by some great violence, and all that remained was a twisting latticework of metal, illuminated from within by flickering golden light. Biting at the edges of the wound was something darker, a creeping purple infection, like it had been stained by the void it was drowning in.

With a final burst of light, the being tore itself free. The moment its feet were grounded in reality, it turned on its aggressors, a halo of blue light encircling its head. Not just light, but a string of ever-shifting runes, the kind that the Enforcer patrol had seen carved into the core of the Hexgates. The claws of an inhuman third arm twitched in sequence, as if selecting each rune in its equation. A ring of light threaded into reality around the tear, and with a surge of magic, it was pulled closed.

The Enforcers’ guns had long since been drawn, but in the face of this sliver of armageddon, none of them had managed to pull the trigger. Now that it was just them and the creature, though, they regained the presence of mind to train their weapons on it. Slowly, it turned to face them. As if exhausted by its ordeal, it came down to its knees.

It was only then that they saw the man held in its arms. 

He was a grown man, certainly, from his thick beard and military attire. In the arms of this giant, unearthly being, though, he was almost childlike. It was cradling his unconscious form just as preciously. The man’s forehead shone with iridescent light which was only now beginning to fade. 

The being reached towards the wound in its face, its fingers quivering. Slowly, it worked some kind of magic upon itself, the darkness clinging to its wound expunged bit by bit until only broken metal and golden light remained. As it did, its shaking stilled, until any trace of recognizable anxiety or pain was gone. 

Next, it swept its hand over the man it was carrying, as if checking for injury. Once satisfied, it gently lowered him to the ground at the Enforcers’ feet. There, in closer view, the symbol of House Talis was finally visible.

“Jayce Talis,” one of the Enforcers gasped. After his second months-long disappearance, most of Piltover had assumed he was gone for good. 

“Please,” the being said. “See that he is cared for.” 

There was the trace of something human in its voice, though it resonated with a deep mechanical timbre. It rose back to its feet with unnatural lightness. Behind its head, that third arm twitched, like a snake tongue testing the air. Now that they were truly realizing what this looming creature must be, the simple act of its standing became so frightening to the Enforcers that one of them discharged their rifle three times into its chest. 

The Machine Herald didn’t even flinch.

Instead, its remaining eye drifted towards where the bullets had struck with only mild interest. Had that hurt it at all? Now, the other Enforcers were wondering if the loose finger of their comrade had earned them all their swift death. 

Yet, no death came. Instead, the Machine Herald regarded them blankly, making no move to advance or retreat. 

“I surrender myself to the people,” it said instead. “To their justice. They may do with me as they will.”

There was a long silence before any of the Enforcers could even think of what to say.

“Someone call the Sheriff,” one of them finally rasped.

 

---

 

Gradually, the darkness was receding, revealing an eternity of stars. 

Thinking was an excruciating chore. There had to be a better way, Jayce thought. A better way than muddling these concepts together into strings of language, into the impulses that controlled muscles and interpreted nerves. Existing had been so simple for what seemed like so long, why was it getting complicated now?

Before, there had been presence without flesh, and meaning without words. How? He was already starting to forget. There was something discordant about even trying to analyze it. It was a way of being that refused study, and it was rapidly slipping through his fingers like a pleasant dream. Dreams rebelled against consciousness, he guessed. You couldn’t have both.

What was more worrying, though, was that for the first time in forever he was individual enough to realize he was alone.

He pushed himself through the astral realm, instinctively knowing what he was searching for before he could even assign the feeling a name. He knew it as affection and inspiration, struggle and pain. 

He knew it as Viktor.

“Viktor!” he called out like an incantation. Slowly, the light answered him. His star was not far away. Not yet.

It formed into the metaphor of a body, one that Jayce recognized instantly despite the fact that the simple act of cognition was still straining him. There was the flicker of something taller and more imposing, only for it to soften and shrink into the slim body and upturned tufts of hair of the man he knew, dappled softly in white. His back was turned to him, as if pausing on the way out the door.

“I would have preferred to part on gentler terms,” Viktor said. “Our return to this place was… unexpected.”

Somehow, Jayce knew what he meant. They were both grounded in a way they hadn’t been before. Even here, in the sea of stars, he was having to communicate with words instead of intentions. Whatever they were in that everlasting instant, they’d been wrenched away from it. By what, he had no comprehension.

There was the inkling of something in his mind that he couldn’t relate to physical senses. Darkness. A sense of hunger. It all went away too quickly for him to understand more than that. Somehow, he knew that was a good thing. The thought of knowing more sent pins and needles through his spirit. 

“How?” Jayce finally managed to ask. Each word was difficult, but becoming easier, as he relearned language at a rapid pace. “What… happened? To us?”

He instinctively felt like Viktor might know more than him, that there might be something that only he could see. Instead, still turned from him, Viktor shook his head.

“You’ve come home, Jayce,” he said, with a twinge of nostalgic regret. Yet, there was a distance there, like it was something that was too far away to really matter. “It’s only right.”

“Home,” Jayce murmured, and then understood. The stars seemed to rise upward and away, like he was falling. Reality was reasserting itself, in a way it hadn’t for so long. He–they–were in Piltover. For each of them, that meant very different things. 

“Where are you?” he asked, the urgency in his heart rising in a way it only could in a world with stakes and danger. He tried to reach Viktor, but he couldn’t seem to get any closer–so different from how effortlessly entwined they were in the place that was slipping from his memory.

Instead, Viktor was leaving on a spiritual level, and that frightened him. He was finally starting to make sense of it.

“I’ve turned myself over to the city,” Viktor said, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “To the people I’ve hurt. It is the only function I have left in this world. This dream of ours… could not last forever.”

“Viktor…” Jayce began, but even as he tried to think of what to say, his partner was drifting farther away from him. He reached out, tried to push forward, but he was sinking into the rift, unable to advance. “Viktor!” 

He was disappearing, the space between them widening until Viktor was only a speck among galaxies. No amount of calling, no incantations or prayers, would summon him back. The spirit-deep exhaustion of it overcame him, and unable to stay afloat in the sea of stars, Jayce fell back into a more mundane kind of darkness.

 

---

 

There was the murmur of muffled conversations around him as Jayce woke, and an itch in his forearm and nose. He attempted to lift a hand, heavy and liquid, but could not seem to swat at whatever was irritating his face. Instead, the movement was truncated with the clinking of metal and a pressure around his wrist. Moments later, he would wish that was the most unpleasant sensation awaiting him.

Instead, that subtle shift in weight was enough to awaken a pain he’d recently had the transcendent luxury to forget about. His leg was hurting like hell. Even more brutally, his soul ached with an absence he hoped he’d never experience again.

His teeth bared in discomfort, his eyes fluttered open and saw light for what felt like the first time in his life. It was blinding, and he flinched away just as quickly, but it was enough to show the people around him that he was finally awake. The chatter that resulted let Jayce know where he was before his eyes had the chance to–there was a flurry of activity that fit the bill of Piltover’s central hospital. A place he had been many times at Viktor’s side.

Except now he was the one laying in the hospital bed–not just laying in, but chained to. That was the next disturbing thing he noticed. The reason he couldn’t move his arm was that he was handcuffed to the side of the bed. His eyes cracked open again, trying to make sense of it all. His other free hand strayed to investigate, but it was held back too by the tug of plastic tubing and a pinch in his forearm. An IV drip.

He settled back down in defeat, groaning loudly enough that he hoped everyone in the wing heard it. Viktor’s dream-like farewell had provided much needed context, no matter how much it left him feeling like his heart had been torn out and whisked away into the ether. They were back in Piltover. He was alive, in the hospital, and remembering the grim disappointments of physical form. Viktor was somewhere else.

Viktor being ‘somewhere else’ had been impossible in the place they were before.

The crack between his eyelids glistened with tears, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the lights or because of this rising sense of helpless misery. He felt like an addict, finally coming down from one of the most unimaginable highs of his life. If this was what it felt like, he now understood how Shimmer had Zaun so firmly in its clutches. He couldn’t go back to this, but he was, whether he wanted to or not.

“Mister Talis?”

By the time his eyes adjusted to the light, most of the staff that had been swarming around him had retreated to the far side of the room, where a pair of Enforcers were posted. Only one doctor stood close to his bed, but stayed carefully out of reach. She looked like she was afraid he was contagious, or that he might spring out of bed to strangle her if she let him.

“I’m here,” he grunted, regretting every minute of it. “Why am I chained up?”

“We thought it would be best if you stayed in bed,” she answered, apparently relieved that he could even discuss this with her. Her stance became a bit less tense. Back at the door, an Enforcer’s hand still rested on their weapon. “We were… unsure what condition you’d be in when you woke up.”

Jayce pushed himself up against his pillow despite the protest in his leg. He felt the tug of more tubing, this time for the oxygen line leading into his nose. He pulled it out, shoving it aside. “My current condition is that I’m chained to a bed.”

He knew this was all unavoidable, but at the same time, he had better things to be doing. He needed to find out where Viktor was. He needed to know what the Enforcers were doing with him, if they’d really taken him into custody. He needed to close the distance between their souls before this gnawing absence drove him insane.

“Please, Mister Talis, stay where you are! You are the subject of a Council investigation.”

His rash movements slowed, his eyes narrowing as he took in her meaning. “Where’s Viktor?”

The doctor’s eyes widened. This was not what she wanted to be asked.

“The Council is convening…” she began but he wasn’t actually interested in listening.

“I need to see him.”

The doctor swallowed, calling on every bit of bedside manner she’d ever cultivated. She regained her professional stance, regarding him levelly. “Why, Mister Talis?” she asked. “Why do you need to see him?”

He somehow felt he’d just confirmed her worst suspicions, without knowing what those were. 

“Because… he…!” Jayce growled in frustration, unable to put his feelings into words. Not to someone who had no frame of reference, who had never touched souls with another person before, let alone as deeply as he had with Viktor. 

“We think it would be best if you stayed here for a while, Mister Talis,” she said, genuine concern in her eyes. “There are more tests we need to run, to ensure you’re well enough to be released. Your situation is quite unprecedented, of course.” Her lips flickered with a smile, but didn’t commit. “Someone will be here to discuss everything with you soon.”

After a few more fruitless arguments, Jayce gave up on begging. He couldn’t bear trying to explain all of this, especially not when everyone in the room was looking at him like he was insane. Hadn’t he fought on their side when he was last in Piltover? Hadn’t he been the one to warn them about the threat Vitkor represented?

With that handcuff and two Enforcers at the door, there wasn’t much he could do. Not with so many eyes on him, not with the guard on full alert. When Jayce finally lay back in bed, closing his eyes as if to rest, he was only biding his time.

He kept track of time by the way the light dimmed behind his eyelids, the way doors opened and closed, the way quiet discussions between the medical staff faded. Actual sleep was impossible like this, so he faked it as the day wore on and the evening came. There were less staff in the evening. Less attention, and a kind of surrender implied by how he hadn’t fought them about leaving all afternoon. 

When he caught a glimpse of only one Enforcer lingering at the door between the crack in his eyelids, he decided it was time. He shifted in his ‘sleep’ towards his chained arm, drawing his IV close enough that he could reach it with his fingers. Bit by bit, he peeled off the tape, until eventually the needle could be pulled free. 

Picking the lock on a pair of handcuffs wasn’t actually that difficult, if you knew how they worked. Jayce had examined an old pair as a child, just out of mechanical curiosity. Locks were one of the simplest mechanical devices a kid could get their hands on. Concealing it all with the position of his body, and with snores and sighs, he pushed the IV needle into the handcuff’s locking mechanism. The entire process was painstaking. 

The part where he leapt up in bed and ran to the door like a maniac all happened much faster. 

The Enforcer at the door drew their gun, but hesitated on firing. They didn’t even try to block his physical path, instead ducking out of his way like he was on fire. Jayce couldn't make sense of that at all, so he didn’t bother. He took the opportunity to burst through the door and out into the hospital halls. 

Despite the careful planning of his initial escape, he actually hadn’t thought much of what he would do once he was clear of the door. He was still wearing nothing but a hospital gown. His lower leg was already pleading, as if each step might be the last one it could endure before breaking. The bones had never healed right, and without his brace the weight of his body were theirs to bear alone. 

But he had to keep going. He had to get somewhere that they couldn’t ignore him. 

How long did an execution take to organize?

More members of the medical staff swerved out of his way as he barrelled down the hall, evidently not wanting to get involved in whatever this madman was doing. Outside their pay grade, maybe. So be it. Even if someone did stop him, he was prepared to fight.

At least, if it wasn’t the person he saw travelling down the hall towards him now.

In full Sheriff’s attire, Caitlyn Kiramman stood before him, every bit as surprised as he was. Her eye was blown wide by the shock of it all, as if this crossing of paths was one she believed would never happen again. Soon, that blue eye glimmered with angry tears.

Even as he stumbled to a stop, she continued to approach. For a moment, Jayce thought she was about to take him down herself, to wrestle him into the jail cell he’d undoubtably earned with this stunt. 

Instead, she threw her arms around him with a force that was almost violent.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she seethed through the tears. “Twice in as many years.”

It was only then that Jayce remembered that Viktor wasn’t the only person who had cared for him. There were other people he’d left behind. People like Caitlyn. Like Mel. Like his mother. 

More gently, more tentatively, he embraced her back. How self-absorbed had he been, that he hadn’t even asked after anyone who wasn’t Viktor? Caitlyn could have died, just like he almost did, and it would have been on his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his resolve crumbling. They held each other for a long while. When they parted, he fully realized just how much the guilt he was now experiencing was deserved. She was wearing an eyepatch. Was it permanent? He rested a hand on her cheek, where its fabric covered. “Your eye…”

“Ambessa’s doing,”  she explained tersely. “Jayce, we all thought you were… it’s been over a year. Where were you?”

“I can’t explain it,” he said helplessly. “Viktor and I… We…”

“Viktor,” Caitlyn repeated, something clicking in her mind.

“We were somewhere else. But I woke up here, and I was chained to the bed, and everyone was looking at me like I was crazy! I had to get out, I had to… find him.”

Caitlyn was staring at him like she’d just lost him a third time. It pushed him to a breaking point.

“Why is everyone looking at me like that?” he demanded.

“Jayce,” she said, her words clipped with strain. She grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him to a pane-glass viewing window reflective enough that he could see his own face. “Look at yourself!”

He did.

Though the details were lost in the glass, he could see four ovals of light set across his forehead. He reached up to touch them, his skin there oddly cool, like each fingerprint had been intricately carved into marble. 

“It’s just like the people he turned.” Caitlyn said exactly what he was thinking. “We thought he’d made you into one of them. I… I’m still not certain you haven’t been.”

“He didn’t-” Jayce almost said he wouldn’t, but that was obviously a lie. He would have, and he tried to. He tried to do it to everyone, but in a way far more invasive than it had been with the people at his commune. “I got through to him, Caitlyn. He changed his mind, wanted to take it all back… We fixed what was broken. Together.”

Caitlyn continued to stare at him, unconvinced. How could he possibly make her understand? She hadn’t been there. No one had.

“That’s the reason it stopped,” he went on, hoping something he said would strike a note with her. “He let everyone go. Caitlyn, he wanted to lose.”  He ran a hand through his hair, breath hitching as another wave of yearning went through him. A need to bridge the gap. “He told me he surrendered himself to you. I… I need to see him.”

“You can’t be serious,” she whispered, shaking her head to herself. 

“At least… At least tell me where he is!” he pleaded, grasping for any handhold he could find. “What are they going to do with him?”

After everything he did, with the way that even people like Caitlyn saw him, Viktor must have been crumbling. It had been hard enough for Jayce to face this place, and while Viktor’s fall was at least partly his responsibility, it wasn’t even close to the weight Viktor had brought down on himself. He’d caught flashes of it, when they were together. The only reprieve was that both of them had been taken out of the equation, that they had done all they could do.

That was no longer the case.

“He’s been taken to Stillwater,” Caitlyn answered, unable to meet his gaze. It turned out he couldn’t meet hers either.

He didn’t know why he was surprised. That was where Piltover locked away all of its problems.

“He let us take him there. He wanted us to.” She pieced it together while Jayce stared at his feet. Did that mean she believed him? That his words matched what she’d seen in Viktor when she led him to imprisonment? “The Council didn’t want him anywhere near the Hexgates, or Piltover itself. It was the only place that made sense, so I allowed it.”

“The Hexgates?” Jayce felt another fit of madness threaten him at the idea that the Hexgates could possibly still exist. After everything, they still hadn’t… no. He couldn’t sink into that pit now. Viktor would know better than anyone if they still posed a threat. “Forget it. I need to get out of here.”

He needed actual clothes, a leg brace, and a way to get in front of the Council. No matter what they decided to do with him, Viktor deserved for them to know what he had done–what he had given up. Jayce knew Viktor well enough to guess that he wouldn’t bother making his own defense. Someone had to.

Caitlyn still looked like she was considering dragging him back to his hospital room and handcuffing him herself. Ultimately, though, that wasn’t the conclusion she arrived at.

“I’ll take you to him,” she said, her expression hard and calculating even as she granted Jayce’s most desperate wish. “Perhaps then he’ll finally answer some questions for me.”

She walked past him, back towards the part of the hospital he’d just fled from. Though for a moment his gaze settled on her back, taking in every inch of her anger and her distrust, he followed. He didn’t have any other choice.

Chapter 2

Notes:

As a thank you for all the wonderful comments yesterday, I'm posting chapter two right away! It's the Viktor content we all crave.

He was still adjusting his leg brace as they boarded the boat to Stillwater, fruitlessly trying to make it feel right. Though it had been built to his specifications, no amount of adjusting or shifting was bringing the comfort he craved. After the adrenaline had faded his bad leg felt like it had fractured all over again. He needed it, no matter how much it chafed.

He didn’t have time to build a new one now, and he certainly didn’t have time to pursue the surgery the doctors had suddenly proposed when Caitlyn had told them she was removing him from their care. They’d made note of it during his initial examination, they said. The tibia and fibula had failed to heal properly and had developed into a severe malunion injury. They’d have to break the bones all over again to try fixing it, and he’d be laid up for weeks.

He’d declined, of course, unable to shake the feeling that it was a last ditch effort to keep him off the streets. With Sheriff Caitlyn Kiramman at his side, they couldn’t stop him the traditional way. No amount of throbbing bone pain could compete with his need to ensure Viktor’s safety, nor the absence in his chest.

The hospital had returned his clothes, freshly washed, but he refrained from wearing the overcoat and its House Talis pauldron. The less attention he gathered the better, though it was hard to avoid when he’d once been the face of Piltover. He hid the soft glow of his marble-tinged forehead beneath his overgrown bangs, which only sort of worked.

Thankfully, there weren’t many people on the boat. Besides the skipper, who was minding their own business, it was just him and Caitlyn.

Those angry tears were gone now, replaced with cool silence. He couldn’t figure out whether she was unhappy with him or with the situation in general, but the professional distance she was keeping hurt all the same. The information she gave him about what he had missed felt like what she might write on a report in her office rather than catching up with a friend.

Mel had left Piltover. As much as his heart sank to know it, that part was inevitable. The City of Progress had no place for a mage Councilor, or a Noxian, especially after the invasion. His relief to hear she’d survived was dampened somewhat by the sorrow of knowing that it was entirely possible that they’d never cross paths again.

Ambessa had died in the battle. So had Jinx. Until today, PIltover had benefited from the comfort of knowing that its biggest problems had been taken out of the equation. Until Viktor had returned, that was, leaving them with the burden of an enemy that was still living and still a threat. 

Nothing Jayce could say would prove that Viktor wasn’t an enemy, that his surrender was sincere. Every few minutes he would think of another appeal he could make to Caitlyn, but he forced them all back down his throat, resigning himself to silence. Eventually, she was the one to speak.

“I feel like I’m watching history repeat,” she said, staring out at the water. The wind was picking up, the air misty with incoming rain. Jayce looked up from where he sat, immediately attentive to whatever she might say, hoping she would continue on her own.

“When Jinx was apprehended at the commune, Vi demanded to know why I had imprisoned her. She said that Jinx had changed, that she could help us. She asked me, ‘who decides who deserves a second chance?’ and I had no answer. But Jinx is gone. If she was still here, I don’t know what I would do.”

The meaning was clear. Viktor being alive was a quandary none of them were prepared for. Compared to the invasion, Jinx’s acts of terrorism had been nothing.

“I don’t know either,” Jayce admitted, staring at his hands. “I don’t know what he deserves, or what should be done… I just know that I can’t forsake him. Not after I promised we’d end this together.”

Something in Caitlyn lightened, as if she was growing more convinced that he really was still the Jayce she knew. She almost smiled at him, before turning her gaze back out towards the sea.

 

---

 

The Wardens were uneasy when they arrived at Stillwater, the way one would be knowing there was a time bomb resting beneath their feet. Far, far beneath their feet. Jayce hadn’t even known there were cells so far down into the earth, and the look Caitlyn gave him when he started to balk at how far the elevator travelled was faintly apologetic. 

“He couldn’t be near the other prisoners,” she explained. Right. Everyone had already been treating Jayce like he was contagious, and he wasn’t even the famed ‘Machine Herald’, as he’d heard Viktor being called. How could any of them know what the limits of his powers were, when he had brought the entire city under his sway? 

He couldn’t still do that, could he? The thought stirred the primal fear that Jayce had carried with him since his foray into the future. With a flurry of panic that made spots appear in his vision, he wondered what Viktor could still do to the prisoners trapped here with him.

Then he remembered Viktor as he had collapsed before him, his true face restored. The regret in his eyes as he pushed for Jayce to leave him, to face his penance alone. No, he wouldn’t. Even if he could, he wouldn’t.

Besides, the anomaly was gone. He’d felt it break apart around them as they were thrust into the wild of the arcane. That had been what Viktor needed to bring about his Glorious Evolution, and he’d destroyed it himself.

He was feeling a bit steadier when the elevator opened, and almost excited when they travelled down a whole additional flight of stairs. Maybe this would cure the ache in his soul, the one that had been hounding him worse than even his misaligned bones.

The air was heavy with stagnation, with no vents or filtration systems available so far down. There was only one cell here, and Viktor was in it. 

Jayce’s heart sank.

Foolishly, he’d imagined he would be reuniting with the man who had left him in the astral realm, who had held him close as they prepared to die together. Looking back, he didn’t know why he thought that–why he thought that Viktor would arrive in this world shorn of his metal corruption, with his true face freed from the mask. He hadn’t. 

Instead, the Machine Herald Jayce had battled with at the Hexgates sat before him, his metallic surface illuminated only by his own golden eyes. The fear returned.

Caitlyn turned on an additional dim light at the back of the hall, and more of the puzzle was revealed before him. Viktor’s looming form was sitting politely in his jail cell, with his legs folded beneath him in a way that his human body never would have been able to tolerate for long. His spidery hands rested on his knees. The hexclaw was folded, still against his back. There was no emotion to be read on his face, not least because half of his mask had apparently been blown off. 

There was no face behind it, no recognizable skull, no exposed brain. Instead, there was only golden light contained within a twisted cage of metal. 

Jayce remembered how Viktor’s mask had broken in the astral realm, but he’d had no idea it was so literal. What could have possibly hit him hard enough to do that?

“Jayce,” Viktor said. His human voice was there behind the mechanical reverberation, more recognizable than it had been before. Vikor was both relieved and disappointed in Jayce’s presence there.

Jayce staggered forward, but Caitlyn caught him at the shoulder.

“Don’t get close enough for him to touch you,” she warned, and the fear of the people containing him was brought into a sharp new clarity. Containing a man was one thing. Containing this was another. 

He nodded and she let him go. He came to his knees in front of the bars, staring up at what had become of his partner. 

“Does it hurt?” Jayce asked, unable to look away from the light within Viktor’s broken head. How did this body even work? Where were the wires, the power core? Was that light… his soul?

“No,” Viktor answered. “This body does not feel that which would hinder it. I am aware of my injury, the shape of it, but that is all.”

That sounds nice, part of Jayce thought. Of course, after a life of pain, Viktor would want a body that only communicated as much as he wanted to feel. As daunting as Viktor’s transformation was, at least there was some comfort in that. Jayce would have no idea where to start in terms of care if it did hurt.

“Can you… fix it?” Though his mind was already developing some farfetched, theoretical ideas regarding it, it would feel almost sacrilegious to try strapping a piece of conventional tech over the wound, as if that would bring it back to what it once had been. Viktor’s body had been constructed in a fabricator of the like the world had never seen, and would hopefully never see again. The muscles alone were an impossible feat, a synthetic material as strong as steel but as flexible as sinew. 

“I have not had cause to try.” The answer was hollow, hopeless. The meaning struck Jayce violently. Of course Viktor wouldn’t heal himself. He wanted to be closer to death, not further away from it.

It made him angry. But why should he be? They’d both been ready to die at the end of it all–to exit the world alongside the mistake they’d created. It was tidy, cyclical. Convenient. And all of it had been thrown away now that they were alive. Their death pact had been broken, but Viktor still craved the relief it had offered him.

Jayce’s error was that he hadn’t wanted to die. He’d wanted to be with his partner. It just so happened that being alive was making it impossible.

“Viktor…” he started, voice wavering with the frustration that was starting to boil over. “How could you just leave me like that? After we…”

He trailed off, words failing him. Viktor knew. He’d felt all the same things and even though that place felt further and further away, it was cruel to have forced him from it so wholeheartedly. He stopped himself from making a more intimate plea, but only because Caitlyn was still there watching him.

“It’s been driving me nuts, Viktor,” he said instead. “Do you really not feel anything?”

Again, worry began to creep through the cracks. Could Viktor still choose not to feel emotions, the same way he’d spurned them before? The same way he chose not to feel pain? Was there some aspect of this new body of his that made him incapable of it, no matter what feelings Jayce had shared with his spirit?

“I have felt your absence, Jayce.” Viktor spoke with a patience gained through bone-deep weariness. “But I have also grown accustomed to not getting what I want.” His golden eye settled on him levelly. “There is still a place for you in this world. I have already overstayed my welcome.”

“So what, I’m just supposed to turn my back on you? Go home and live a normal life?”

“You were prepared to, once before,” Viktor said, and immediately Jayce’s gut turned with grief. “You left my murdered body behind at the commune and returned to your people, your work completed. What would you have done then, had I perished, as was your will?”

Another thing that made their previous resolution so tidy and clean was that it had meant they'd never had to discuss this.

Jayce’s first reaction was defensive. He'd had no choice, he wanted to say. He'd been doing as he was asked. For Viktor. For the greater good. It was the only way he could stop him before he could do what Jayce had already witnessed him come to regret. 

But it hadn't been. Viktor had listened, in the end. It wasn't the blast of his hammer that had brought that about. It was reaching out, soul to soul. It was realizing that the VIktor he had known was still there and always had been.

At the time, Jayce’s fear of the horrifying future he’d wasted away in was too great to take the risk. Too afraid for himself, and for everyone he’d ever known. If he’d missed his chance to end it when he could, if he said the wrong things and let the world die, it would have been objectively the greater loss. A decisive strike had felt like the only surety, the only way to end his nightmare.

Had it really been the only solution, though, or simply the easiest one? If he had taken a different path, relied on trust and understanding from the start, could he have saved Viktor from becoming… this?

Maybe. The fact that he hadn’t would burden him for the rest of his days. 

Neither of them could take back what they’d done. No apologies would ever make it right. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his hands shaking as he clenched them over his knees. “I was scared. Too scared to think. That place… changed me. I thought that… anything I had to do, anything that would change the outcome… it would be worth it.” Finding Viktor himself at the top of that ruined tower had felt like permission. An assurance that, no matter what he had to do, it would be forgiven. 

But that Viktor wasn’t his Viktor. Not yet.

“...But I never would have gotten past it,” he continued, praying that Viktor could understand. “If you were really gone, and I was still living… there wouldn’t have been anything left for me. And there won’t be now.”

There was a reason he had been so willing to join VIktor, to assure mutual destruction. With the death of his dream and the death of his partner, he’d have no more to live for than the day he stood on the edge of his ruined apartment, readying himself to fall. The injustice of only Viktor paying the cost would have been far too bleak.

“You ask for the impossible.”

Viktor’s words cut as cold as a blade. As Jayce met his gaze, it was like the light behind his mask had faded.

“Don’t say that–” Jayce began, but Viktor disregarded him.

“There is no way for me to exist safely in this body, with this power. The Arcane still lives within me, Jayce. If once I stood at the precipice, why not again?”

As Viktor said it, Jayce could feel Caitlyn’s eyes on them. 

“Could you do it again?” she asked. She had been watching them speak, drawing her own conclusions, but this was clearly something that demanded her attention. “Transform people? Take over their minds?”

Jayce wanted to interrupt, to stop what would become a disastrous line of inquiry, but he had no justification to do so. 

“I have no doubt that I could corrupt with my touch, as I did before,” Viktor said, turning his inhuman stare in her direction. He lifted a hand, examining it idly. “To heal at the cost of autonomy. But it was the anomaly that enabled my conquest of the realm. Without it, my approach would be more… traditional.”

Any legal representation put into this situation would already be taking their leave. Here he was, asking for Viktor to live, and instead he was explaining the ways he could still take over Runeterra to the Sheriff of Piltover.

“We destroyed the anomaly,” Jayce clarified brusquely. He gave Viktor a pointed glare. “We both did. Together.”

“And yet, I remain a threat.”

It wasn’t as if Viktor needed to remind everyone of that. Even now, Jayce caught the occasional twitch of the hexclaw behind him, as if it were habitually seeking to calculate runes. The beam it created alone would be enough for Viktor to tear through every layer of security Stillwater had to offer, both human and architectural. And that was without his physical and magical strengths.

Jayce was losing sight of a way out of this. His heart was crushed in his chest, as if Viktor himself was squeezing the life out of it. He crumpled at the shoulders.

He couldn’t see Caitlyn’s reaction, but he could hear when everything fell into uncomfortable silence. Eventually Viktor continued.

“Do not mistake me, Miss Kiramman. I have no intention of bringing harm to your city or its people. I have come here of my own will, and will stay as long as justice sees fit. If I can serve some small penance in this prison, I intend to do so. Barring a more… permanent solution, to my circumstances.”

And he said it. Just like that.

“God,” Jayce choked. “I never should have listened to you.” Viktor’s solitary eye flickered in his direction, for the first time with a note of surprise. “Future you. Of course you’d be the first one to damn yourself for your mistakes.”

Viktor believed in his own success, but he believed even more strongly in his failures. Jayce was in a losing argument. There was more he wanted to say, but he wouldn’t get the chance. 

A squad of Enforcers was coming down the stairs behind them. 

In such a cramped space, there was nowhere for him and Caitlyn to sneak away to. They didn’t even try. Soon, the Enforcers were boxing them in from behind, filling the stairs with their bodies and making escape impossible.

“What is it?” Caitlyn asked, as if her being here with Jayce was entirely above board. The Enforcers alone would have no place to question her.

“Sheriff Kiramman,” one of them said. “Your presence has been called before the Council. Jayce Talis must accompany you.”

Jayce had wanted his meeting with the Council, and now he was going to get it–but not with the timing he wanted. He cast Viktor a pleading look, unwilling to be parted so quickly. There was more to do here, still. He may have been losing the fight, but he wanted to see it to its end.

In contrast, Viktor gave nothing back. He stared on with a sense of inevitability.

“Give me a minute,” Jayce hissed, but it wasn’t to be.

“That was not a request,” the closest Enforcer said. “You have to come now.”

When Jayce didn’t immediately comply, they quickly resorted to force. He caught one last glance of Viktor’s broken golden light before he was dragged away.

 

---

 

And so, Viktor was left in shadows again.

Something about them still frightened him, beckoning back to a darkness he had put out of mind in a way that only an artificial being could. Still, there was no chance of him asking his jailers for additional comforts or better accommodations. That would defeat the purpose of this masochistic endeavour quite completely. He was meant to suffer, as his suffering was the only thing left that he could safely give.

His compassion and his violence had proven to be equally deadly sides of the same coin. On one side, he had stolen the life from his followers, piece by piece, in the guise of healing and comfort. On the other, he had brought death to Piltover, crushing the throat of the man he was now sure that he loved.

It was a feeling of great impotency, to have the power of a god at his fingertips, but still be utterly incapable of changing anything for the better. He was a creature of doomed ideals, his hopes a plague on the world more so than his hatred ever had been. There was no recovery from such a flaw, no redemption. His best had already become his worst, utterly human in his inhumanity.

Even his suffering was flawed. He caused far more fear to the people in this place than he offered satisfaction. And Jayce… Jayce suffered most of all. Jayce, who could still see something for him beyond the call of eventual oblivion. 

He might have cried, then, were he still able. Instead, he could only think on his misery with startling clarity, and hope that somehow it would do something to balance the scales of karma. 

There was nothing more to decide, nothing more to create or dream of–only the endless beckoning of the dark.

He allowed himself to bask within it, as the minutes and hours ticked by.

Eventually, his consciousness stirred with the awareness that someone was coming down the stairs. Jayce, was the first thought on his mind, and one that he immediately shamed himself for. Jayce had only just left, and there was nothing for him here, besides. It was a want he could not pursue, if Jayce was to have any chance of living.

It wasn’t Jayce who arrived in the dimly lit hall. It was a prisoner, bearing a sparsely filled meal tray.

Why a prisoner? he thought, and the Arcane answered. Facets of truth gleamed in his mind, the scope of her life becoming clear before he could even make out her face. She was a young woman of the undercity, recently sentenced to Stillwater for felony theft. He saw flashes of the elder neighbour she had been stealing for, in the hopes of paying for the increasing burden of their medical expenses. He saw the way that elder had taken her in as an orphan child, like so many young Zaunites were. 

As the vision faded, he saw her in her present form–with hair styled to be quite severe, brown curls edged with purple, to fit in alongside her other gangmates. Parts that had been shaved clean were now beginning to grow in, without a proper razor. She wore a piercing in her brow.

More notable than any of that was that she was utterly terrified of him. 

The tray quivered in her hold as she approached the gap at the base of his cell bars, where the tray was meant to be inserted. She hesitated for a long time, her eyes meeting his, before finally feeling brave enough to push it through, all while keeping herself as far from him as possible.

He understood. Too afraid to face the Herald themselves, the Stillwater staff had sent a prisoner instead. 

He looked down at the prison food, equal parts perplexed and disgusted. Such cowardice. Such foolishness. He remained as he had been, perfectly still. Any movement, he thought, would frighten her further.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said. He had no more need to eat than the cell bars did. He wasn’t sure if this had been sent out of rigid subservience to procedure, or simply as a cruel joke. 

She stared up at him, wide eyed, from where she crouched warily before his cell. There was another, lingering silence before he gently pushed the tray back to her.

“You may eat in my place, if you wish,” he said. He didn’t know how well they fed their undercity guests, but given they were assigning their labour to them, he doubted it was satisfactory. She blinked in surprise, faintly skeptical, as if she were being offered a meal by some fae creature that would use it to bind her.

Very slowly, she shifted so that she was sitting on crossed legs, and pulled the tray onto her lap. She munched on some crumbling bread, never fully withdrawing her gaze.

It was awkward in the way most human interactions were, and in another life he might have shooed her away so that he could continue reading a book, writing his notes, or tinkering with some device. Now, though, there was nothing but him, her, and the dark. They were both at a dead end.

“...Is it… true that you can heal?” she asked, as if preparing to sell her soul to that very same fae creature. He was relieved that his transformed face would not reveal how deeply that question broke his nonexistent heart.

He said nothing at first because he couldn’t bring himself to. To her, it was just another eerie silence.

“People in the undercity… they said that you could heal people. That you did it for free.”

He knew that she was thinking of her beloved elder and how his touch could save them. He remembered when he had first laid his hand on Huck, with nothing but the will to banish his cruel suffering. The way the Arcane had washed away years of addiction and age, resurrecting a man who had long understood that there was no way forward.

He'd wept, realizing what he could do. He’d gifted that relief to anyone that asked it of him, never thinking, never questioning what the cost might be. It was a dream too beautiful to survive waking.

“I…” he began, and lost his will just as quickly. She was still watching him, her hope becoming more excruciating with each moment. Was it even possible for him to heal without corrupting? Or was his essence too much like the anomaly that had created him, one that hungered and grew without concern for its host? Would his patients continue to be bound to his mind, his fate, and die alongside him were he to ever get what he truly wanted?

The threat of his own agency reared once again in his thoughts. He could take this girl’s hand, free both of them from this place. He could heal her caretaker of their pain, their age, their illness. What then? How long would it  be before Piltover came knocking at Zaun’s door, bringing war and death? He already knew the ways that humanity was doomed by its own nature, which was why he had thought to evolve beyond it.

But on the other side of evolution there was only another form of desolation. 

His human body would have bent with grief at that thought, its muscles clenching, its heart beating fast and sending his senses spiraling. This new form, however, felt none of that. It remained as still as ever even as his spirit crumpled within it, a broken soul in a flawless cage.

“I cannot,” he finally said, and watched her flinch. He couldn’t possibly explain his full reasoning. She was too young, too unbroken. She wouldn’t understand the futility.

Even now, she wasn’t convinced. She thought he was withholding his help out of indifference.

“Please,” she said. “You don’t have to listen to these chumps. The undercity… Zaun, it knows what the invasion was really about. You struck back at Piltover, you-”

“ Leave. ”

He held nothing back, the full depth of the Machine Herald’s echoing voice breaking free, just as it had at the height of his power. For a moment he wanted to terrify, if only so the questioning would stop.

She scurried backward, the tray clattering to the ground. She did as he asked, fleeing back up the stairs. Her fear was his once more.

Chapter 3

Notes:

The hardest part about writing this fic was having to name and give personalities to all the nameless Councilors that show up in season two. For the most part, all the new characters in this story are drawn from the bowels of the LoL wiki.

It wasn’t officially Jayce’s second time being trialed by Council, but it may as well have been. It was clear they viewed him as a threat, and all because Viktor had left his mark on his skin.

He stood at the gap in the Council table, leered at from all directions. A lifetime ago, he’d served among them. His gaze lingered where Mel used to sit, and Cassandra, and Heimerdinger. He remembered where he’d found Viktor dying, laying broken amongst the rubble.

Shoola was the only one of the old Council that remained, now. These new faces he’d only met with briefly, before the invasion. Most of them had chosen to flee. The only presence that surprised him was Sevika, the Zaunite leader that had supported Piltover during the battle. At least something good came out of it.

He supposed she had taken the seat Salo once held. Salo, the man he’d murdered himself. He doubted the Council knew he had been the one responsible for that, and it wouldn’t serve him to tell them now. Would they even care, given that Salo had handed himself over to Viktor? Probably not, with the way they looked at him now, just for the marks on his face.

Marks he hadn’t asked for. He didn’t have the focus necessary to ask about them during his brief conversation with Viktor. There had been too much else he wanted to say. In this room, however, his connection to Viktor was his greatest weakness.

“The Herald was willing to speak to Mister Talis,” Caitlyn was explaining, justifying their trip to Stillwater in official terms. He understood why Caitlyn didn’t want to sound too familiar, though it still chafed to hear how quickly Viktor’s real name had been replaced by threatening titles. Jayce himself was at least partially at fault for that, after selling him to this same audience as an existential threat to humanity. “I felt it paramount to understand his intentions, now that he’s back among us. And after what I heard, I believe his surrender is sincere.”

Jayce caught her glance for only a moment, gratitude blooming in his eyes. The Sheriff’s support had to count for something.

“And of what worth is his sincerity?” Councilor Holloran balked, leaning back and worrying at his gray mustache. “Any thoughts he might have are only the whims of an unstable mind.”

“It’s true that the people of Piltover will not be able to feel at ease if he remains in Stillwater only on his own terms,” Councilor Shoola said, her brow creased in concern. Jayce still hadn’t had the chance to get used to the golden mask that had come to replace her necklace of gears after Jinx’s attack. Still, she was the most familiar person in the room to him, besides Caitlyn, and convincing her was one of his likeliest bets.

“Just so,” said Councilor Tariost, her lips pursed in disapproval. “If he cannot be truly contained, then it is the Wardens that are his prisoners, and not the other way around. Are we simply meant to wait until he tires of his cell and leaves to begin his crusade anew?”

It occurred to Jayce that if the subject of discussion was about anyone other than Viktor, he would simply agree with them.

Of course they couldn’t trust that Viktor would do them the courtesy of sitting in jail for as long as they wanted him to. They barely knew him as a man, and knew even less of him now. They hadn’t seen the way that Viktor had crumpled at the apex of his power, forsaking his own dream. The regret in his eyes. His willingness to die to make it right.

Even if they had, humans changed their plans all the time. Jayce himself was evidence of that, he was forced to admit. His battle here was not one of logic. It was one of love.

The Machine Herald would have been repulsed, he was sure. The Council would be too. The Council didn’t love Viktor. How could he make Viktor’s life worthwhile to them?

“If he were really so contrite, he’d face execution just as readily,” Holloran said. Jayce stepped forward, his heart clenching.

“No!” he sputtered before he could stop himself. Just like that, everyone's attention was on him again. He needed to make his case while he still could. “Please, listen. I was there at the Hexgates when the battle ended… and the only reason we won was because Viktor let us .”

He saw the offense in multiple councilors' faces, repelled by the idea that Piltover’s victory had been only due to their enemy’s mercy. Jayce forged ahead anyway.

“He had what he needed to dominate the entire city, but he chose to let us go. He realized the cost of what he was trying to do, and was willing to die to set things right. He never actually wanted to hurt anyone, and he isn’t Piltover’s enemy anymore!”

Though clearly rattled by that realization, Holloran saw fit to disagree.

“Even so,” he said, “the damage has been done. He and the Noxians brought war to our shores, and a considerable number of casualties along with it. To pay with his life would not be unfitting.”

“It has not been in Piltover’s ethos to practice the death penalty, Councilor Holloran,” Shoola replied pensively, clearly unhappy with the possibility. 

“Our situation is without precedent,” Councilor Tariost said. “Never before had we housed such a dangerous individual. The risk is simply too high.”

“So, how are you gunna kill him?” Sevika asked, raising a brow. Tariost looked at her like she’d just been spat on. “Firing squad? Noose?” Sevika mimed out that last part, to illustrate her point. “If he’s anything like those machines he set on us, that’s not gunna do shit.”

“Have some etiquette, Councilor,” Tariost scolded. “This is not the time for your foul tongue.”

“It’s a real question.” Sevika lifted her shoulders. “From what the Sheriff told us, the guy shrugged off bullet wounds.”

“An Enforcer on the scene did discharge their rifle several times,” Caitlyn said. “No visible injuries were observed, besides the one to his face that was already there when he appeared.”

“Well, what caused that?” Councilor Holloran asked. “Surely, we could—”

“It was caused by something that will never happen again,” Jayce interjected through clenched teeth. “His body is… something else now. It doesn’t play by our rules. Do you really want Piltover’s next legacy to be developing weapons to kill a man who has already surrendered?”

“He’s hardly a man now, Mister Talis—” Councilor Holloran argued.

“That’s Councilor Talis,” Jayce half-snarled, levelling his stance as he braced himself. It was an audacious play, but he had little to lose. “Or has my position been formally rescinded by unanimous vote?”

The table fell silent.

“It seemed there was no need, given your presumed death,” Shoola said, almost apologetic. 

“If that’s true,” Jayce said, refusing to lose momentum, “then I have a place at this table as much as the rest of you.” He could tell how little most of them wanted him back. Over the last year, they would have grown accustomed to their own dynamics–ones that didn’t include such a wildcard of an addition, freshly back from some unfathomable realm.

“A vote, then,” Tariost said. “I propose that Councilor Talis be formally removed. His loyalties can no longer be trusted.” She raised her hand.

It was risky, when he had just finished defending Stillwater’s most frightening criminal, but a unanimous vote was hard to attain. To Jayce, it was his only hope of ensuring he stayed in the conversation. All it would take is one councilor to side with him. And yet, as each of them raised their hand in turn, he began to lose hope. He looked towards Shoola, praying that their time on the Council together would mean anything. He held his breath.

Shoola didn’t quite meet his gaze as she raised her hand, the light above her seat switching on. He felt the wind go out of him. That was it, then.

Except, he noticed the way the other Councilor’s glares all turned in one direction. The vote wasn’t over. Sevika still sat, her arms crossed over her chest, her light unlit. To the increasing scrutiny she only shrugged. 

Some time passed before the vote was formally abandoned. During it, Jayce had time to compose himself.

“Alright then,” he said, striding over to claim one of the empty seats. Perhaps they’d have some legal response to this later on, but for now it bought him time.

“Pleasure to have you aboard,” Councilor Ferros said, segueing smoothly as if he hadn’t just voted to eject him. It was the first time he’d spoken since Jayce arrived there. Jayce was already quite familiar with House Ferros–even before they had ascended to the council, it was hard not to cross paths with them in the technological trade. The family was made even more distinct by their shock white hair. “Thinking on it again, I feel that you may be just the man to answer our quandary.”

Jayce furrowed his brow. “What do you suggest?”

“You’re a peerless innovator,” Ferros said. Jayce knew it was a lie, because the man they’d just proposed be executed was his peer in every regard. “Is there not some technological means you can devise that would contain his influence? You’re quite familiar with the harnessing of magic.”

Something about that question made Jayce’s gut stir, and his aching lower leg tingle as if pricked by needles. He’d hoped to put that behind him. “Are you proposing I use Hextech?”

“Or whatever solution you prefer,” Ferros said lightly. “Research into the Hexgates has fallen to House Ferros in the absence of its creator. We could offer whatever resources you need, towards our shared goal. If your… partner were satisfactorily confined, there would be no need to pursue more drastic options.”

Jayce went cold, realizing how much that sounded like Viktor was being held hostage against him. Viktor, who could escape this place at any moment but was too despairing to face the concept of his own freedom. The Hexgates needed to be dismantled for good, but he knew the Council would be resistant to give up on the innovation that had made Piltover the center of all trade.

He’d just hoped that a threat to the world itself would have been enough to change their minds. Apparently he’d been asking for too much.

They want better lives, but emotion clashes with reason.

Viktor’s own words echoed in his mind, the way he’d said them with such desperate empathy. He’d been so aware of the world's pain, its cyclical futility, that the only answer had been to end it.

“Fine,” Jayce finally managed, like swallowing poison. “Give me access to the lab, and I’ll look into it.”

It was already stretching late into the evening, and so the gathering didn’t last long after that. Councilor Ferros’s proposal was formalized. If Viktor couldn’t be killed, he would have to be bound.

Jayce dreaded the idea of returning the next day. This new era of Piltover was foreign to him, and he wouldn’t know where to stand on any of the topics raised. He frankly couldn’t find it in him to care about anything else. Not yet. Remaining a Councilor at all was selfish in that regard. He was a one-issue politician, and that issue was Viktor and the Hextech he’d created with him.

Even after the meeting adjourned, many of the councilors remained behind to whisper. Jayce ended up passing Sevika at the door–the only one that was as eager to leave as he was.

“Thank you,” he said to her. She raised an eyebrow. “For keeping me on.”

“Don’t take it personally,” she said, and his mouth hung open in surprise, unsure of what to say. She leaned in close. “The way I see it, you owe me, Talis. The next time I put something on the table, it better have your full support.”

He watched her walk away with a deep weariness settling in. He’d almost forgotten. In Piltover, everybody had a game.

 

---

 

Despite everything that had come before, the hardest thing Jayce ended up having to do that day was going home to his mother. 

Some part of him wished that he could just keep being dead for her sake. He’d barely gotten to see her the last time he was back, just before dying on her again. It was too much for one woman, after the loss of his father. He hated that he was doing this to her.

She was happy, of course, after the frantic, world-breaking tears. In the council room, all that had mattered was Viktor, but now all that mattered was this. He loved too strongly in the present, he realized. He bared it all when he was face to face, but would it last when they needed him next? He wanted to be that person for everyone he held dear. Maybe that was why he had become stretched thin between them, like gossamer webs.

Eventually things settled down and they ate, with Jayce trying to share what he’d been through in a way that didn’t sound utterly insane. He downsized the weight of his damage, hoping it wouldn’t keep her up through the night with worry. He still couldn’t bring himself to explain how he was staking it all on Viktor, when Viktor was the one that had taken him away from her twice now. 

Viktor had shared meals in this house, had been invited over for the holidays when Jayce’s mother realized he didn’t have anywhere else to go. She’d cared for him as Jayce’s partner and the apparent cause for his reversal in fortune. Would she now only see him as the albatross around his neck?

They avoided talking about Viktor. The city already knew, in whispers, that he’d returned. Jayce couldn’t bear to hear another person forsake him, and his mother didn’t press the issue either. Maybe it was out of pity. Maybe she knew it would hurt too much.

His mother practically tucked him into bed that night, kissing him on his forehead as she left. Laying in his childhood room, he felt a million years old, separated from the boy that had once slept here by a distance he’d couldn't see across. He couldn’t bear the quiet and so he extended his thoughts outward.

He and Viktor were still connected, that much he knew. It was the only explanation for how an entire reservoir in his chest was left empty, once fed by a river that was now completely blocked. After everything Viktor had said to him in Stillwater, he had a pretty good idea of whose fault that was. 

And so he walked up that barren riverbed, listening for the distant sound of water. Though at first it was only an abstract effort of meditation, at some point along the way the stars he was imagining became real to him in a way that didn’t vanish when he stopped concentrating. He was forcing his way into the space that they had shared, and if Viktor wanted to stop him he’d at least have to make his will known.

In his prison cell, Viktor had been hopeless, but also cold in a way that made it feel like it was the result of some robotic algorithm telling him despair was the only logical conclusion. Like he’d simply done the math, and the solution was clean and practical self-termination. What Jayce found in this place between souls was a completely different story.

Viktor’s still-human spirit was curled in on itself, his fingers clenched in his starlight hair, crying with an intensity of emotion that Jayce had never seen from him before. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Viktor really cry before, not in the entire time they’d known each other. Not when his dreams of helping the undercity were forcibly postponed, and not when the doctor had told him he only had a few months left to live.

Jayce had been so incredibly wrong. That new face of his really was a mask, and it was hiding this behind it.

It felt wrong to witness it, especially when Viktor hadn’t seemed to notice he was even there, but Jayce couldn’t bring himself to abandon him. He approached as tenderly as he could until he was just close enough to touch.

His fingers brushed Viktor’s shoulder, some desperate assurance on his lips. What could he say?

“I’m still here,” he whispered. 

Viktor didn’t respond, still caught in a chain of sobs that had been worn down by sheer exhaustion, now seen in little more than the heaving of his shoulders. His eyes were locked shut, blind to anything but the pain he was feeling. 

Jayce drifted around to Viktor’s front, letting his hands rest on his shoulders more securely. Gently, he pulled Viktor towards him, resting their foreheads together just as they had before. 

“Viktor…”

When Viktor’s eyes opened they were full of jagged light and scalding tears.

“ Leave me, I said! ” 

Viktor’s voice echoed with the full weight of the Machine Herald, the static and grind of it ringing in Jayce’s ears. He was pushed back, though he wasn’t sure if it was the lashing of Viktor’s arms or the force of his will that did it. Both, maybe. This place was only real to their minds. 

Jayce gave him space, but tried to hold close. This was far more than he’d been expecting to face, after the drier tone of Viktor’s misery in Stillwater.

“Viktor, I won't,” he said gently. The pressure of Viktor’s soul could consume his completely, he knew, but he wouldn’t back down so easily. He reached for him, offering his touch again, though not forcing it. Viktor’s eyes were still bleeding with light. “Not again.”

“You cling to scraps, ” Viktor cried. “Debris! There is no part of what I was that has not been undone.”

Jayce understood how badly Viktor craved freedom from this. Jayce couldn’t stand it either. There were no words. So he reached in closer, seeing if Viktor would accept his touch this time. As his fingers brushed the air near Viktor’s face, he didn’t resist.

Jayce cupped his hand around Viktor’s cheek, and that simple gesture was what caused the man to completely unravel. The light faded from Viktor’s eyes, their dazzling amber irises becoming visible once more. He melted in Jayce’s hands, his body now terribly fragile in a way it never would be again in the waking world.

“There’s nothing left,” Viktor pleaded, his tears flooding over Jayce’s fingers. His voice had become soft, like he could barely speak. “There’s nothing left.”

There was nothing else he could do. Jayce gathered him up into his arms, a desperate imitation of what they’d had so easily before. He would take Viktor into himself in an instant, if only so that he didn’t have to bear these feelings alone. Was that what Viktor had felt for the entire world?

They stayed there, coiled together, for an incalculable while. Gradually, Viktor’s agony burned itself down, until he was left delirious in the ashes and embers of his grief.

“All of my achievements have been in the pursuit of evil,” he murmured into Jayce, his mind loose and untethered. “I had thought them compassionate, necessary, but I now know what was always destined. All I could be.” He leaned in closer, as if sharing a secret. “I am a weapon, Jayce. I denied you them so fiercely, but it is what I am. A blade forged in the name of conquest.”

It was a brutal hurt, and made worse because Jayce could see the glimmers of truth in it. Viktor had crafted a body meant to claim the Hexgates, to enforce his will on the world. Now he was trapped inside of it, a crueler prison than Stillwater ever could be.

Heimerdinger had spoken of the arcane like it was an innately corrupting force that mortals were helpless to resist. Jayce could only wonder how much of this had been Viktor, and how much his dreams had been co-opted by a force greater than himself. Viktor was two halves that had blurred together so thoroughly that there was no longer any way to cleanly distinguish between them.

But Jayce knew–he’d been there when Viktor had pleaded with him to destroy the Hexcore in his place. It was Jayce that had forced this life on him, and now he was going to do it again.

“You’re more than this,” Jayce told him. “You’re more than how you were born, or how you were built. There’s always a choice, Viktor. Even now.”

Viktor exhaled raggedly, the closest thing to a positive sound he’d made so far, but only because it distantly resembled a laugh. “You would not like what I chose.”

“No. I guess I wouldn’t.” He stroked his fingers through Viktor’s hair, trying to offer the comfort his words clearly couldn’t. “Sorry. I’m not done fighting for you. I only wish I’d fought harder for you before. I told the Council about what you did for us. I told them it only ended because of a choice you made.”

“The Council…” Viktor breathed, drawn back to practical concerns. He didn't sound like he believed it would make any difference.

“They…” He didn't dare tell Viktor that they'd called for his execution, because he knew that he would agree with them. “They want me to imprison you.”

Viktor looked up at him with an expression that was sickeningly like hope. He was so deeply afraid of himself that being shackled sounded like comfort. 

“With technology, or…” Jayce couldn't bring himself to say Hextech. “I don't know. They just said to figure it out. To make it so you were no longer a threat.”

“You should do as they ask,” Viktor said, some of that hollowness returning. Earlier, Jayce couldn't believe that this was the same person he'd spoken to in Stillwater, but he was now being reminded.

“I don't want to hurt you.”

“You won't be, Jayce,” Viktor said, burrowing his face into Jayce's chest, caging himself in his arms. “I don't want this wretched strength. Please… take it from me.”

Jayce held him close until the morning sun pried him from sleep.

Chapter 4

Notes:

Thank you so much to everyone that has been commenting! You fuels me like nothing else, and I love to see your observations.

Jayce was up and ready to head the lab as early as he reasonably could be. He was almost enthusiastic about it, despite the concept of that bringing him teetering towards madness.

He was excited because he was going to find a way to put his best friend in chains. 

The fact that it was what Viktor wanted most keenly, that it was the only thing that had offered him even a moment of comfort the night before… terrible. Horrifying. If it hadn’t been for the weeks Jayce spent in his own personal hell, it would be unthinkable. Instead, it just felt like the next grievous insult in a long line of them. 

Worse, there was no point in fighting it. If Jayce succeeded, the Council and Viktor were both theoretically getting what they wanted. Jayce just couldn’t feel like it was right, no matter what either of them said. He couldn’t bear the thought of a reality where Viktor spent the rest of his possibly endless life in a cage.

It will buy time, he promised himself instead. It was time that Viktor needed to heal.

He’d been hoping that when he turned up at the lab that he’d be alone. He was not so fortunate. Instead, there were two men already setting about their business, who responded to his arrival as if they’d been waiting for him.

One of them, a man with a deep tan and a head of curly black hair, introduced himself gregariously as Hakim Naderi. The other, far less gregariously, announced himself as Stevan Ferros. He had the same bright white hair as his family, and a pale complexion to match. Of the two of them, Hakim seemed much more at home in the lab itself.

Hakim started to ‘show him around’ the lab, as if he didn’t know that over a year ago, this place had been Jayce and Viktor’s. Jayce was incapable of listening to whatever explanation he was giving, instead finding himself awash in a muted world, punctuated by a soft ringing in his ears.

He recognized almost all of it. The layout was basically the same, though the work stations had been swapped out with new projects. Visions of Viktor in that space flooded his mind until he couldn’t see anything else. 

Viktor tightening screws with his rotary drill, a hot mug of coffee still steaming at the table next to him.

Viktor spending endless nights inputting runes into the Hexcore, the light of magic gleaming off his goggles.

Viktor sleeping at the workbench, blissfully unaware of the backache he’d wake up to.

Jayce’s eyes clouded, the weight of their loss hanging heavy on his shoulders. They’d been happy there, once. There had been so much to live for that Viktor was ready to fight death every step of the way when it finally came for him.

Not like now, when he had to beg Viktor to consider living at all.

He staggered around the room, only vaguely following Hakim’s path. The man’s enthusiasm fell on deaf ears. To Jayce, it felt only like false promises, that would all be crushed by reality eventually.

“And here,” Hakim was saying, “is my pride and joy. A prototype of a new form of augmentation, to rival even the chemtech of the undercity–”

Jayce turned his head, but not in the direction Hakim was beckoning towards. No, what he saw was something he was sure had climbed directly out of his nightmares.

One of the Machine Herald’s robot drones was strung up by thin wires, its faceless head turned directly towards him. That same head had been split open by force, revealing the hollow interior of its chassis, thick cords plugged into its depths. Its chest had been massacred in a similar manner. An arm and a leg had been removed entirely and lay, opened up, on a work table nearby.

Bile flooded Jayce’s throat. He jolted back, crashing into a cart of equipment that had been rolled up nearby. All the while, he couldn’t take his eyes off the drone’s face. He couldn’t stop remembering when those faces were all around him, everywhere.

His vision tilted until he felt like he was standing diagonally. He couldn't breathe.

Hakim responded quickly, yelping in alarm and then rushing over to help keep Jayce from falling to the floor entirely. The touch of another human brought him back to himself somewhat, though it was a while before he was fully stable.

“Are you quite alright?” Stevan Ferros asked, approaching the two of them. 

“Councilor Talis had a bit of a fall,” Hakim explained, in shockingly good humor. Jayce looked at him, and then at Stevan. Stevan’s expression was closer to contempt than compassion.

“You can’t have that,” Jayce said, barely thinking. He pointed at the strung up drone. Stevan raised an eyebrow.

“Can’t we? Most of the automatons were disposed of properly, I assure you. My father sought out permission to retain this one sample, for research.” It all sounded so simple, coming from Stevan. This wasn’t a corpse, it was an asset. “The Herald’s rise was an event of great historical importance, you’ll understand. It’s important that we catalogue its effects.”

“I meant no offense, Councilor Talis,” Hakim explained. “I was still in Shurima when the event occurred. More recently, I received a contract from House Ferros to continue my studies here, and it seemed like an item of scientific importance. I should have considered how it may appear to someone who was involved in the fighting.”

As genuinely contrite as Hakim seemed to be, Jayce’s focus was on Stevan’s calculating look. He swallowed the lump in his throat. He needed to choose his battles here, he reminded himself. He needed to focus on Viktor.

“It’s fine,” he managed, lifting a hand to dismiss Hakim’s apologies. “It just… caught me off guard.”

Stevan nodded, going back to whatever he was doing. Hakim artfully changed the topic.

“I’ve cleared away a space for you, over here,” he said. “Please, think of the lab as your own. I know you used it for many years before me.”

Though Jayce initially wondered if it was a simple attempt at flattery, as the day went on, it became clear that Hakim really did see him as a celebrity worth meeting. ‘The Father of Hextech’ he called him, talking about what a loss it would have been if he really did vanish forever. He talked about how he’d been reading Jayce’s papers and researching the currently-dormant Hexgates.

He was also a genius, and Jayce could recognize that easily. Having a genius working on the Hexgates didn’t make him feel much better, though. He tried to put it out of his mind as he focused on what he came to the lab for in the first place.

He needed a way to bind magic.

Piltover was a city founded on the principle of avoiding magic entirely, so it was paradoxically both in its realm of interest and very far away from it. There was precedent that Jayce had already heard of from Caitlyn, in the form of the anti-magic tablets Ambessa’s forces had employed. The trouble with those was that they had lost their charge quickly, allowing Mel’s magic to bypass its protective barrier after wearing them down. That would never work with a being like Viktor. 

It was a foundation to start on, though.

Taking inspiration, Jayce decided to head to the library of Academy research he’d often consulted in his years working with the Council. Surely there would be studies on the work of other cultures related to this sort of thing. Stevan ‘offered’ to come along, though Jayce understood that it wasn’t really optional. The longer he’d observed Stevan in the lab the more clear it became that he was there as a supervisor more than a fellow academic.

He did his best to ignore it. He searched for any academia related to Demacia, as he knew offhandedly that they were famous for their distrust and hatred of mages, in a way that even Piltover couldn’t match. As he found some choice paragraphs dedicated to related innovations, he felt anxiety stir in his chest at the idea of Mel being out there somewhere, a target for people like that.

But there was nothing he could do for Mel at the moment. So, he focused on carefully cataloguing everything he found with the impartial mind of a scientist.

Next, he went to look through the catalogue of blueprints and research he and Viktor had produced. He had never had a project like this before, but he could remember some runic combinations that they’d discovered that could possibly be repurposed.

Though, he quickly became distracted by the fact that he couldn’t find any of Viktor’s research papers. 

He tried looking again, checking to see if they’d simply been filed differently than they were before. They weren’t. They simply were not there anymore. He double checked the papers they’d penned together. Viktor’s name was gone. The paper was crisp. It must have been recreated recently.

He looked up from his frantic search, ready to demand an explanation, ready to tear the entire library apart looking for what was missing. Then, he caught Stevan watching him.

He swallowed the acid in his throat. 

The Academy had purged Viktor from the records, attempting to erase the man he’d been until all that was left was the Machine Herald. He thought of Viktor the night before, pleading, insisting there was nothing left. 

There is no part of what I was that has not been undone.

Viktor’s greatest fear was exactly what Piltover wanted. They wanted him to disappear, for the city to be free of his legacy. To act as if he’d never had a part in the prosperity they had enjoyed while he lived. All the while he knew that same man was wasting away, trapped in a prison of his own making.

It wasn’t fair. He wanted to scream. He looked around the Academy library, desperately remembering the times they’d visited it together, as partners. Now it was filled with fresh-faced students that would be taught to forget Viktor’s name. It was then that Jayce knew. 

He would save Viktor, no matter the cost.

“I’ve got what I need,” he said, a shield of cold determination rising as Stevan raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing him. Whatever House Ferros was looking for, he wasn’t going to give it to them. He stacked up his folder of documents and headed back to the lab.

 

---

 

That afternoon, there was another Council meeting.

Jayce attended, doing his best to project outright confidence. He couldn’t give them the opportunity to doubt his place at the table. The longer he could get away with it, the longer he could fight for Viktor.

Proceedings started as normal. A few boilerplate issues were raised and dealt with, none of which required Jayce’s input. Soon, though, it was clear from the tension in the room that they were all eager to return to the Viktor Problem.

“Before we get distracted,” Sevika announced before anyone could, casting a glance in Jayce’s direction, “I want to revisit the issue I brought up yesterday.”

“And what issue was that, Councilor?” Tariost needled. Jayce was getting the impression that the two of them absolutely hated each other. Sevika scowled.

“The cave-ins.” 

“A terrible affair,” Holloran said. “But what are we meant to do about it? The families have already been compensated.”

“What I’m asking is for you to look into it seriously,” Sevika retorted, jabbing the table with her finger. “That’s three collapses in two months. My people have been investigating. First, it looks like a tunnel collapse. Then, we dig up their bodies, and they’re filled with stab wounds. Doesn’t look like an accident to me.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Looks like sabotage.”

“Who in Piltover would benefit from interfering with the undercity’s mining operations?” Councilor Bolbok asked–or, at least, the new member of the original Bolbok’s family that had taken his place. Her helm was crafted in a far more angular and golden design than his had been, but otherwise their presences were almost identical. Everything she said had to be translated through the filter system in her mask. 

“Don’t know,” Sevika snarled, already impatient. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

“Surely ‘your people’ can handle the investigation on their own,” Councilor Ferros said. “This sounds like undercity business, which is the sector you so kindly monitor for us. You would know better than we would.”

“I’d love to be able to handle this myself.” Sevika stood, planting her fist on the table. “But I can’t do that until I can rule out topsider interference. ”

Tariost scoffed loudly. The rest of the table just looked weary, as if this was a predictable tantrum. Jayce glanced at Sevika, remembering what she had said to him as they were leaving the day before. The next time she brought something to the table, she wanted his support.

He didn’t know how reputable of an ally he was at that point, but he could at least try.

“It’s reasonable to inquire, isn’t it?” he asked. “There’s precedent for uppercity residents collaborating with Chem-Barons.” He could have specifically pointed out Marcus as an example, but decided against it for the sake of diplomacy. “We could look into any business rivalries that could be swayed by reduced mining capacity.”

Jayce felt that what he had said was very reasonable. The table mostly seemed surprised that he was capable of contributing constructively. The look Sevika gave him wasn’t exactly thankful , but it was less biting than it had been before.

“There’s more,” she said, taking advantage of the fact that at least someone was taking her seriously. She reached into the bag beside her and produced a rock. She put it on the table for all to see.

It was some kind of dark mauve mineral pitted with small holes. Jayce did not have the requisite expertise to know what was important about it. Nobody else at the table seemed to either. 

“Mining teams in that area have been running into huge deposits like this,” Sevika explained. “None of the rock they’ve ever seen down there is like it. But now, it’s popping up all over the place, including in tunnels that it wasn’t before.”

“Could it be some kind of chemical reaction causing it?” Jayce asked, thoughts churning with possibilities. Geology wasn’t his specialty, but he’d learned some things about it in his search for the hex crystals. 

“Could be. Either way, it’s making the tunnels weak. We need to sort this out now, or withdraw all mining teams from the area.”

“That’s preposterous,” Holloran said. “Those veins are still far too lucrative.”

“Well, you better sort it out, then!” Sevika snapped. 

“I’ll look into it,” Jayce said without thinking. Realizing what he was committing to, he tried to rephrase. “Into the rock, I mean. If we analyze it, maybe something about its composition will give us a hint.”

He really couldn’t be taking on additional responsibilities, not when Viktor needed him so badly, but he also couldn’t just ignore it. This was something Viktor would care about. Something for the undercity. It was the kind of thing Jayce had been too willing to overlook, all while his partner’s dream of helping his home drifted out of reach.

“Then, it sounds like we have a solution well in hand,” Councilor Ferros said. “If this is resolved, Councilor Talis–we have some more questions for you.”

Sevika didn’t seem completely satisfied, but she let it happen. The meeting carried on in a similar way to how it had the day before, though now the focus was on the research Jayce had only had a single morning to work on. He told them about his findings. He didn’t mention the way Viktor was being erased from history.

They wouldn’t care about that. It was them that wanted it to happen.

The table fielded complaints from wardens upset about the Machine Herald’s presence in their basement. There was the mention of some riotous behaviour deep in the undercity, though its cause was not fully explored. By the end, Jayce was all too eager to return to the lab.

He set the mysterious mauve rock on the work table and started reading the research papers more carefully. At some point, Hakim wandered over.

“What is that?” he asked, gesturing at the stone. Jayce was beginning to learn that Hakim was going to be naturally curious about everything he was doing. He sighed.

“It’s something they dug up in the undercity,” Jayce explained. “Something is wrong with the tunnels, like the existing mineral has been transmuting into this. I said I would look into it.”

“Hmm.” Hakim picked up the stone, looking over it carefully. “There’s usually nothing like this here, then? I've heard of the like in Shurima before, though rarely.”

“Shurima,” Jayce murmured, trying to make sense of it. He glanced at his stack of documents. 

“I will think on this,” Hakim said, “and let you know if anything comes to mind. In the meantime, I have something for you.”

Jayce looked up from his work. Hakim brought over another stone–no, a hunk of petrified wood. It was a silver-white colour. Jayce already knew what it was. It had come up in his research, and it turned out that House Ferros was in possession of some samples.

“Petricite,” Hakim said. “Or, the tree it comes from. I have heard that Demacia mixes it with lime and ash to create a more durable material for their weapons and armor.”

“And their chains,” Jayce said miserably. Petricite was the material Demacia used to imprison mages. If he had any chance of containing Viktor’s power, it would have to start here. He took the sample from Hakim numbly. “Thank you.”

Hakim nodded, sensing the mood and letting Jayce get back to work.

Stevan Ferros returned not long after. Mostly, he spoke with Hakim about project plans, only occasionally glancing over to what Jayce was doing. When his primary task was reading papers and taking notes, there wasn’t much to observe. Jayce was all the more certain to bring his notebook home with him later.

He stayed for the rest of the afternoon and then into the evening, determined to read all of the literature he’d gathered before stopping for the night. This was what he had to do, he reminded himself, despite how weary it made him.

He longed for the moment he could return home and search for Viktor in that space between souls.

Chapter 5

Notes:

Thanks again for all the great comments you guys are so good to me. Enjoy some more suffering.

It was several days before Jayce could justify another visit to Stillwater to the Council, to see Viktor face-to-face. He met with Viktor’s soul every night leading up to it. 

Most of the time, they wordlessly held each other, in a pale imitation of their existence in that higher realm. Those peaceful moments, though, were punctuated with the same blistering grief that Jayce had encountered on that first night.

Viktor would whisper horrible things, mostly about himself. It wasn’t exactly restful, but Jayce endured, offering what comforts he could. His words rarely made much difference, his reasoning and encouragement both seeming to glance over Viktor like rainwater. Viktor was drowning, and everything flowed into the same indistinct morass he was struggling in.

He would tell Jayce that he was already dead in every way but physical. He would tell Jayce that his suffering was the only thing he could safely offer up. He would tell Jayce that he was infected with the same illness that the anomaly had been.

It was maddening. Jayce woke every morning with tears in his eyes, from the sadness of parting and from the sadness of being together.

One evening, he took a nap in the lab, and he didn’t seek out Viktor’s spirit as he usually did. Instead, he had nightmares.

He dreamt of Viktor, strung up like the drone had been, his limbs splayed and severed. He was in the form of the Machine Herald, and his mask and chest had been split open wide, bleeding black filth. There was no light within him, like he’d witnessed in Stillwater. Instead there was only a swallowing darkness that consumed Jayce, layer by layer, down to his core.

He woke terrified, shaking and frantic. For the first time since he’d come back, he let himself cry without restraint. He cried for Viktor and for himself. In that moment, he might have burned the world down to return to the place of peace they’d escaped to, that was now only a figment in his mind.

 

---

 

Demacia was private about its petricite crafting techniques, but the paper Jayce had checked out had some good theories. It took a couple days in the lab to start hammering it all out. He was far more accustomed to metallurgy, so this was a new challenge, but one he felt well equipped for. Limestone and petrified wood could be hard, but they weren’t flexible. Forming them into the shapes he needed would be interesting. He’d need to build molds, and figure out whatever process was used to make mortar durable enough for armor.

The experience had been almost enjoyable, in a purely intellectual sense, with Hakim poking in occasionally to give his thoughts in between his own projects. Ultimately, the flashes of enjoyment Jayce experienced were bittersweet. Inventing, working with a new partner–this was the new life Viktor wanted for him. It was the gift he couldn’t accept.

Either way, it was enough that he could travel to Stillwater under the premise of testing out materials. When he was a real Councilor, he could have done that at will. But now it felt clear that most of the people in the Council were simply allowing him to roleplay Councilor out of convenience to their plans. There wasn’t a traditional mechanism to eject him outside of unanimous vote and no higher court to appeal to. No Councilor had ever died and then returned to reclaim their seat before.

It was easier, in a way, to just tolerate him for the time being. At least, until he did something erroneous enough that they could force Sevika’s hand. That was why he needed to be careful about seeking Council approval for everything he did, lest it be painted as seditious, or as some part of the Machine Herald’s schemes.

The shimmering marble fingerprints still marked his forehead. No matter how normal he acted, there was the perception that he could still be a sleeper agent for his dark god, ready to emerge when the time was right.

Sometimes, he wished that Viktor actually was brainwashing him. Having his mind controlled felt more relaxing than his current day-to-day life.

He entered Stillwater with a bag of supplies that the Wardens insisted upon checking at the front desk. He carried only what he’d documented to the Council. Jayce had slipped in during the chaos of the Machine Herald’s arrival, but now access was being locked down. Caitlyn would have rightful jurisdiction as the Sheriff, but Jayce understood there was a limit to what she could do for him without putting her entire career at risk. She’d already brought him here once and the Council had been annoyed.

A Warden came with him this time. As much as he wanted to talk to Viktor privately, he knew it wasn’t going to happen. He’d just have to hope that caring about his friend’s welfare wouldn’t come across as suspicious.

When he arrived at the bottom of those basement stairs, Viktor was in the exact position he had been before. Had he been frozen like a statue all week?

“Jayce,” Viktor said, just as he had the first time, with the same relief and disappointment in his voice. It was a jarring contrast to the agony and sometimes hystericism that Jayce had been experiencing from him each night.

“Viktor,” Jayce replied. He wanted to get into Viktor’s cell and hold him, no matter what he was shaped like, but he already knew it wouldn’t be allowed. Instead, he knelt in front of his cell, opening up his bag. “I’ve brought some things for that project I was telling you about.”

It was intended to be soothing, to ensure Viktor knew that he was working on what he’d promised–a way to contain his power and give him peace of mind. He couldn’t bear to use real words for it. Shackles. Chains.

Viktor tilted his head very slightly, asking an implied question. Jayce assumed they would be on the same page after what they’d talked about at night. He swallowed.

“Uh, materials,” he clarified. “I’ve found this thing called petricite–it can absorb arcane energies. It’s used in Demacia to nullify magic.”

He produced the white lump of processed material he’d created in the lab. He held it out for Viktor to take, but was careful that their hands never touched. He could feel the Warden’s eyes burning into his shoulder.

Viktor hummed as the petricite fell into his palm. Jayce could tell without asking that he was sizing it up, perhaps analyzing it on some level that only gods could see. 

“It would serve its purpose,” Viktor finally said. “Though there is a limit to its capacity. Once fully suffused with the arcane, it would become over-encumbered and vulnerable to destruction.”

Jayce didn’t need to ask why that was a problem. Viktor channelled the arcane like a human breathed air. He’d never stop filling the petricite passively, let alone if he tried to flood it intentionally.

“So, it would need a way to disperse the energy as it gathered,” Jayce concluded. He’d read something about Demacia’s petricite golems, running off of the magical energy they stole. He had no idea at all how that construction was accomplished, but if it was possible elsewhere there was a chance of figuring it out here. “With a large enough quantity of material and a way to burn it off, there’s a chance it could hold even you.”

“You are finding a way to contain me,” Viktor observed. He sounded pleased with the idea, but not in the desperate, broken way he had before. Jayce was starting to get confused.

“I am,” he said. “I told you I would.”

“Did you?” Viktor mused.

Jayce couldn’t talk about the nights they’d shared, not without alerting the Warden to their bond. Any fears the Council had would be justified, knowing that Viktor could inhabit his thoughts from anywhere. However, that didn’t sound like the source of Viktor’s confusion.

A silence fell between them, a strange inkling itching in Jayce’s brain. Had Viktor not experienced those nights the same way he did? Could it have actually all been a dream? How would he know, when he meditated on the edge of sleep?

No. He’d felt the connection. He’d felt the absence in his chest close, if only fleetingly. 

But hadn’t Viktor acted strangely? He’d bared his emotions more raw and jagged than he ever had in life, even at his worst. In contrast, the Viktor he was facing now was reserved and compliant. He was suffering, yes, but in an entirely different way. 

“...I would be happy to put the cities at ease,” Viktor said, uncertain why Jayce’s expression had just become so tormented. “If my power could be fully constrained… my surrender could be taken as genuine.”

Jayce could see that Viktor wanted him to know that he wasn’t offended by the idea. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the problem. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep himself steady. Eventually, they’d have a chance to talk plainly. They’d have to.

“Right,” he said. “Yeah. That’s the idea.”

Viktor was still holding the lump of petricite. It was only then that he seemed to notice he was doing so. His golden eye flickered down to it, somehow entranced, before finally handing it back to Jayce.

“The petricite has received a partial charge,” he said. “You may use it for your experiments.”

“You filled it up already?” Jayce asked incredulously. “Just by holding it?” God, this was going to take a lot of material. Far more than the lab was currently in possession of. 

“Partially,” Viktor corrected. “Might I make a suggestion?”

He went on to point out some runes that Jayce could try, in the interest of burning off excess arcane charge. Ones that could be channelled to strengthen the bonds themselves, or that could sap additional strength. Jayce supposed that Viktor would be the foremost expert on that, now. He’d seen the way the hexclaw worked, how it sorted through an endless array of runes to achieve theoretically any purpose. How much of that process was Viktor cognizantly aware of?

Jayce asked him some follow up questions, discussing the capabilities of petricite as a battery, and for a short while it was almost like they were back in the lab, exploring an interesting problem. It was a level of engagement from Viktor that he hadn’t seen anywhere else–not the cold resignation of this prison, or the ragged despair of his soul. Jayce saw an opportunity. Something Viktor could still care about, despite everything.

“Oh, here,” Jayce said, reaching back into his bag. He pulled out a section of heavy chain, the kind that would typically stabilize heavy machinery rather than prisoners. He passed it to Viktor to hold. “See if you can break this.”

Viktor looked it over wonderingly and then pulled it between his hands. With only moderate effort, the metal began to stretch, before finally snapping in the middle. Jayce couldn’t help it. He gaped. It was clear that the only reason Viktor hadn’t popped his head off during their fight was that he wasn’t trying to.

“That’s a problem,” he said. He scrubbed a hand down his face, exasperated. “I want to construct something that allows for freedom of movement, but if it has to be thicker than that it’s going to take a lot of materials.”

The idea of just putting chainless shackles on Viktor and calling it a day had already gone out the window. Such a small amount of material couldn’t store the energy fast enough. It would need to be channelled through the chain into a larger body of petricite to keep it from overloading.

“Don’t limit yourself according to my comfort,” Viktor said. “That is not a luxury we can afford, nor am I owed.” 

And just like that, Jayce’s head was filled with every terrible thing Viktor had said about himself over the last few nights, in that dream-like realm. Viktor wanted to suffer, he’d said as much, and now he wanted Jayce to be involved.

“Shut. Up.” The words came out before Jayce could stop himself.

Viktor stared, uncomprehending.

“I’m just… I’m sick of hearing you talk about yourself like that,” Jayce continued, trying to tamp down on his frustration. He couldn’t find it in himself to regret saying it, even if it might not make sense to Viktor. Maybe this version of him would actually listen. “You’re not going to push me into hurting you. Not again.”

In a startling change of pace, Viktor’s gaze wandered uncertainly. 

“You need not be the one to do this,” he finally said. He was offering Jayce a chance to escape the brutality of the task.

“Yes. I do,” Jayce decided. “You’ve proved just now that it needs to be me.” Nobody else would pause to even consider Viktor’s comfort or safety. Viktor wouldn’t ask them to. 

Viktor was quiet again, and Jayce wasn’t sure if it was because he was sorry or because he was being difficult. Either way, they couldn’t sit in silence forever. Jayce’s leg wouldn’t tolerate it. 

“Just… let me measure your wrists.”

Viktor complied.

Jayce had originally hoped that a single ankle chain would suffice, but it absolutely would not, no matter how ideal it would have been. He wanted Viktor to be able to walk around and use his hands, all for some distant future where he’d have an interest in doing anything other than sitting in the dark. He could read books in that future. Take notes. Maybe even share his perspective on the world in some artistic form that would inevitably be burned by the Council for heresy.

It was something Jayce could keep trying for–a way to contain Viktor that wouldn’t completely stop him from living.

Measuring Viktor’s wrists was the closest he had gotten to touching his body since the day he’d been getting manhandled by it. He glanced back towards the Warden, as if to show off how careful he was being as he folded the tape around Viktor’s arm. He was already growing numb to the absurdity of the situation–the jarring dissonance in calmly taking measurements for Viktor’s shackles.

“There, that’s enough,” he said, pulling away. He regretted deeply that he couldn’t entwine fingers with that alien hand, to see if there was any warmth at all still left within it.

“Thank you, Jayce,” Viktor said. 

For what, Jayce wasn’t sure. He sighed. He wished they could talk freely, but while they were being observed there was a hard limit on what could be said without making either of them look worse.

“I had one more thing I wanted to ask you about,” Jayce said, preemptively mourning that they would soon have to part. He reached into his bag, looking for excuses as much as anything else. “Have you ever seen a mineral like this before?”

He dropped the mysterious mauve stone Sevika had given him into Viktor’s waiting hand. A golden eye twitched behind his metallic mask as it settled.

Viktor stopped.

At first, Jayce thought it was just another characteristic long pause, where Viktor would eventually announce his findings after scanning it with his prenatural senses. As the seconds ticked on, though, that didn’t happen. Viktor barely moved these days, but this was something else.

“Viktor?”

He wasn’t reacting at all. He just stared, and stared, and stared at the stone like a machine that had stalled and was being forced to shut down. Jayce clapped his hands loudly, trying to get his attention.

“Viktor! Viktor, come on!”

Seconds dragged into minutes. 

There was no way he was just taking time to think. Jayce looked back to the lingering Warden, as if to ask if they were seeing this as well, but they mostly just appeared to be getting increasingly anxious about the shifting atmosphere of the room. Any erratic behaviour from the Machine Herald was frightening, even if that behaviour was suddenly doing nothing at all.

Jayce couldn’t wait for the Warden’s approval. If the stone had been the catalyst, then maybe breaking contact would fix this. He reached through the bars and slapped the rock out of Viktor’s hand. As it rolled to a stop, Jayce looked up hopefully.

The light behind Viktor’s eye, the one that bled from his wound in his face, slowly began to fade. 

No.

Jayce didn’t know what that meant, but his head swam with panic at the sight. There was no way. There was no way he just killed Viktor by handing him a rock. Jayce rattled the bars, calling Viktor’s name. He didn’t stir, and the light only grew dimmer.

“Open the cell,” Jayce begged, turning back to the Warden. “I need to help him.” The Warden only looked at him like he was insane. “You know the bars won’t do anything against him! Please–just open the cell!”

The Warden didn’t. Jayce was out of options. 

In front of him, Viktor’s eye had gone completely dark, with only the faintest of glimmers left deep within the recesses of his head.

Viktor’s hand was still held rigidly out in front of him, as if the stone were still resting within it. Jayce reached through the gap in the bars, wrapped his hand around Viktor’s ornamented wrist, and pulled as hard as he could.

He was expecting hard resistance, like trying to shove a bronze statue. Instead, Viktor’s body folded liquidly, and his mask came crashing against the bars. Jayce didn’t wait. He reached through, clasping his hands around Viktor’s face and pressed their foreheads together.

The world dissolved.

 

---

 

Jayce awoke in darkness.

He was untethered by gravity, moving freely through the emptiness just like he would when visiting Viktor in the night–the only difference was that now the galaxy of stars that usually surrounded them had been snuffed out all at once. It gave him a creeping sense of unease, the way it had been changed. It felt like a sanctuary being spoiled.

For a while he was lost in nothing, growing increasingly worried that he was trapped there alone. He could do without the other stars, if he could at least find the one light he was looking for.

Eventually, he did.

One moment he was surrounded by infinite black, the next, Viktor had appeared before him. The swirling nebulas that usually formed his astral body had grown dim, his body posed rigidly like one of his drones–a marionette on strings. His eyes were shut, like an electric doll that had been powered down.

Jayce’s instincts were screaming at him that this was wrong. It was too much like the transformed bodies of the ruined future, that stood motionlessly in rust and debris, directed only by their external master. 

“Viktor!” he cried, the gap closing between them. Jayce’s own light burned bright, and his proximity seemed to vivify Viktor’s dull form. He grasped Viktor’s face in his hands, willing his eyes to open. “Viktor, please wake up!”

When Viktor’s eyes did open, they were filled with endless void.

Jayce jolted back. Viktor stared blankly forward, unreactive to Jayce’s movements. He was looking at nothing.

“Viktor… What are you… What is this?” Jayce stammered. “What happened to you?”

Lifting his face skyward, Viktor spoke.

“There was a place between where we were and where we are now. A darkness beyond the stars.”

It was Viktor’s voice, but slow and lifeless, like a distant transmission received through an artificial vessel. Jayce felt himself begin to crack. 

“It hungers for life. For the Arcane.” Viktor’s mouth moved, but Jayce could no longer see the voice as coming from his partner. His fear was too great. Instead, it had become a creature in Viktor’s skin. “I was marked by its touch before we ever knew. Torn from the sublime in its fangs.”

Where before the darkness around them had simply been absence, now it began to lurk like a living thing. It watched with a thousand eyes, touched like the prickling of claws against skin. It was heavy like water and contained no air.

“I feel its poison within me once more,” Viktor’s body said. “I work now to eradicate it from my system, my thoughts.”

Viktor’s head rolled forward, his void-filled eyes settling on Jayce for the first time. 

“You must forget this, Jayce.”

Viktor lifted his hand, reaching towards Jayce’s forehead where his fingerprints were already stained. As he did, the light of his body intensified, swirling with the might of galaxies. The darkness in his eyes shifted to blinding white. The empty black around them was washed out in his blaze.

Jayce repelled himself from Viktor’s touch, and their reality shattered.

 

---

 

As Jayce came back to himself, Viktor was still slumped against the jail cell bars. He reacted quickly. In a fevered scramble, he reached through the bars to where the mauve stone had fallen. He had to stretch up to his shoulder before it was finally in his fingers, slipping against a sweaty palm. He sprung back, stuffing it into his bag, huffing with the speedy exertion.

Meanwhile, the darkness of Viktor’s eye blazed into light far more intense than ever before. It filled the cavity inside his head, like the fires of a cremation oven. As it waned, Viktor lifted himself from the bars, sitting back with mechanical precision, adjusting until he was in the exact position he had been before going dark.

“Jayce,” he said, in the exact same tone as when Jayce had first entered. Jayce stared back at him with unconcealed horror.

His mind was still buzzing with the brush of Viktor’s presence, the probing fingers that had just fallen short. Viktor had tried to do something to his mind. The only reason he hadn’t was that Jayce had escaped their connection quickly enough.

He hadn’t succeeded, right? Viktor had told him to forget, but Jayce still remembered. He remembered the teeth of the shadows and the void behind Viktor’s eyes. 

“V-Viktor,” Jayce whispered, his hands shaking as they gripped the straps of his bag. What the hell was that? Viktor had spoken of a place inbetween, a poisonous darkness. Jayce had known that something had pulled them from the Arcane, but this… if Viktor could alter his memories, what had he already forgotten?

Viktor looked down at his own hand, as if only just realizing it was extended with nothing in it. If he understood the nature of Jayce’s response, he didn’t show it.

“What is it you would ask?”

Jayce shook his head, trying to steady himself. 

“Nevermind,” he managed, looking away. “It’s fine.” No matter how terrified he was, he couldn’t let it show to the Warden watching them. Not if it would spur the Council to more drastic action. “I’ll be back with more later.”

He swallowed roughly, tentatively meeting Viktor’s gaze. Now, it sent a shiver down his spine.

“I… Goodnight, Viktor.”

Viktor watched him as he left, his eye still somehow melancholy despite its rigid blankness. He didn’t object to him leaving, but guilt still gnawed at Jayce’s gut as he approached the stairs.

“Goodnight, Jayce,” Viktor replied, his unearthly features framed in shadow.

Chapter 6

Notes:

Ruru drew this scary as hell fanart of Jayce's Viktor nightmare in Chapter 5, and I'm obsessed with it. Thank you so much, Ruru!

I get way too much enjoyment out of writing Jayce's life being just completely fucked.

When Vi came upon the most recent mural of the Machine Herald, it had fresh blood splattered across it. If that didn’t about sum it up, she didn’t know what would. 

Most people didn’t even know what Viktor looked like at the end, and so they had cobbled together some amalgamation of the way he’d appeared in the commune and the way his followers had ended up. Somehow, not actually that far off. 

Of course, Vi had only seen Viktor’s final form for about half a second while fighting the zombie corpse of her father. He’d zoomed through the room like he had more important things to worry about than the fact that she and Jinx were being assaulted by the man he promised he would help. Not long after that, it ended.

A lot of things ended.

Coming back to the commune now was an impressive act of self torture, though it was hard to escape the memories no matter where she ended up. Ever since the ‘Machine Herald’s’ return, his followers' artificial forms had appeared all over the undercity, as if pulled out of storage for a special occasion. There had been so many of them left as hunks of soulless scrap in Piltover, and now they were being repurposed as street art and shrines. To Vi, they just looked like graves.

She could imagine the epitaph: ‘Here lies a disciple of the Machine Herald, they went out with a bang.’

It was driving her insane. It was like the entire city was collaborating to make it impossible for her to forget about one of the worst days in her remarkably terrible life. Two of the worst days, actually. Between the fanatics in the undercity and Caitlyn’s constant stress over the situation in Stillwater, there was really no escaping it. Every day was an exercise in choosing her poison, and today she’d chosen Zaun. 

What business Vi had patrolling here these days, she didn’t know. When she wasn’t working, she spent more time in Piltover than not. Almost everyone she’d loved in the undercity was dead, and the one that wasn’t was fine without her. So, why did she keep coming back?

Because someone had to. Because an Enforcer in uniform would cause more trouble than they solved. Because sending Vi was Caitlyn’s way of handling things off the books, beyond the oversight of the Council. And Cait… Well, Cait had never been able to let a mystery go.

Today’s mystery was that people kept going missing in the area surrounding the former commune, right around the time trenchers were filtering there in droves. Sometimes they left blood behind. They never left bodies.

Either someone had developed the most efficient corpse disposal racket in undercity history, or something weird was going on. The fresh blood on the mural was her first real clue in a while. Fresh meant there was still a chance. 

She pumped her arms a few times in anticipation, making sure her gauntlets were ready for a fight. They were a sleeker design, more reminiscent of the undercity’s artificial limbs than the hextech she’d become infamous for. They’d never reach the heights of the Atlas Gauntlets–she wouldn’t be able to lift something like that in a fight without the gemstones–but they did the job.

She followed splatters of blood up the path to the commune, the undercity twilight illuminated by a procession of candle-lit shrines. In a way, it was worse than it had been when Viktor was there as an ever-present figure. Before, his gifts had been free for the taking, offered up on a platter for any miserable soul to partake in. Now, this new generation of believers depended on acts of blind faith, all in the hope it would somehow summon him back.

All it had taken was word of Viktor’s return to set the undercity on fire. The Zaunite that had almost brought Piltover to its knees. And everyone else, Vi thought to add, but that wasn’t the story people were interested in.

She passed another mural, this time of Viktor in full cult attire, holding a limp trencher in his arms while one hand blazed with the technicolor magic of his healing. Here, the blood was pooling more thickly. She was close.

She turned a corner and saw it.

There was a half-destroyed corpse crumpled in a puddle of its own blood. Though the flickering oranges of candlelight were the only thing illuminating it, she could just make out the silhouette of a couple small animals feeding on the body. Animals with way too many legs.

“Hey!” she heard herself protesting, as if the little freaks would care. She lashed out with her gauntleted fist, plowing the first of them straight into the concrete, feeling its bones shatter beneath her knuckles. There was an eruption of softly glowing purple ooze.

Vi had just long enough to make a sound of disgust before the second creature had jumped on her back, something sharp stabbing through her shirt. 

With a roar, she turned, spinning fast enough for the momentum to set the thing off balance. Then, she reached back, crushing whatever it was in her gauntlet and smashing it, open-palmed, against the nearby wall.

Purple muck squelched between her fingers. The alleyway fell into silence.

Evidence, she thought. You were supposed to be getting evidence.

She lifted her palm towards herself, squinting at the mess of indistinguishable purple gore that was now painting it and the wall. There were fragments of something hard, either bones or chitin, but hell if she could tell most of it apart.

She looked down at the human remains at her feet, flinching at its terrible state. If she’d been there sooner… 

“Sorry,” she mumbled to the body. Another grave in the undercity’s vast collection.

 

---

 

Jayce didn’t visit Viktor in his dreams the night after their meeting. Or the night after that. Or the night after that.

It hadn’t been intentional. When he laid down that night, sleep simply didn’t come. Every time he closed his eyes, he would feel his breath leave him, feel the darkness behind his eyelids claw at his skin. When his eyes were open, the shadows in his bedroom would haunt him instead, shifting like creatures in the night. Whatever will he’d needed to reach Viktor, he couldn't find it.

He wondered if this was what Viktor had wanted him to forget. He wondered if Viktor would try to alter his mind again the next time they met. He didn’t know which thought scared him more: Viktor tampering with his memories, or living with these shadows haunting him forever. Both of them seemed like a pathway to hell.

And so, he just started working harder. He’d spend those sleepless nights designing blueprints, scribbling down runes, and reading documentation. Whenever he did doze off from sheer exhaustion, the time passed in liquid blackness, like intervals spent drowning in between gasping breaths at the water’s surface.

Maybe he didn’t need a path to hell. He was already there.

At first, his work proceeded quickly, in the kind of manic strides he had often enjoyed during the construction of the Hex Gates. Viktor and him would run on caffeine and fumes, working out last minute problems that arose. The crash would always come eventually, though, and Jayce knew it was near. He couldn’t keep running forever.

Several days into his dreamless exile, Jayce finally went to bed with intention. The exhaustion was becoming too much. He kept making mistakes that even Hakim could notice while glancing over his shoulder, and this was an operation where flawed work wasn’t an option. He needed to start sleeping again, even if it meant facing what Viktor might do to him.

He loaded up on whatever sleep aids he could find and took them all. The shadows still scratched around him like skittering legs, but he was sinking into them regardless. He lost consciousness thinking of Viktor.

As if answering a prayer, Viktor found him in his dreams.

It wasn’t the Viktor he’d met in Stillwater, cold and physical, or the broken soul among the stars. Instead, it was him at his most godly, a flame of colour and light that towered over the world. A being of such cosmic enormity that Jayce’s spirit could be cupped between its hands. And he was. He felt the warmth of Viktor's vast presence around him, even as their reality broke apart.

Jayce could sense that they were in freefall, a feeling of effortless lightness transitioning to merciless gravity. He didn’t understand what was happening, why the feeling of transcendence was leaving him–he only knew that Viktor was still there holding him in a shielding embrace that put the fullness of his power between Jayce and whatever was pulling them down. Even so, darkness slipped between the cracks.

He could feel pain like jolts of electricity through his and Viktor’s connection. He felt the inexorable weathering of mind and spirit. He felt Viktor’s love as he decided to act.

 

---

 

The next day Jayce was back at the lab, still tired despite having slept a full eight hours for the first time in a week. He’d woken up in a daze, barely able to put his pants on right from how distracted he’d been thinking of the dream that was left burned into his mind. Now, he waited for a pot of coffee to fill, staring listlessly at his notes.

He could ask for a meeting with Viktor soon, he thought. After today, the petricite would need another charge.

He was working on a method to draw power from petricite and channel it towards runic commands. Petricite already absorbed magic on its own as part of its natural makeup, but removing that energy was proving more difficult. He’d carved lines of magic-conductive metal into the limestone in an effort to determine which, if any, material would serve the purpose.

He was so focused on watching for any sign of activity from the runes that he didn’t notice someone open the laboratory door. When he heard footsteps, he assumed it was Hakim arriving for his regular working hours. Jayce, as usual, had arrived at daybreak.

“Long time no talk, pretty boy.”

He jolted, the unexpected but familiar voice cutting through the haze. He spun around in his chair.

“Vi?” he asked. “How did you even get in here?”

“You left the door open,” she explained. She had her hands tucked into her pockets, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. She looked a little bit sleepless in a way he could relate to. He couldn't argue. With how tired he was, it was a wonder he hadn't forgotten the keys entirely. “Cait said I could find you here.”

“Cait…” Jayce mumbled. She definitely hadn’t warned him about any incoming Vi encounters during the times they’d talked over the last week. “What about?”

“I wanted to ask if you’d made any progress with the scary rocks situation.” She slid her duffel bag onto Jayce’s work desk.

Jayce looked down at his experiment, frowning. He definitely wasn’t working on the scary rocks situation. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried–chemical tests told him nothing besides that it may have been affected by some kind of acidic substance. Recently, he’d become afraid to spend much time looking at it, after what it had done to Viktor. 

“Maybe some kind of acid,” he said, shrugging a shoulder in a tired apology. He pushed back his hair. “Besides that…” 

He didn’t know whether to tell her about what had happened with Viktor. He still didn’t know exactly what had caused it, and he couldn’t afford to make him look like more of a liability, even to Caitlyn. 

“I… showed it to Viktor, and it seemed like he recognized it, but I don’t know from where,” he finished. That would have to be enough.

Vi paused as he mentioned Viktor, her lips pursing slightly as if she was deciding what to say. Eventually, she just opened her duffel and rummaged around inside.

“Well, I’ve got more work for you,” she said. She plopped a wax-treated paper evidence bag onto the counter. Jayce squinted at it, before looking up at her skeptically.

“Does this mean you’re back on the force?” he asked.

“Not officially.” She winked. 

“What is it?” He carefully opened the top of the bag. He recoiled with a sound of disgust the second its interior was revealed. Inside, there was a mess of purple gore, faintly glowing. The smell was completely bizarre. Vi smirked.

“It’s the perp,” she said. “At least, as much of it as I could scrape off the walls.”

Jayce gagged into his hand, frustration rising. He didn’t know why he was being roped into this. He didn’t know anything about perps or about glowing purple guts.

“Look,” he snapped. “If you want my help, you’re going to have to actually explain what’s going on.” Vi shifted on her feet, her amusement fading.

“People have been disappearing around Viktor’s old commune. The last anyone hears of them, they’ve heading over to pay their respects. We haven’t been able to find any bodies… until last night.” She gestured at the bag. “I pulled that off the corpse.”

“It looks like you more than pulled it.” A mystery related to Viktor’s commune. Maybe it did make sense for her to be talking to him, as much as he didn’t think he could handle another responsibility.

She rolled her eyes. “Look, you try preserving evidence when some pest is trying to stab you in the back.” She shrugged off her jacket, showing where she was bandaged–right above the shoulder blade. “I don’t know what it got me with, but there was a similar wound in the victim’s throat. They bled him out and then started eating the body.”

Actually, no, Jayce didn’t understand why Vi was talking to him about this. He grasped at his forehead. “Why did you bring this to me? I’m not a biologist. Even if I was, this is a mess.”

“Because Cait trusts you,” she said. Somehow, even though Jayce had hoped that was the case, it felt nice to have it reaffirmed. “And.. I don’t know who else to ask. Cait has the other sample and she’s trying, but…” She huffed out a breath. “It looks like Shimmer, and that’s where it's going to start and end with the Council.”

“... Is it Shimmer?” Jayce asked.

“I guess it could be. Maybe someone shot up some spiders with it, I don’t know. I thought after we…” She trailed off, frowning. “We thought most of the people working with Shimmer were shut down. But now someone’s got these little monsters killing people. Around the commune.”

She pointed out the commune again as if she was hoping it would stir Jayce’s investment in the situation, or perhaps his lingering guilt. He looked down at his hands.

“There’s still people there?” he asked. He’d heard in Council meetings that there were reports of murals and religious paraphernalia popping up in the undercity related to the Machine Herald. He hadn’t thought about the commune he left in chaos having people in it again.

“It’s getting bad,” Vi said. “People in the fissures still think he's their savior, even though he…” She grimaced again, trailing off. After a moment, she pushed herself up to sit on the work desk beside him. “What even happened to him, Jayce? One minute he was healing people, giving them his everything, and the next he was a threat to all mankind. Using them all like… puppets, or something.”

Jayce felt himself sinking.

“I happened to him,” he said, unable to look at her. 

In so many ways, Jayce had been the one to contaminate him. First, by showing him Hextech, then, by letting the Hexcore claim his body. Even after that, he had been the one that finally broke him, turning a healer into a tyrant. He’d thought he was doing the right thing at the time. Every single time, he’d thought it was right.

“What…?” Vi asked, with the fragile expression of someone waiting to receive information that would hurt them.

When pleading his case to the Council, warning them of the incoming invasion, Jayce had initially avoided speaking Viktor’s name. It was the Noxians leading the charge, he’d said. The evidence of the drone was enough to move them. He didn’t have to explain his journey into the future, or the things another Viktor had told him. Not in any depth. 

In the war room with Caitlyn and Vi, he’d gone into a bit more detail, but not much. In truth, he’d never told anyone the entirety of what he’d experienced. About the Hexcore, about the anomaly. It was too unthinkable. It was better to stay close to the ground with concepts that people would understand. It was easier not to express the way his and Viktor’s failures were so intimately entwined. 

But that just passed the blame onto Viktor, didn’t it? It left Jayce to be either his victim or the hero that had defeated him.

“I don’t know if this will make any sense, but… I promise you, it’s true. And I owe you a better explanation than I gave.”

He told her about their doomed future, and the time he’d spent there. He told her about the endless sea of drones, of the mechanized bodies that had huddled together in fear. He told her about the other Viktor that had stood at ground zero of the apocalypse. He told her about the moment he’d returned to the present, and had channeled all that fear and anger into the attack that ended the commune as they knew it. 

It was the most he’d ever said about it. Vi and him weren’t exactly close, so it felt strange telling her first. Maybe that was why he could get the words past his lips. He couldn’t imagine Vi laying awake at night out of worry for him.

“Fuck,” Vi said, when he was finished. She was staring bleakly into the distance.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“So, it was you, then,” she said, her steely eyes settling on him. “You’re what set Vander off.”

He nodded stiffly. He wasn’t going to fight her, whatever she was about to say. Vi looked upward, burying her face in her hands, dragging her fingers through her hair. She growled in bitter frustration. 

But the fire burned out quickly. Instead, she sank forward, curling her arms around one knee as the other dangled down beneath her. 

“And here I thought I had it bad with Jinx,” she said through clenched teeth, tears in her eyes. “At least she never tried to end the world.”

Jayce remembered being on the other side of this. Back when he’d met with Silco for a treaty, Jinx had been the one thing he demanded. She needed to be taken into custody and brought to justice. It wasn’t optional. The city needed it. 

It was before she’d even attacked the Council. It all seemed so small now. If he hadn’t made that demand, would things have turned out differently? Now that it was Viktor, all he could think about was rehabilitation. About how unfair it was that an ultimately good person had come to this.

Was he a hypocrite, or had he just changed?

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know… I just didn’t think. I don’t know if I was capable of it.”

Vi was silent for a while, stewing in her thoughts. He wasn’t going to rush her. He had no right to.

“What would you do?” she eventually asked. “If it was your choice. If you alone got to pick what was done with him.”

The question made Jayce sick, the answer hard to swallow like bile in his throat. He knew what the truth was. He didn’t want Viktor to die, and the idea of him being locked away in a cage to suffer drove him insane. What other options were there?

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I don’t think it can be my choice.”

Vi nodded, understanding. He felt a bit of relief at that. Maybe they had more in common than he’d thought. They were both doomed to love someone that fate had pushed further and further away from then. Someone whose very presence meant they could never be at peace.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” she sniffed, rubbing her eyes. “I think we’re both pretty bad at making decisions.”

He couldn’t deny her that.

Chapter 7

Notes:

A longer wait but also a longer chapter! I ended up having an apartment inspection I had to take care of, but I'm back on track. I'm generally shooting for at least two per week. Thanks again for the thoughtful comments, they are so inspiring to me.

A few days later, Jayce had the breakthrough he needed. The right combination of metals and runes had the arcane energy flowing out of the petricite as quickly as it was built up. It was the practical reality he needed to match with his theories, and the work to convert his existing blueprints was easy. It used the same principles that Hextech had: machinery operated by a magical power source. With the petricite harnessed, it was a field that he had a decade of experience in. 

It was happening, he realized. His now weeks of work were coming together into the device he’d promised Viktor all those nights ago. It was a way to contain an arcane god’s power, and it might actually work.

He should have felt accomplished. It should have been a relief. Instead, he only felt a sickening disquiet. 

He’d built Viktor’s cage, and now he would have to see it used.

He felt empty as he returned to the Council with a bundle of schematics and research in hand, like he’d carved out his own insides to create them. As the other Councilors passed them around, he explained in lifeless tones how it was all meant to work–the way that Vikor would be bled dry and that same essence would be repurposed to trap him. Most of them weren’t scientists, and could only take his word for it. Rhodri Ferros was the only one who seemed to understand at all.

He said that he would have his artificers look it over and recreate the components from scratch, in the name of understanding the process. Jayce couldn’t deny him. It would take the Council’s resources to build and was being done on behalf of the city. Past that point, it would no longer be his alone.

A couple sleepless nights later and House Ferros got back to him. They’d verified his research. In the name of keeping Viktor alive, Jayce had handed the Council a new form of the invention he’d sworn to destroy.

Construction would begin immediately.

 

---

 

Jayce was lost. 

There were parts of the construction that required his oversight, but the bulk of the heavy lifting at the moment was architectural adjustments. They were hollowing out a special place in Stillwater’s basement for the arcane cage to be built, and filling it with meter-deep discs of petricite. One above and one below. Once that was done, the fussier work of inlaying the energy channels would take place, and Jayce might be needed again.

In the meantime, he didn’t know what he was meant to do. He spent most of his time at home, reading or reviewing his blueprints for the hundredth time to make sure everything was sound. His mother was happy to have him around. She had joked, a bit jarringly, that it was almost like he’d vanished for a third time over the last week. 

He still felt gone on an emotional level, but he didn’t want to show her that. He did his best to interact, to be loving. She wanted her son back, and he wanted to be there. It was just so hard to find the way.

Early on, he thought about visiting Caitlyn properly. They’d talked, on and off, in between Council meetings and when passing each other in the government building. It wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t open either. They both had guises to put up. Weirdly, he’d been more upfront with Vi, and he wondered how much of that had gotten back to her.

So, he reached out. He asked if he could visit. She agreed. 

Approaching the Kiramman mansion made Jayce feel like he was back in his Academy days, nervously arriving at whatever event his generous sponsor had invited him to. The exterior gate, the inner courtyards, these were all things he’d passed so many times. What struck him now was how empty it was. When was the last time a party had been held within these walls? Would they ever be again?

It was Caitlyn herself that answered the door. It was the first time he’d seen her out of uniform since he returned. Instead of being dressed up for a tea party, she was dressed down for a day at home. Jayce didn’t mind at all. She smiled a little when she saw him, and it felt genuine. It was nice.

She led him through the echoing hallways of the mansion. There must have been servants around at least some of the time, as Jayce doubted Caitlyn or her father were performing the maintenance of such a big space themselves, but for now it felt empty. If it was filled with anything, it was ghosts.

They arrived at the inner sitting room, where Caitlyn had some tea and snacks waiting. Jayce was never as much of a tea person as Viktor had been, but he’d learned to appreciate it by necessity. Sitting down, he felt as if he had been brought over for a playdate with an almost-stranger, hoping to make small-talk and maybe become friends with some effort.

He wondered if Caitlyn felt the same–if she’d also been so irrevocably changed by the last few years that their easy bond earlier in life felt strange and distant. He was no longer the curious, aspiring inventor, and she was no longer the reluctant debutante who enjoyed his chaotic genius.

The tea was only mildly warm when it finally reached his cup. He wondered how far in advance she’d made it, how long she’d sat here in anticipation. The distance between them started feeling painful, like a less literal version of the aching soul-wound that Viktor had left in him. 

“How have you been?” he asked her, lamely. She saw it for the awkward question it was and shrugged a shoulder, faintly amused.

“Holding up well enough,” she said. “Considering.”

“Yeah,” he replied.

They were quiet for a bit longer. Jayce ate a cookie. That part was good, at least.

“How is he doing?” Caitlyn asked in turn. Jayce shivered.

As a first move on the conversational chessboard, it was a bold one, though Jayce realized he should have seen that coming. There were so many factors to consider. The nature of her interest, for instance; was she asking out of empathy for Viktor or as an extension of her job as the Sheriff? Did she mean physically or emotionally? Was she mostly interested in whether or not Viktor seemed like he might be about to cause problems?

Was it unfair to think that of her? Or was it simply realistic?

“He’s as eager to have construction finished as anyone. I don’t see him changing his mind on that anytime soon.”

It came out more defensively than he meant it to. It was exhausting having to defend Viktor’s intentions when Jayce spent day after day being bludgeoned with his partner’s masochistic desperation for punishment. 

Caitlyn made an impatient sound beneath her breath. 

“I knew him too, Jayce,” she said, her brow furrowing with concern. “Maybe not as well as you, but… he was your best friend.” Jayce felt his eyebrows raise in surprise. “I don’t… fully understand what went on between the two of you, but…”

She trailed off. Jayce lowered his gaze.

“Did Vi tell you?”

“...Some things,” she admitted. “During the invasion… I could never figure out what had happened to change him so drastically, to have him do something so extreme. Ambessa was the embodiment of everything he stood against, and yet…”

The defensiveness he’d been feeling a moment before evaporated.

“I didn’t understand it at first, either,” Jayce said carefully, attempting to crack open an entrance in the walls he’d been putting up. “I never would have believed he was capable of it, if I hadn’t seen the aftermath first hand. I think… the Hexcore changed the way he thought. But it was more than that, too.”

Jayce could never fully know what it felt like to be Viktor–to have a power like the Arcane become a part of him so intimately. It could change anyone, he thought, to have their dearest fantasies become actual possibilities. Especially someone like Viktor, who had always seemed to feel morally obligated to squeeze whatever traces of goodness he could into the world.

“He… lost his faith,” he went on. Subconsciously, he’d lifted his hand to his chest, feeling for the space where Viktor should be. “In other people, in their ability to make things work. I’m partially responsible, I know that now. I let him down so many times. But it didn’t end there. When I faced him at the Hexgates, we… I finally saw the world like he did.”

He hadn’t known what to expect when he surrendered himself to Viktor, but to even witness it was to be changed forever. He wondered how Viktor saw the world now, down in his Stillwater cell.

“It was… incredible. Everyone he touched with his power, he could feel… their pain, their desires… it was all a giant puzzle that he could see would never fit together. He thought the only way was to make it… simpler."

“By taking over our minds,” Caitlyn supplied. She raised an eyebrow, but he could see the sympathy in her expression. Jayce nearly chuckled. It was the fundamental flaw in Viktor’s plan–what was the point of being alive if there were no more choices to be made?

“Yeah. But when he saw what life like that would look like… he realized he’d been wrong. That it wasn’t really living without those… contradictions. So, we put an end to it.” He shook his head to himself, taken back to that moment. It had been intended as a final act of closure. “We were both sure we were going to die, but we didn’t. We went… somewhere else.”

Caitlyn had been listening intently. He could see it in her facial expression as she processed each piece of information, tacking it up for later like one of her conspiracy boards. This, though, broke through her pattern. It was information Jayce hadn’t dared speak of before.

“I don’t know how to describe it,” he said. So many of his memories of that time had already been lost. A year from now, would it be like it had never happened? “It was like… a different kind of reality completely. A different way of thinking, of being. All I can remember is that we were there together, and… we were happy.”

Caitlyn’s face fell to match his clenching heart.

“Now that we’re back… everything just feels wrong. It’s not because he’s controlling me, or because it's part of some scheme, I just… I love him. And I miss him so much.”

He could see Caitlyn’s blue eye grow glassy before she managed to compose herself. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. She’d always been empathetic, even if she tried to hide it these days. She gathered herself, thinking of what to say. 

“It’s not so difficult to imagine,” she said. She was holding her tea on her lap but never moved to drink it. “Looking down on the world and feeling like it’s just… broken beyond repair. The more I’ve learned, the harder it’s gotten. I thought that becoming Sheriff would give me the chance to change things, to make up for my mistakes, but…”

Jayce could already relate to where this was going. The moment he’d become a Councilor was the moment the world had stopped making any sense to him at all.

“There’s no way to take back decades of oppression,” she said. “Even before I got involved. When I met Vi, I thought I finally understood. She showed me the undercity, and all I could think about was how to make things right. I thought I could do it. But… I failed, and now I’m a part of it. I’m a part of everything they hate.”

He nodded, taking in her quiet confession. The gates were opening between them, at long last. It felt risky, but still soothing in a way he desperately needed.

“I tried to fix the undercity once and it went so badly I gave up on the spot,” he said. “I don’t blame you for being exhausted.” There was an element of dark humor to sharing such intimate failures. But he couldn’t smile, not while remembering the face of the boy he’d killed. It was a symbol of how nothing was ever simple.

“They’re demanding his release, you know,” Caitlyn said, her gaze lifting to meet him. “His followers in the undercity. They think he was taken against his will. I’m not even certain how we could have.”

“Why do they think Piltover would even listen?” Jayce asked. Handing Viktor back to Zaun would be a disastrous political play for the Council, all morals aside. He was a far more potent threat than the Hextech gems had ever been. They were just lucky that Viktor had done them the favour of imprisoning himself.

“I don’t think it’s about Piltover,” she said, brow furrowed in thought. “I think it’s about making an impression on Viktor himself. A show of their faithfulness, maybe… to encourage his action.”

Jayce found himself caught in a tangled idea–would that work? It seemed impossible with how resolute Viktor had been in his penance. But if he knew that his fellow Zaunites were pleading for his aid…

It was an extremely dangerous line of thought. He hadn’t told Viktor anything about the situation in the undercity or the erasure of his legacy in Piltover, because he could only see it as causing him more harm. It felt like trying to draw Viktor into the battle between cities would be like infecting him with the Hexcore all over again–selfishly propelling him towards actions he would come to regret so thoroughly that he would give up on life.

Viktor fighting for the undercity would be war, plain and simple. It would be cruel to even suggest it. In turn, the idea of something that could inspire Viktor to try, even a little, was intoxicating.

Jayce tried to shake it off. It wasn’t a thought for Caitlyn to hear.

“I don’t think he can be moved by that,” he said instead, grimly. “He doesn’t even care about what I want.”

Caitlyn nodded, and it seemed like her early fear that Viktor would be the one to cause problems had abated. 

“We caught some of them attempting to stage an actual break-in against Stillwater,” she said. “It was madness from the start, but when the Enforcers arrived on the scene they refused to relent. I… I had to have them arrested. They didn’t give me a choice. But now I wonder… if it was because they wanted to be put in Stillwater all along. To be closer to him.”

Despite everything, it was still hard for Jayce to imagine the commune when it thrived under Viktor’s guidance. The one time he’d seen it in its completed form, his mind had been savaged by the hellscape of its potential future, each one of its members appearing to him as nothing more than faceless drones. Viktor had always been socially reclusive, outside of work. It was hard to imagine him being the pillar of a community and the target of such fervent adoration.

At the time, Jayce had blamed it on the effect he’d had on his followers' minds. Now, he wasn’t as sure. 

“Do you think they’ll try something?” he asked. How would Viktor react to that? Not well, he imagined.

“I don’t know how they would.” She tapped her fingers against the side of her teacup.

“I guess you’re right. I'm barely allowed to be down there, and I’m supposed to be a Councilor.”

She gave him a small smile, though her mind was clearly on something else. She leaned forward, setting her tea back on the table, mostly untouched.

“That’s what faith is, isn’t it? To do something without proof of material reward.” She swallowed thickly, tension building in her throat. “They need something to believe in, and they certainly can’t believe in me… not after what I did to them. Not with what I represent.”

Jayce started to react, hoping to comfort her, but she barrelled onward before he could.

“I’ve thought about… stepping down.” Her voice wavered with repressed tears. “Hoping that someone else could give them a reason to trust us. But I don’t think I believe in that anymore, either.”

“Cait…” Jayce got up from his seat, crossing around the table so that they were sitting on the same couch. When she didn’t object, he pulled her into a hug. The gesture coaxed a tiny hiccup of a sob out of her.

“Sorry,” she said, wiping her eye. “Sorry. It’s been a tough few weeks.”

“Tell me about it,” he sighed, letting her go. “But… I’m here. We’re both still here. We’ll figure out something eventually.”

She smiled sadly, her tears already vanishing as she wiped them away. 

“It’s good to see you again,” she said, and something finally felt right.

 

---

 

A couple nights later and Jayce couldn’t take it anymore. He’d only seen Viktor once since their terrifying encounter, and it had been a perfunctory visit to his cell for the purpose of refilling some petricite samples. Viktor gave no indication that he remembered what had happened. Jayce didn’t dare ask. 

In between, Jayce spent his nights alone in sickening states of sleeplessness. 

At first, the fear had overridden yearning. He’d felt Viktor’s absence with every step he took, but as he searched for a breakthrough and ran from shadows he thought he could ignore it. High on adrenaline, the pain subsided. It had hurt so keenly on that first day they returned, but surely it would numb over time, like a wound scabbed over and eventually healed.

Instead, it was like an infection. The longer he went without treating it, the deeper his illness grew. Now that the race was over and his mind was left to wander, he realized how much it had begun to fester. He felt the way his glimpse into the dark had made it impossible for him to take in the cure he needed, eating away at his insides like it did the hollowed out corpse of Viktor he’d seen in his nightmares.

He had to find Viktor again–the one he could touch. It was no longer optional.

He was awake in bed, as usual, but he had taken the sleep aids. The darkness gnashed its fangs around him, but it barely mattered. It no longer compared to the sickness that was inside of him. He could dissolve into it, become part of the black. Maybe, somewhere, Viktor was lost in the dark, too.

He thought of Viktor, though the face he saw kept changing. Young like when they’d met, alight with cosmic beauty, forged in unknowable curves of unfeeling metal, ragged with illness, framed by the Hexcore’s corruption, dying and stained with blood and dust.

Please, come to me.

Once more he felt the barren riverbed at his feet, grown steep with erosion. He walked. The dead of night shifted towards twilight. He found Viktor there, in the blues and grays of an absent sun.

He was curled in that quiet abyss, though not wracked with jagged sobs like he had been after their return. Instead, he stared into the distance, his eyes glazed over lifelessly like there was nothing for him to see and never would be again. His colours shifted like the movement of waves filtering down from a surface that was too far away to reach.

“Viktor!” Jayce called, a pang of euphoria ringing through him. He pushed to get closer, and it felt like fighting a current, flowing outward. Viktor was slow to react, the first sign of his attention being nothing but a subtle shift in the focus on his eyes. A hazy sort of wonder passed over his face, like he was observing something so strange that it probably wasn’t actually real.

Jayce grunted in annoyance, impatient with how difficult the distance was proving to cross. In the meantime, he kept talking. “Viktor, are you really there?”

He was dreading the moment where the darkness from before might snatch him away, reducing him to nothing but a lifeless puppet. Slowly, though, understanding came to Viktor’s weary eyes.

“You came back,” he said, like he didn’t know what to think of it. He uncurled from himself just slightly, raising his head to get a better look. It was like he hadn’t expected to ever see Jayce again.

Relief and regret came in equal measure. It was the real Viktor, but he had been suffering here alone for what must have felt like ages. 

It was something Jayce hadn’t been able to work out. When he met Viktor in person, he was composed–practical to an almost irritating degree. That new, inhuman body was a stone that could not be made to bleed. This Viktor, though… he seemed like he might break apart at a touch.

That was the only reason he didn’t throw himself at Viktor’s spirit without reservation. He wanted it more than anything, but what if he shattered in Jayce’s arms?

“I’m sorry,” Jayce said, and finally Viktor was within reach. He extended his fingers, so desperate to touch, but not before this was settled. Viktor watched his approach with guileless disbelief. “I… I couldn’t find you. I never meant for it to take so long.”

“Please,” Viktor begged. Jayce was utterly helpless to deny him. He caressed his hand against Viktor’s neck, thumb running along his cheek. The reaction between them was immediate. Amid a long, cold night, warmth surged in.

Viktor released a shuddering breath, tears forming in his eyes. He pressed his hand to the back of Jayce’s, as if desperate to keep it in place. He was trembling. 

Jayce could feel it, too. It was a cessation of pain that had grown so intense the absence of it was like ecstasy. Any restraint he’d held onto vanished. One hand slid from Viktor’s face, curling around the back of his head and into his hair. Another coiled around Viktor’s waist, pulling him in until their spirits entwined.

Viktor was still shaking, even as his fingers roamed up Jayce’s back. Something about it made Jayce furious.

“You’re so full of shit,” he rasped into Viktor’s ear through his own biting tears. “How dare you tell me to leave if this is what it’s doing to you.”

Viktor shook his head wordlessly. Whether in disagreement or regret, Jayce didn’t know. He just held him more tightly, already afraid of what might happen if he somehow lost touch with Viktor for good. 

Jayce wanted to be angry, but it was a long while before he could bear to push Viktor away even an inch. Eventually, though, there seemed to be space for words.

“Why won’t you come to me?” Jayce asked. There was a sense of betrayal there–that he was the one always chasing Viktor across the horizon. Why did the current flow away from Viktor instead of towards? Was it really all because he thought he could force Jayce to cut him from his life? “You’re not the only one this hurts.”

“I don’t think I can,” Viktor said. He sounded confused, like even he didn’t quite know what he meant. It was enough for Jayce to put distance between them, so that he could properly examine Viktor’s face. He pushed back his hair of glimmering twilight, searching his eyes for answers.

“You can’t? What’s stopping you?”

“I exist here in a place between thought and action,” Viktor slowly reasoned. “I can feel, but not speak. There is a distance to the surface I cannot reach. But somehow… you found me here, regardless.”

Was he… stuck? If so, what was keeping him there?

“I don’t understand.”

Now it was Viktor’s turn to take Jayce’s face in his hands, looking him over with aching fondness.

“My transformation was not only physical,” he said. “There is a complexity in knowing so much. To act on it all at once would be… disastrous. And so, I have become more than myself. A part of the grand machine, unseen but necessary.”

Jayce didn’t know how Viktor thought that sounded, but it wasn’t exactly comforting. It was frightening, more than anything, to think that even mentally Viktor could become unrecognizable–that he still thought of himself as a machine.

“Well, can you make yourself seen?” he asked. “Whenever I talk to you out there, you give me nothing.”

Viktor frowned, his gaze becoming distant with thought. With it, there was a quiver of nostalgic regret. 

“Perhaps,” he said carefully. “If circumstances allowed.”

Jayce was about to question what exactly those circumstances needed to be, when something in Viktor’s expression shifted. His hands grew tight around Jayce’s jaw, his thumbs pushing aside his bangs to see him more clearly. His golden eyes sharpened with deadly intensity, as if witnessing his anathema.

“What is this?” he demanded, staring into Jayce’s eyes. “No… No!”

Viktor fell back, clutching his head, his breath hitching with pain. The colours of his body surged to red, then purple with shifting streaks of black. Jayce’s heart twisted so violently he thought he might die right then and there.

“Viktor! What’s happening?” Jayce surged forward, desperate to help, but Viktor was forever just out of reach. “Please, let me help!”

With a shuddering gasp, Viktor tore his hands away from his head. The violent emotion faded from his body, his arms falling slack. He opened his eyes. They had gone dark once more. 

“The sickness must be cured,” he said, his lifeless voice an echo from somewhere far away. “Now, Jayce.” He lifted his hand. Now it was Jayce’s turn to pull away. He jolted back, staring at Viktor’s reaching fingers as if they might burn him.

“Viktor–stop, please!” It was the exact thing he had been trying to avoid. Except, this time, he didn’t know how to escape. “I don’t want you to. I don’t want you in my head!”

Viktor froze, his expression blank, processing what he’d just heard. After several agonizing moments, his hand dropped, his body going limp again. The colours of his form shifted from deep purples through to aquatic blues and vibrant reds, dotted with gilded stars. When he woke again, he was panting with effort.

His eyes were bright with golden light, like the glow behind the Machine Herald’s mask.

“Jayce, please, listen to me,” he urged. “You must allow me to fix this. I can see it rotting within you, and I am running out of time to act.”

“Why does that keep happening to you?” Jayce demanded. Viktor was clearly pressed for time, and Jayce was recklessly determined to use it as a way to force his hand. “Where… Where your eyes go dark and you… stop sounding like yourself.”

Gingerly, Viktor moved towards him, like he was the one now soothing the frightened animal.

“It is but another part of the machine,” he said. “One I have tried to remain distant from. But if you’ll not have it that way, I will take this into my own hands. Your infection must be cured before it destroys you.”

Jayce remembered each brutal night of clawing shadows, the way he drowned in the darkness every time he tried to rest. There was something sick inside of him, he knew it. Yet, he was still afraid. There was more than one reason he'd been so reluctant to let Viktor in.

“How do I know that’s the only thing you’ll erase?” he stammered, the words painful on his lips. It was a fear that could no longer be contained. “How do I know you won’t go in there and erase yourself, too?”

Viktor was taken back, a look of grief overtaking him. His bright eyes shone with tears.

“I would not alter you in such a way… never against your will,” he said, his own voice wavering with the need to be understood. “Please, Jayce. If you were ever to trust me again, let it be now.”

Jayce’s resolve faltered. He couldn’t keep fighting this. Eventually, either Viktor or the infection would catch up with him.

“Fine,” he said, defeated. “Do what you need to do.”

“Thank you, Jayce,” Viktor said, his profound relief softening the lines in his face. He glided towards him effortlessly, reaching out with both hands. Only with Jayce’s acceptance, he placed his fingers at the sides of his head, and began to work his magic. 

At first, it almost felt the way it had at the top of the Hexgates–Viktor filled him like light flooding through a glass vessel. It was gentler now, though, as if he was afraid he might break something on the way through. Jayce sensed his memories of how the infection had felt when it festered begin to drift away, evaporating like water in the sun. It was strange, to remember forgetting something.

As Viktor finished his work, Jayce was only left with a faint impression of what had happened. He’d caught something like a virus, something dark, and Viktor had cured it. With some surprise, he realized he still had a foggy impression of his previous meeting with the dark eyed Viktor. He remembered the words but not the sensations.

A darkness beyond the stars, he’d said. Only now, Jayce could think about that without feeling wretched with fear.

“As a show of good faith, I have left all that I dare,” Viktor said, releasing Jayce from his hold. He offered a small, sad smile. “Do not think too deeply on it, or I will be forced to visit you again.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Jayce asked, still adjusting to the reordering of his thoughts. Regardless of any previous doubts, he felt better than he had for weeks. Viktor had been the cure to both of his illnesses, that night.

“A promise,” Viktor said wistfully. Jayce began to reach out to him, to say his name, but Viktor cut him off.  “But now I must leave you. I have my own precautions to take.” The physical distance between them seemed to expand without cause, Viktor fading himself into a fresh backdrop of nebulae. Jayce’s heart skipped a beat.

“Wait—” Jayce said, reaching for him. “What is this? Why… Why does this keep happening?”

Viktor swept back towards him, ghostlike as he dissolved into the stars, touching a single finger to Jayce’s lips. He hushed him.

“That would defeat the purpose in forgetting, would it not?” 

He was gone soon after. Jayce woke the next morning, feeling rested for the first time since his return.

Chapter 8

The night before construction would be complete, Jayce dreamt he was with Viktor, but without the comfort of his embrace. Instead, he found they were standing before a great, unknowable mechanism, with moving parts that expanded too far into the distance to be seen and infinite interlocking cogs twitching within. The Machine Herald’s back was pressed against it, resting within a cavity built to exactly his size. Jayce stood at his side, bolting his hands into its surface with a rotary drill.

Viktor watched Jayce as he worked through his expressionless mask, a wound still torn down the right side of his face. With every twist of the bolt, Jayce wondered if the process hurt. It had to, he reasoned. He could see black oil leaking from where each fastening passed through, seeping down Viktor’s inhuman body like blood.

And yet, Jayce didn’t stop. He continued to lock each part of Viktor’s body into place, first through the palm, the wrist, the elbow, the shoulder. Then, at the ankle, the knee, the thigh, the hip. The bolts were long, the holes deep. Somehow, Viktor never raised his voice to object. 

It wasn’t until Jayce reached the torso, a large bolt thrust into the belly and through his spine, that Viktor softly moaned in pain. Yet, there was nowhere he could go, his limbs were already trapped within the machine, and Jayce couldn’t stop himself. He kept drilling as if by rote, as if he was a part of the machine too. Two arms of the same whole, forever causing each other’s suffering.

Diaphragm, sternum, heart.

Viktor was trembling as the bolts pierced his chest. Jayce hadn’t even thought that the Machine Herald’s body could tremble, so perfectly built of gilded bones and sinuous metal. Despite Viktor’s intensifying distress, Jayce’s hands kept moving. He reached up to Viktor’s unmoving face, running his fingers along its cold, sharp edges.

Viktor stared back at him, and Jayce could sense his understanding, his consent. Jayce pressed one final bolt through the open wound where his eye had been.

Viktor screamed.

 

---

 

Jayce woke from the dream with a start, his bed sheets drenched with sweat. The sun was still just below the horizon. Shivering, he stripped off any remaining fabric and stumbled to the bathroom, counting on the idea that his mother would still be asleep.

Today was the day that Viktor’s cage would be finished. Soon, all it would need was its prisoner.

There would be further adjustments made, Jayce was sure. As he sat beneath the steaming torrent of shower water, he went over them in his head. There was no way to test the system without Viktor, after all. There were no other mages available, and even if there were and they were insane enough to volunteer, they were unlikely to hold a candle to what Viktor could accomplish. 

The flow of arcane energy was sufficient in theory, but it assumed a stable input. He already knew Viktor’s stance on the situation, but if he were ever to exercise his full power, Jayce couldn’t say for sure if the system would keep up. They’d have to see what would happen when everything was in place.

Jayce wondered if that was a bug he even wanted to fix. In truth, he was losing his nerve. The nightmare he’d just had was proof enough of that.

If everything went according to plan, it would be the point of no return. There had been comfort, up till this point, in knowing that the only thing keeping Viktor in Stillwater was Viktor. The moment he became an actual prisoner, the chance for him to be anything else could be gone forever.

He’d spoken to Viktor about it, in bits and pieces, over their midnight meetings. The closer it got to the project's completion, the more desperate Jayce found himself for another way. Things had been better since Viktor cured him of that dark infection, but Viktor’s will on the matter of his future had remained consistent. 

Viktor’s disposition was gradually calming, but he was as afraid of himself as he’d ever been. He saw himself as a sickness and a plague–one that needed to be eliminated from the environment as much as that creeping darkness did. It was just that now instead of expressing that in panicked sobs, he did it in obtuse ramblings about the corrupt nature of his spirit.

Jayce was as tired of hearing it as he’d ever been. Some part of him wished he could talk to Viktor’s physical form about these things too, but it was perhaps foolhardy to assume the outcome would be any different. It was also just impossible to negotiate Viktor’s freedom with Wardens watching their every move. Instead, those conversations were dry exchanges about runic theory and the absurd yet increasingly mundane practice of trying on restraints. 

With the deadline so near, and his own misgivings growing, Jayce had even started dropping hints about Viktor’s followers and how desperate they were for his help and attention. It had been every bit the mistake he’d anticipated it might be.

Hearing about the new generation of disciples had terrified Viktor more brutally than anything before it. In that space between souls, he’d practically come apart, turning on the idea with vicious disgust.

“Another crusade to lend my knowledge to… my will . No. No!” he’d shouted. His spirit form had blazed with rapidly shifting light, every part of him revolting against the idea of ever standing for something again. “It will drive me to madness, Jayce. You will drive me to madness!”

Obviously, Jayce hadn’t persisted. It had been the best he could do to draw Viktor’s attention to something that was less likely to break his mind. He’d eventually coaxed Viktor back to stability, but the answer was clear.

That had been the end of that final, lingering hope. Now, Jayce sat curled in his shower, counting down the minutes until the doors closed and locked behind them.

 

---

 

Every time Jayce visited Viktor in his cell, it had always been the same. Viktor sat, perfectly posed, with his legs folded and his hands resting on his knees, unmoved from the last time they’d spoken. Jayce compulsively imagined the rust building between his joints over the passing off time, staining his flawless form with red. How many years would it take? Decades? Centuries?

Or would this form never decay at all, leaving Viktor lost to the passing of civilizations? Would the walls of this prison crumble first?

Jayce shook away the thought. There was nothing he could do now. Not with the entourage of Enforcers at his back. This time, things were about to change–even if he couldn’t help but fear it was for the worse.

The gleam of Viktor’s metallic surfaces were the only movement in the cell as Jayce crossed the distance from the stairs. When he arrived, Viktor’s gaze lifted to meet him, waiting patiently.

“It’s ready,” Jayce said. Viktor didn’t have to ask for clarification. Instead, he stood in one graceful movement, his actions still liquid and ethereal despite the weeks he’d spent immobile. Behind Jayce, the Enforcers startled.

“Very well,” Viktor said. Fully standing, his crown nearly scraped the ceiling, partially obscured by the arch of the cell door. It took an impatient gesture from Jayce for one one of the Wardens to get close enough to unlock the gate. As it slid open, Viktor was forced to bend forward so that he could exit. 

An array of rifles rose to meet him. Jayce fought to avoid rolling his eyes. Those would accomplish nothing, unless they were planning on holding Jayce himself hostage with them. Flinching, he tried not to think too deeply about how that scenario would unfold. How quickly they could be decimated if only Viktor wished it.

Today, Stillwater would witness the Machine Herald’s final procession through its halls. It was a journey he was not meant to return from. When there was no trial for his imprisonment, there was no expectation of his release.

Seemingly, the others had gotten over fears of Jayce being infected when he became the artificer’s go-to guy for interacting with the Herald. He’d done it so that none of them had to take the risk. They had to appreciate that much, even when he caught their eyes lingering on his circlet of shimmering fingerprints. Jayce may have been a Councilor on paper, but in practice he was Viktor’s full time handler, taking care of the interactions that no one else would.

It would be the same thing now. Who would apply Viktor’s shackles but Jayce himself?

Viktor’s new cage was in a separate section of Stillwater’s basement, one that had the space needed for such a complex operation. It was a very long elevator ride and multiple locked doors away from the surface. It had been a daily ordeal to get materials and equipment down there for construction work, but the time for heavy machinery was over. Now it was just a sombre walk at Viktor’s side, with several Enforcers buzzing around them in a state of distress.

Amid that flurry of activity, Jayce felt himself reach for Viktor’s hand, their fingers brushing together as they moved. They never quite grasped, though for a moment Jayce’s fingers hooked around Viktor’s palm, and the sentiment was clear. Viktor looked down at him silently, utterly unreadable.

Maybe Viktor wasn’t scared at all. Maybe that touch was entirely for Jayce. 

As the final threshold was pulled open for them to pass, the arcane cage came into view. The prison was formed of a petricite dias, fifteen feet across and over a yard deep, with an identical plate of the same material installed into the ceiling ten feet up. Each circle of petricite was marked and penetrated with elaborate lines of conductive metal, which tangled like roots towards the set of three pillars holding them apart. At the center of the bottom dias waited five heavy shackles, expertly crafted in gold and white, with thick chains connecting them to the surface below.

Though a lot of adjustments had gone into the runes that allowed it all to run smoothly, it was simple in premise. Magic would be drawn into the petricite from Viktor’s body, which would then be channeled through the chains and distributed into the heavier petricite floor, which could then be balanced into the petricite above if it was at risk of overloading. The arcane energy would be continually repurposed and spent into runes strengthening the physical makeup of the prison itself and erecting a powerful containment barrier around it.

In theory, the more magic Viktor exerted into it, the stronger his own bonds would become and the more they would take from him. It would work in a relentless cycle, a parasitic cage feeding off of the boundless life of its victim. With great misery, Jayce could imagine Viktor and his fetters in that endless loop, entangled indefinitely, outliving his prison’s creators and even Piltover itself.

It was a clever trap–so clever that Jayce felt disgusted with himself for designing it. As Viktor was led to the dias, it was all Jayce could manage not to scream, to beg Viktor to change his mind.

Viktor stepped gingerly onto the platform. Jayce was the only one who joined him there. Around them, Jayce noticed the soft flicker of runes, sensing the charge that had come from Viktor’s feet making contact. He remembered the way that the glassy floors of the Hexgates had shattered beneath the Machine Herald’s steps.

He met Viktor’s gaze as they stood before his chains. He could feel their chances slipping away.

Please. Run. 

Viktor made no move to. Instead, he waited expectantly. All around them, Enforcers and artificers waited with similar urgency. It was time, their stares told him. It was time for his work to come to fruition. So many sleepless nights of planning and labour, all for this absolute curse of a prize.

Please. Go anywhere else. Sit in penance for a thousand years, if you have to, just as long as it's not in a cage I built.

Viktor didn’t hear him. He wouldn’t listen. With shaking hands, Jayce reached down to pick up the first shackle. 

It was heavy, built to cover enough of the wrist and forearm that it was more of a gauntlet than a cuff. It slid over Viktor’s limb like custom-built armor. Already, its lights glimmered with magic, more than enough to activate its locking mechanism. Similar to the way Jayce had built the Mercury Hammer, the plates of metal and petricite were able to shift themselves into their new configuration, trapping Viktor inside.

As they did, Jayce caught a twitch in the movement of Viktor’s eye. His heart pounded, leaving him lightheaded.

“Does that hurt?” he asked, as if it wasn’t already too late, as if anyone else watching would care. If it did hurt, Jayce felt like he would have to be dragged, kicking and screaming, from the room.

“It’s simply unusual,” Viktor said. Behind him, the hexclaw twisted and flexed. Jayce’s guts felt the exact same way, as if the claw were turning itself around inside them.

The next shackle went into place. Then another on the left ankle, and the right. The restraints were heavier and the chains shorter than he’d wanted. Concessions had been made during the process for engineering reasons, when Jayce had found himself with no functional arguments for stalling production for minor differences in the prisoner’s comfort. It wasn’t a priority for the Council, or anyone else. Not when they were staring down the barrel of a Machine Herald apocalypse.

He found himself touching Viktor’s new form more during this process than he had for all the weeks leading up to it. His muscles were smooth like metal, but still somehow pliant. Cold, yet alive. He let those points of contact linger longer than they needed to, soaking in the sensations. Viktor didn’t pull away or object, though he watched Jayce perform every gesture with a quiet intensity.

As Jayce moved to place the last shackle around the base of the hexclaw, he could have sworn he felt Viktor shiver. A moment later and it was gone, leaving Jayce to wonder if he’d imagined it. He lifted his other hand to Viktor’s face, touching the shattered wound that still marred it. His own breath hitched as Viktor studied him back with that melancholy, empty eye.

If anyone watching wanted to condemn him for it, they could go fuck themselves. He’d done everything they wanted. He’d built this machine and let them slot his partner into it. If he couldn’t have at least something of Viktor, then what was the point?

He finished shackling the hexclaw, the five points of restraint all in place, the roots of their chains arranged in a pentagon around them. Viktor’s bleeding magic was being steadily fed into the system, the charge building, lines of runic commands activating one by one. 

Jayce was pained to part with him again, but he didn’t have a choice. He exited the dias so that the barrier could be tested.

Him and the other artificers activated the controls built into the three pillars, rerouting power towards the ring of protection laid into the stone and metal. An iridescent blue field erected itself between each pillar, enclosing Viktor fully. It was fitting somehow: a cage as beautiful and strange, as gilded and divine, as the creature within it.

Viktor slowly sank to his knees, saying nothing as the artificers battered Jayce with questions. Jayce could barely stand to turn his gaze away from him. He stayed for as long as he was allowed.

 

---

 

Days passed and the cage held. Piltover breathed a sigh of relief. Despite everything, it seemed like Viktor did too.

It was like there had been a pressure building within his body while he was sitting in his self-imposed captivity, a muscle held tight from the moment he arrived in Stillwater. Tension, like if he were ever to relax he might lose himself to divine madness on the spot. Now, restrained within a prison fit for a god, there was space to let go.

Jayce noticed those subtle changes as he sketched in his journal, trying to capture Viktor’s new face in pencil. Over time, the scheduling of work on the arcane cage was becoming slack, and fewer questions were raised when Jayce inevitably lingered far after any necessary tasks were completed. He’d stay into the evening under the premise of watching the containment system for hiccups, and even the Wardens were growing less inclined to stifle his efforts. He was becoming a regular fixture, a guard with only one charge.

It wasn’t like he could free Viktor anymore, even if it was begged of him. The system built to contain the Machine Herald would not bend under traditional weaponry, and could only be deactivated with the use of multiple keys, that Jayce only had one of. He had a limited ability to bypass the external barrier, but that was it. There was no risk to him being there because the shackles were as impervious to him as they were to Viktor. Not without the kind of heavy-duty equipment that would never pass a security check.

Maybe that was the real reward. He’d done all that was asked of him, through all that pain and turmoil. He’d once again lost control of his own creation, as he was fated to do. There was peace in having nothing left to struggle for. Peace in it already being too late.

He started on a new drawing, slumped in a chair he’d set up near Viktor’s dias. Ironically, this face was easier for Jayce to draw than his old one. Schematics and blueprints were his area of expertise, and the smooth, inorganic curves of the faceless mask could sit alongside many of the devices he’d designed over the years. 

The real puzzle was the eye.

Jayce had started imagining microexpressions in Viktor’s visage, most of which he wasn’t certain were even real. In truth, the only variation was the way his pupil moved within its entirely static socket. He started categorizing those shifts into meanings that made sense to him, regardless of whether or not Viktor made his intentions clear.

Staring into the distance, unfocused, meant that he was distant or distracted. Sometimes it meant he was sad, but Jayce already sensed an undercurrent of that at all times. It was an unfortunately common state of being. Jayce hadn’t had the opportunity to to realize it before, with their in-person meetings being so short, but now he could see how often Viktor would disappear into his own head, staring into nothing. Inactivity was his default state.

In contrast, the slow tracking of Jayce’s movements felt like interest, or even fondness. He liked to imagine that was the case, anyway. Viktor would sometimes watch what he did with a leisurely sort of fascination, living in a comfortable silence rather than withdrawing to forced solitude. 

Then, there was the fast twitching of his pupil from one subject to another, which Jayce had come to interpret as fear, urgency, or sometimes annoyance. It was almost pleasant to annoy Viktor, an old skill learned over the years that he apparently still possessed in spades. It was so close to being familiar.

Today, Jayce was receiving the second option. Viktor was watching him quietly as he sketched. While years ago they could have passed time rambling about various topics of interest, now Viktor seemed more comfortable observing. Jayce tried to be patient as he planted conversational seeds and dreamed of the day they’d grow.

The other artificers had left Stillwater a while ago. There were Wardens posted nearby, but not close enough to hear quiet conversation. The room was big, but also small enough for Jayce to see that no one was watching. It allowed a sense of intimacy that they’d been missing for so long.

“What does it feel like?” Jayce asked.

Viktor tilted his head. That one was obvious. He was curious, implying a question. Jayce was sure that Viktor did it intentionally, to silently draw out answers like he would have with his eyebrows once upon a time. 

“Your body,” he clarified. After all this time, there had never been an opportune moment to ask. So much of what he’d learned about Viktor’s new state of being had been through the spiritual version he’d met in dreams. He knew enough now to realize that those aspects of himself didn’t always align.

In some ways he was determined to just ask questions, tasteful or otherwise, in the hope of learning anything at all about how Viktor felt in this new life. That didn’t stop him from starting to have his regrets when Viktor took his time responding, wondering if it was too offensive of a place to start.

Viktor surprised him, though, by chuckling. It was an odd sound to hear through that metallic resonance.

“For the first time it allowed me to live without pain,” he said. “That was the Hexcore’s gift to me. A boon that would have been impossible to resist, had it not…” He left the thought unfinished, clenching a shackled fist. 

Jayce already knew what he meant. He hadn’t realized it until it was too late, but the Hexcore had taken its price in blood, and that was enough to send Viktor to the edge of taking his own life. If Jayce hadn’t made the decision for him, neither of them would be here now.

“And yet…” Viktor continued. “Long I have felt like the pilot of a machine. A ghost that watches but cannot feel life, who lives through unfamiliar vessels. For a time, this seemed preferable to the alternatives. But, there is no home for me here, in this form. This body is a vehicle, a tool. It does only as I tell it to do, no more no less.”

Jayce was a bit taken back by how honest the answer had been. He had come to associate this form of Viktor with caginess and disinterest, but was that accurate? Or was he writing off Viktor the same way Viktor was dismissing himself?

“But… You haven’t really let yourself feel, have you?” he asked, inspiring another tilt in the mask. Curiosity. Good. “This entire time… you've been busy holding yourself down, afraid you'll make a mistake. Can't you take this opportunity to try something different?”

If there was any noble purpose to this endeavor at all, it had been to allow Viktor a space where he would no longer fear his own power. Shouldn't he take advantage of that? 

“What would you suggest?” 

Jayce held back on saying the first thing that came to his mind. He’d immediately imagined gathering Viktor’s towering form into his arms, warming it with his body heat. He wanted to explore the physical reality that was so different from Viktor’s soul.

What he actually ended up suggesting seemed underwhelming in comparison.

“You could try reading again. Or… art.” He could already imagine the amusement in Viktor’s eye at what a poor job he was doing at being compelling. 

“Something we would have in common,” Viktor replied, mercifully. His eye focused on the notebook Jayce still had open across his lap. “Come. Show me what you’ve done.”

Jayce tensed. He hadn’t been expecting to show these sketches to anyone, let alone Viktor himself. Still, when he was asking Viktor to open up, he couldn’t rightfully deny him in return.

With a heavy sigh, Jayce approached the edge of the barrier, lifting the pages that were currently in progress. It wasn’t anything extravagant. Jayce saw himself as a serviceable artist, but what he had been doing was mostly just practice. There were a few different renderings of Viktor’s current face, some including the wound and others not. There was also one of Viktor’s human face that he’d drawn from memory. 

He was self-conscious about having done that, afraid Viktor would take away something terrible from it. So, he flipped to the previous set of pages where he’d been drawing Viktor’s full body in broad, gestural lines. Was this weird to have done?

“I have not seen a clear reflection of myself since my transformation,” Viktor mused. “A mirage on the Hexgate floors, perhaps. A ripple in the waters outside of this prison. It was beyond my interest, at the time.”

“You don’t know what you look like?” Jayce asked in surprise. He hadn’t even considered.

“In some ways, I know it instinctively. It was by my design.” Viktor looked down at himself as he spoke, wonderingly moving his limbs in their puddle of chains. “Yet, reality is distinct from imagination.”

“Well,” Jayce started. I could draw you more, he thought to say. “Maybe they’d let me bring you a mirror. If you wanted. And some books.”

Viktor had been such a big reader in his previous life, Jayce kept hoping that reintroducing him to the hobby might awaken something for him. If they read the same things, maybe it would even give them something normal to talk about.

“I have no need for a mirror,” Viktor said, kind in his rejection. “But you may bring me books if you like.”

Jayce nodded, painfully eager. “Any requests?” Viktor didn't spare it much thought.

“Surprise me.”

“Sure,” Jayce said, moving back to his chair. His leg had been aching more than usual from long days on his feet. It was a relief to sit, when he could. “I’ll… try to think of something.”

Viktor hummed in soft approval. 

It felt like progress. Jayce opened a new page of his notebook, thinking of how he’d render Viktor in a real piece of art. A painting, like Mel used to do–vast tableaus of beautiful landscapes with undercurrents of remembered pain. Carefully, he put his thoughts to paper.

This time, it was more than practice. He wanted to get it right.

Notes:

And with that, the god has been chained! However, this is nowhere near over. I estimate that this is somewhere around a midpoint in the story, though I'm not sure how long exactly the second half will be. There are a lot of problems for JayVik to work through, both internal and external.

The next chapter is a return to Viktor POV... a whole seven chapters later! I'm about 75% finished writing it, but so far it's very challenging. He has a lot going on, in there. I'm hoping to have it ready for a Sunday update but we'll see.

Thanks to my beta, who has been getting me through this! And thank you to all the wonderful commenters who have been filling me with motivation every update. I really do love to hear your thoughts and theories, they make me so excited, so if you've enjoyed the story so far don't be afraid to let me know! I appreciate you guys so much.

Chapter 9

For a while, there was peace in bondage. Like all things, it didn’t last.

With the immediate threat of his own agency passed, Viktor had been able to exist without strain. There were no more questions to ask of himself, no more choices to be made. The burden of power had been lifted from his shoulders, leaving a mantle of helplessness in its place. Now, he’d thought, there would only be stasis–a long, dreamless sleep. 

That sleep never came. Instead, there was a buzzing in his ear, familiar and eternal.

No matter how much Viktor pleaded, Jayce Talis would not let him die.

Jayce would return to his prison, again and again, lingering long after any practical necessity. Most of the time, Viktor had little to say to him, but he would stay by his side regardless. He would offer quiet companionship and promise enrichment. He would attempt to draw out Viktor’s humanity with earnest questions and a loving gaze. 

And each time Viktor opened himself to him, it would draw Jayce in deeper, like a fly into a pitcher plant. 

It was immoral to be like this–immoral to be an abyss that only consumed. He needed to stop himself, to stop swallowing kindness and bleeding poison. But every time he tried to extricate himself from Jayce, he was only pulled closer. 

All the while, the beast within him watched with interest. The one he could not allow himself to think about for too long, lest it smell his fear through the bars of its cage.

It would reach out with probing claws when it did, beckoning him deep into its maw to show him rotted remains of its stolen feast. It was a devourer of worlds, like he had almost been, and it called upon him to worship its sweet oblivion. It could taste that, at his core, it was what Viktor wanted most. The only form of peace that didn’t grow sour.

So easily it could begin to overwhelm him. The beast’s stench would bleed through the cracks in his partitions until it soiled his entire being.

And so, such thoughts were rejected, shuttled off and shut away in the deepest reaches of his mind that now served as a prison within a prison within a prison. By design, Viktor was unaware of the process as it happened, though the automation was created by his hand. He would only direct his attention towards it in the event that the system he’d devised to manage the situation failed.

As it had not long before.

That night, it had torn through his thoughts like a world-breaking fissure. Not a corruption of his own mind, but of a second soul. One that shouldn’t have been there. One that he had thought was safe.

Jayce. Jayce. Jayce.  

The name pounded through his divided mind like a heartbeat.

How had it happened, he’d wondered. He had held his partner at such a distance that he hadn’t noticed as the beast tore at his back. He had no memory of when it had caught Jayce’s scent–the drawback to having curated his thoughts so strictly. He’d thought that Jayce had been saved, had been cleansed. Instead, he had almost condemned him with his ignorance.

It was another chain around his neck, leashing him to the man that he’d wanted nothing more than to set free. Now, that dream had been undone by his own treacherous heart. Jayce would never leave after what he’d seen. 

The thought shouldn’t have inspired such despair, but he knew what fate lay in store for any soul tethered to his falling star. He allowed himself to feel his heart’s true ache only as a hollow facsimile, a filtered transmission from deeper within. It had no place on the surface, where there were only cages, chains, and an endless view of the dark.

Jayce had no place there, either. He only stayed because he was too foolish to leave.

 

---

 

Viktor was pulled from numbness by the sound of someone entering his containment room. 

While at first there had been a constant buzz of anxious activity around him, as the runes were inspected and the fetters adjusted, he was now left there alone more often than not. It was hours spent in a sluggish haze, with only visions and his own repressed demons to keep him company. There was only one person who visited for reasons besides the maintenance of his bonds.

He’d often imagined a future where the relevancy of his presence had faded, where the city had moved on and left him as a forgotten relic of an old war. There would have been justice to that. And yet, those musings were always dashed by the physical reality of the man that now stood at the foot of his dias. 

Jayce had returned. Once again. 

His visits were not unpleasant. Viktor usually strove to be accommodating when they interacted, seeing no purpose in causing his partner more harm than he already had. Yet, every meeting left him feeling wanting, like there was something Jayce sought from him that he couldn’t give. Something that wasn’t there anymore.

This time, Jayce was holding a stack of books. It took Viktor a moment to remember why, the frost in his mind slowly thawing. Jayce had offered him books several days prior. He’d agreed, mostly out of politeness. 

“I wasn’t sure what you’d prefer, so I brought a few different things,” Jayce was explaining. He mentioned a non-fiction book about a hobby Viktor had once enjoyed. A novel that was of the same genre he’d been caught reading in the lab, years before. A research paper about an interesting yet harmless topic he’d taken out from the Academy.

Viktor looked at the small library Jayce was offering and felt nothing.

“Thank you, Jayce,” he said. His partner had put incredible thought into the gesture. It wasn’t his fault that Viktor was unable to appreciate it.

“I’m going to bring down the forward barrier,” Jayce explained, moving to one of the pillars at the front of the dias, “To give these to you. Don’t worry, I got permission from the Council.” He sighed with familiar impatience. “That’s part of why this took so long.”

Jayce inserted his key, interacting with the activated dials. The shimmering veil at the front of the cage disappeared, its runes falling dormant. Viktor could feel the subtle shift in arcane flow.

Jayce stepped up onto the dias. Viktor watched with rapt attention. There was at least one thing he still wanted from the world, no matter how desperately he tried to resist. 

With the books set before Viktor like an offering, Jayce didn’t turn to take his leave. Instead, he knelt, gazing up at him with those imploring hazel eyes. He still had such hope. Hope that Viktor couldn’t live up to. Something within him tensed in anticipation.

“How are you feeling?” Jayce asked. Such a simple but impossible question.

He was cold, he could say. He was tired. He was weak. He felt too much. He felt nothing.

‘Cold’ was the only way he could describe the petricite–a sensation which he should have been immune to. It had not taken long to understand. Cold was not a physical force, after all, it was only energy’s absence. Like the chill of winter, petricite leached the primal magic from him before it could be used, leaving his chassis empty.

In his entire time sitting in that first cell, unmoving, he’d never felt tired. He’d thought he wasn’t capable of it. Now, it was all he knew. Weariness was a persistent weight across his shoulders, holding him down, stealing his strength. It was nostalgic, to feel so weak.

It was unpleasant, but not quite akin to pain. Jayce had made certain of that. His prison had been designed with the utmost care, to apply as little force as necessary to keep Viktor bound. He could imagine how long Jayce must have pondered over it, tweaking minor calculations to offer what comfort he could.

It had been calibrated so gently, like a lover’s caress. It was just the nature of Viktor’s being that he felt this way. He was a creature of the Arcane, and he was being starved of it. It was a necessary evil, whether or not Jayce could accept that.

“The flow has remained stable,” Viktor said, which they both knew was a worthless answer, a dodged question. “There will be little need for future adjustments.”

Jayce was annoyed with the response. It was almost a game, at that point. Jayce would try to reach out, and he would say something painfully utilitarian in return. It was playing a part, but there was a truth behind it, too. He wasn’t the aspect of himself designed to feel so deeply.

The aspect that he knew Jayce preferred.

“Viktor, knock it off,” Jayce scolded. He didn’t relent. There was a truth there that Jayce needed to face. One that he clearly hadn’t, with the way he plied Viktor with books and probing questions. With the way he behaved as if Viktor could be fixed, if he only tried hard enough.

“Soon, there will be nothing to justify your visits with. What will you do then?”

A moment too late, there was a flutter of regret. This was a cruel line of inquiry. The argument of whether Jayce should willingly forsake him had been lost some time ago. Now, it was a practical matter of how long Jayce could keep it up.

Every time Jayce left, Viktor would wonder if it would be the last time he would see him. It could happen for so many reasons. The Council could forbid him from returning, and that would be enough. They already had what they needed, and Jayce had little leverage in return. Jayce could vanish from his life forever, and he may never know why.

Viktor had a theoretical eternity ahead of him, and yet his time with Jayce was borrowed. What would happen to his partner when it ended?

“I’m not going to stop trying,” Jayce said. “Ever.” Viktor felt Jayce’s hand close over his. He looked down at it dully. Could Jayce feel how cold he was, where they touched?

Jayce’s warmth burned against his skin, life itself persisting in a world of death. Jayce would keep trying, he vowed. He would bring him gifts, draw out conversation, encourage creativity. Anything to make him human again. Anything to make him the man he’d once been. 

Viktor wouldn’t live in a fantasy. He pulled his hand away.

“Eventually, trying won’t be enough.”

“I… What has gotten into you?” Jayce snapped. He knew perfectly well what had ‘gotten into him’, Viktor thought to say. Jayce stood so that he was the one looking down. “Whatever you’re trying to say, just say it.”

He was disappointed, Viktor sensed. Disappointed that he kept trying, and this was all he got in return. Still, Viktor kept going.

“There are many years ahead of us. There will be a time when you are dismissed from this place, and there will be nothing I—”

“I’m not the one that asked you to do this, Viktor!” Jayce interrupted. “ You wanted to be helpless. I never asked for that.”

“What would you have me do instead?” Viktor persisted, despite the regret already building in the back of his mind. He pushed it away. “Ask that the people of Piltover accept my contrition by its own merits, when my very presence is an act of war? Force innocents to live in fear?”

“I wish you’d just run away from all of this!” The words were so sudden and harsh that they caught Viktor off balance. Jayce’s eyes were wild with weeks of desperation and yearning. “And I wish you’d taken me with you!”

Viktor fell silent, his voice stolen from him.

He’d never even considered it as an option. From the moment he had found himself back at the Hexgates all he’d been able to think about was how he needed to face punishment–how there would be no justice in him continuing to live freely. He could not destroy hundreds of lives and carry on as if they meant nothing. It was unthinkable. 

He’d known each one of his followers. He’d held their souls within his hands, felt their dreams and despair, and snuffed them out. In his mind, the evolution had been something beautiful, but they had all been sacrificed at his altar. He may as well have driven a blade into their hearts and drank of their blood. It had been just as evil, in the end.

It wasn’t a question of if he should face retribution, but how. 

“Look, forget it,” Jayce said, taking Viktor’s silence as an answer. His hand was pressed over his eyes, concealing budding tears. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Jayce reactivated the barrier and left in a hurry. Viktor said nothing as he did. There was nothing he could say. He didn’t deserve better than this, but Jayce did. Yet, there was no way for the scales to be balanced. If what Jayce needed to thrive was Viktor’s happiness, then how could that be accommodated with any fairness?

He shouldn’t have been surprised that there was no solution. He already knew there was no such thing as a just world.

 

---

 

Viktor sensed Jayce visit him that night. It was a whisper in the deepest reaches of his mind, the loving touch of a spectre. 

In retrospect, he’d recognized the sensations as something he’d experienced before. It was an echo of emotion, a residual comfort. His heart had been soothed without him fully realizing. He wondered how often that had affected his conscious mind, how long Jayce had been playing his strings without his knowledge. Had he felt lighter on the days that Jayce was present? Heavier on the days he wasn’t?

Had he craved it without knowing? 

It would have been devious, if it were intentional. Viktor had come to understand that it was most likely just an unknowing exploit of the same bond that he’d been studiously trying to ignore. That part of Viktor was the one most familiar to Jayce, and so it was the one his spirit had gravitated towards, no matter how carefully it had been hidden away.

He felt a stir of resentment at that–that the part of him Jayce wanted most keenly was the one that whimpered and begged. It was worse than useless, fighting the battles Viktor fought now. He could have crushed it into dust and been free of its influence forever.

Yet, such extreme measures were not an option. That was a line he could never allow himself to cross again, no matter how much the alternatives pained him.

And so, he allowed Jayce his indulgences. There was nothing his partner could do down there that would overpower his will. The only time he had interfered was the first time he realized it was happening at all, when he had been forced to step in and ensure Jayce’s safety against the beckoning dark. Beyond that, he had acknowledged the trespass, and accepted it.

It wasn’t as if he couldn’t know what they were saying, if he wanted. His heart had no opinions that he didn’t share, it only experienced those thoughts in more impractical ways. Being involved would only serve to fracture him further. 

…But, what was Jayce learning in return? What secrets had he already lured out from Viktor’s subconscious mind?

He couldn’t afford to focus on this. He would be making himself too vulnerable. He could explain to Jayce what a violation this was, and demand that he desist. If Jayce understood what he was doing, he would not take it so lightly. Surely, he would know better. 

But that would be just another cruelty that he inflicted upon Jayce, another thing for him to take away. He was the villain in the story of his own heart. He was the one that sacrificed love for progress.

All of his life, that duality had been true, if somewhat less literal.

His mind was itching in a way it shouldn’t have been. While Jayce’s presence was previously subtle enough to slip by, now that Viktor was aware of it, it was impossible to ignore. His partner, so close, but still held separate. His partner, who had argued and left him hours ago only to return beneath his awareness in the dead of night.

He was becoming irrational, the barrier between his mind and his heart thinning. Jayce was finishing their conversation in secret, as if he wouldn’t know. Did Jayce think he could just return the next day as if nothing had happened, having stolen his closure in the night?

Viktor made his decision. Once more, he reached out past his partitions, injecting his heart with a touch of his will. Not to interrupt–just to observe.

The immediate swell of emotion was enough to drown all coherent thought. Viktor fought against its tide as the realm of souls came into focus, the sheer contrast in pressure knocking him senseless. There was so much he hadn’t let himself feel, so many thoughts that would only serve to hinder him in the work he had to do.

It took him several seconds to readjust. His skin prickled, sensitive and weak. He felt Jayce’s hands against him, like the hot touch of sun-baked sand after narrowly escaping the ocean’s pull. He was falling into Jayce’s eyes, so close and so horribly earnest.

In that realm of metaphor and dreams, Viktor could still pretend to be human. He could even feel like one, in the hitch of his breath and the shiver of his body. He could feel the ache of living in his illusory muscles and his bones, figments of his petricite bonds still tugging at his wrists.

It was a lie. This was all a lie.

This body moved outside of his will. Here, he was a passenger to another version of himself. He could have asserted his wishes easily, crushing this fragile aspect beneath the force of his command. It took all of his control not to, as the system screamed for it to stop.

He would lose himself, like this. He would lose everything.

“Please, stay with me,” Jayce whispered, for ears that weren’t his. He was so close now. It was inescapable.

He was helpless to resist as Jayce’s lips met his. It was so gentle, so sweet. It wounded him more deeply than any blade. He was destroyed by it. It was an end that he yearned for.

He was losing himself, the system warned. Blackness tinged the edges of his thoughts. All the while, his soul was bleeding light, quivering with release.

“I want to,” spoke Viktor’s voice as their lips parted, too soft and too human. They were the words he couldn’t speak, the want he didn’t dare give form to. “But someday… someday you will lose me, Jayce.”

“I don’t care,” Jayce said and kissed him again.

He left so quickly, he was sure it must have sent shockwaves through the spiritual realm. Those tremors rang through him, even as he settled back into his curated space of organized thought. His heart disappeared back beneath the partition, but its impression of that last moment echoed throughout the empty space, repeating and repeating.

It took some time before he regained a semblance of control. The system did its work. The melancholy remained.

He shifted his attention back to his physical form, still within its prison of ice. He took in the sight of the shackles, of the petricite floor, of the pillars of metal and mechanisms, of the circles of carefully scribed runes. This was the fate he’d asked Jayce for. This was the miserable future he had chosen in place of dreams of escape and a world where he and Jayce could love each other openly and freely. This was the life he had forced Jayce into in the name of his penance.

It was only fair. He’d stolen so many futures. This time he’d stolen his own.

He laid down in his bed of chains, his crown resting against the gilded limestone. It was so cold. It sapped the warmth from every part of him, drawing him down into nothing.

It was everything he’d wanted. Everything he deserved.

Jayce had given it to him, just as promised.

Notes:

As you can see, Viktor is doing great.

This one is sort of a two-parter, with the next chapter directly following up on it. That chapter has already been written and just needs editing, and will be up on Wednesday. As always, thank you for reading!

Chapter 10

The Machine Herald’s consciousness seeped into the walls of Stillwater like mold. He lived in the stone, in the metal bars, and in the bodies of the people trapped within them. He was inhaled like spores and coughed up like toxins. 

In one cell, he briefly existed as a Shimmer smuggler that had been caught on the borders of Zaun. He witnessed the moment the Enforcers approached his wounded form, just after he had been culled by his team as an acceptable expense to the drug trade he’d been swallowed up by.

In another, he was a former shopkeeper on the fifteenth year of their life sentence for killing the Enforcer that had nearly beaten their delinquent brother to death. There had been little victory in the sacrifice. Their brother had been arrested right at their side.

In a third, he was the girl who had been conscripted into bringing him his meal that first night, slowly losing hope as she waited out her sentence. Too many years of her young life would be erased in captivity, and she was coming to understand the true weight of her loss. The elder she’d done it all for would be dead before she ever returned.

He allowed the memories to flood over him in a violent torrent, his mind wrenched in a hundred directions. From the moment he’d realized that his visions were no longer restricted by touch, this was a process he’d delegated to another automated aspect of himself that was equipped to lend the task his full attention. Today, though, he had torn down the dam that processed the chaos into recognizable information. He’d hoped he would drown in it.

And he was. It had not taken him long to be hurt by what he saw.

The riots in Zaun. The resurgence of his disciples. He saw it through dozens of eyes, through those that had been arrested as part of their cause. They had called out to him, demanded his release. Now they were prisoners at his side.

Was that what they had wanted? To sacrifice themselves at the feet of a god that would not raise a hand to help them?

He’d known of it for some time now; the visions trickled into his consciousness as they arose. However, that had been far easier to ignore. He’d put it aside as another unthinkable. He should not be believed in, he knew. They unknowingly worshipped a harbinger of death.

He saw the transformed bodies of his commune presented as holy saints. He saw candlelight shrines that burned atop fragments of their corpses. For a time, his call had pulled the desperate from even Janna, the lady of the winds.

She was a protector and healer. To them, the Machine Herald was an agent of change. It would be a violent transformation, they thought, but one that would free them from their bonds.

He wouldn’t, because he had seen the cost of his dream. He wouldn’t, because he had made his choice. He would forsake them without them ever knowing why.

Over a cascade of riotous cries, he heard something crash into motion within the physical realm. He didn’t think to look up. He was still laying on the limestone floor of his cage, as he had been since the previous night.

“Viktor!” Jayce was yelling, from the other side of the barrier. “Viktor, what happened? Are you okay?”

The Machine Herald didn’t shift or speak in response. There was no purpose. Jayce would figure it out eventually.

“Viktor, hold on, I’m coming in there!”

He felt the Arcane fluctuate as the forward barrier lowered. Jayce’s boots clamoured across the dias as he leapt to his side. Jayce grabbed at the petricite bonds, as if he could wrench them free by will alone. 

“Are they hurting you?” Jayce kept asking. It was beginning to make sense. Jayce thought that the shackles were what caused this. Little did he know. “I’ll fix this. Whatever happened here, I’ll get them to fix it—”

“Go, Jayce,” the Machine Herald said. He only stared straight ahead.

“...What?” Jayce’s voice was airy with confusion. “What… Viktor, what happened?”

He said nothing in response. A moment later and Jayce shoved at his shoulder, barely able to move his heavy metallic frame.

“Viktor!” he demanded with increasing urgency.

“Your work is complete, but you are still here.”

Jayce stopped shaking him. There was a weighty pause as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing.

“Don’t start that again…” Jayce didn’t seem to know whether to be angry or scared. Tentatively, he was both. “Viktor, come on… I already told you I’m not leaving.” He could feel as Jayce reached down to cup his chin and lift his head, to try to force their gazes to meet. 

In that same moment, another surge of Arcane visions went through him. 

The Machine Herald saw himself as the tragic centerpiece of Jayce’s worst memories. No. Not himself. He saw the man he had sprung from and shed like a chrysalis. He saw that man dying on the council room floor as Jayce desperately tried to free him from the rubble. He saw his broken body laying on a table in the lab. He saw the moment the Hexcore left Jayce’s hold, destroying all of the man that remained.

If he were human, he would have thrown up. Instead, he pushed Jayce away, willing the vision to end. Despite his weakness, he used too much force. He sent Jayce tumbling.

The Machine Herald crawled away, forcing the flood of visions back out of mind, rebuilding the dam that contained them brick by brick. He tried not to look back at what he’d done, but there was nowhere to go. He reached the end of his chains and could escape no further, the metal straining against his limbs.

“Viktor!” Jayce shouted again, strangled with grief. He was still trying to approach.

“I am not him,” the Machine Herald said. “Not to you.”

A silence fell.

“What…” He could hear the dread creep through Jayce’s voice as he realized something. The anger had faded. Now he was just afraid. “What do you mean?”

The Machine Herald lashed out with a hand, seizing Jayce’s coat and dragging him in, locking them both into the prison they’d created. He raised his head to meet Jayce’s terrified gaze.

“I have felt your incursions , Jayce,” he said. There was no anger. No sorrow. Just a grim inevitability.

Jayce was finally coming to understand. The Machine Herald could see it in his eyes.

“Viktor…” Jayce frantically looked about the room, as if checking for eavesdroppers. “I thought… at first, I thought you knew. But then… you didn’t remember, and… I couldn’t say anything with them watching.”

The Machine Herald pulled him closer.

“You toy with my mind. You take what has been purposefully hidden from you.”

Jayce yanked against the hold on his coat, but couldn’t shake his grip. He furrowed his brow, righteous anger returning. So familiar, it was, to see that look in his eyes. It was from the time when they were enemies, when Jayce would have harmed him gladly.

“Why are you hiding it? You… You did this before and you almost lost yourself completely! Why are you doing it again, Viktor? You need to stop!”

The Machine Herald snatched at Jayce’s shirt with his other hand, solidifying his hold. He would not free him until he had been heard.

“Is that what you want? For me to suffer more keenly?” Malevolence seeped into his resonating voice. “For you to soothe me while I mewl?” He leaned in, making sure Jayce met his eye. “I could destroy that part of me. I could tear it from my being and render it to ashes. It would be simple work.”

That righteous anger left Jayce’s face in favour of pure, agonous terror.

“Viktor. No. Please… Please don’t.”

Jayce was afraid of him. 

It was right for him to be. 

“Stop me.”

He was Jayce’s villain. He was the one that had stolen his life and brought his world to ruin. He could feel the abyss inside of him bleed, its toxins seeping throughout his soul. There was nothing Jayce could do to fix him. It was wrong to try.

The man he’d killed and replaced had spent his whole life struggling with the ailments of the human form. From frailty, from loneliness, from pain. He had died alongside them.

The Machine Herald had been born without that torment, but was clawing it back, piece by piece. That was his penance, he thought. To recreate Viktor’s suffering of his own will. To have health and to seek out illness. To live in comfort and court agony. To rise to power and crave weakness. 

He had manufactured each of them. As with all else, Jayce was his partner in doing so.

The Machine Herald closed his claws around his human heart, wondering how satisfying it would be to crush it in his hands. He would feel its lifeblood ooze between his fingers. And then nothing, ever again.

All around him, he could feel his internal system’s warnings. He was about to break himself completely, and the void would flood in through the cracks. He didn’t care anymore, he thought. If he did this, Jayce would surely kill him. He would welcome it.

Yet, somehow, he hesitated.

In the physical world, Jayce was shaking. There wasn’t only fear in his eyes–but also defiant love.

He lifted his hands to the Machine Herald’s face and drew him into a kiss. First, ever so gently across the curve of his metallic brow. Then, again, where his lips had once been.

“I meant this for you, Viktor,” Jayce said through tears. “For all of you.”

He felt the ravages of his affection bleed from the heart he still held clasped within him. His body did not rise to meet it. There was no rush of blood, no warming of his skin. The emotion, though brutally real, rang within a hollow form.

“I can’t…” Viktor whispered, letting his heart win. “I can’t feel it. Jayce.”

He sagged against his partner, his hands still clutched in his clothing. That hold was the only thing supporting him, until Jayce swept him into his arms. Viktor couldn’t cry. He couldn’t tremble. 

And so he screamed into Jayce’s chest until the frenzy left him.

 

---

 

Eventually, Viktor had slumped forward completely, exhaustion overwhelming him. He was far too large and too heavy to be leaning against Jayce in such a manner, but his partner had shifted around until he made it work. He whispered sweet things into Viktor’s ear until Wardens arrived to see what the commotion was about.

They’d heard him screaming. He only half listened as Jayce offered hasty explanations, about how there had been an issue with the containment system, about how it had pulled the magic from his body too violently. The Wardens seemed hesitant, but they weren’t scientists. They couldn’t know that what Jayce was saying was utter bullshit.

The Wardens said they would report the issue to the other artificers. Jayce said he was fixing it himself. They told him they would report that as well. Finally, they left. Viktor suspected others would arrive to bother them eventually.

Jayce returned to his side, and tried to pick Viktor up off the floor so that he could rest his head on his lap. He was clearly struggling with Viktor’s ungainly form, and so after a short while Viktor assisted by lifting himself so that Jayce could slip beneath him.

“You should leave, Jayce,” Viktor said dully. “They will return soon.”

Jayce made a disbelieving sound. He stroked his fingers through Viktor’s hair. There wasn’t the tingle or pleasant itch there should have been from such a gesture, but he could imagine there was.

“After all that?” Jayce sighed. “You’re insane.”

“Yes,” Viktor agreed. 

They soaked in the quiet of the room together, until Jayce found the words.

“I really didn’t mean to keep it a secret from you,” he said softly, unwilling to be heard by the Wardens that were still alert nearby. “I just… I don’t really understand how your mind works, anymore. There are so many things you can do, now… I guess I thought it was all working as intended.”

Viktor chuckled, low and dark. Working as intended. Imagine.

“I had thought I could leave you behind,” he explained. “No… Have you leave me . That if I withheld myself long enough you would lose the motivation to fight. And yet, all that time… you were there with me. Beyond my awareness.”

“Well, I’m glad I was, if that’s what you were thinking…” Jayce sounded so tired. Viktor was the one doing this to him. He tried not to collapse beneath the weight of that cyclical thought.

“I am… wrong. I am broken, Jayce.” 

“You’ve been saying that kind of thing a lot,” Jayce murmured. “Almost every time I see you in… that other place.” Viktor hated that. He hated that he’d been saying things to Jayce that weren’t curated by his conscious mind. What felt like a confession was old news in his partner’s book.

“My heart just talks and talks and talks,” he grumbled. “And so I have kept it at a distance. Kept it safe.”

Safe, at least, when he wasn’t thinking about killing it himself. The very thing he’d vowed to never do again. He’d been so close to attempting it. Not even his fetters could stop him. What more would it take to make him truly safe from himself?

“I… don’t blame you,” Jayce said carefully. “For not wanting to hurt. Not now, and… not before.” His gaze was sad and unfocused. “If I had the option… maybe I would have cut myself off, too.” He shifted, running his fingers along Viktor’s cheek, right below his wound. “But, I want to know you. Even if you’re different.”

Viktor had fought against this for so long. It had been the only way towards a just future–one where Jayce’s happiness was no longer tied to his. It was a foolish war to have waged, perhaps. Their souls were forever bound.

“There are burdens I cannot share. Dangers that… that come with being in my proximity. I wanted to save you from them. You haven’t let me.”

“That’s funny,” Jayce drawled. “Because you won’t let me save you, either.”

“I cannot—” Viktor began.

“—be saved,” Jayce finished. “Yeah, I know.”

Just how often had Jayce been through this with him? Viktor could almost find it within himself to be embarrassed.

“I meant what I said.” He slipped his hand over Jayce’s knee, squeezing it gently. “There will be a time when they take you from me.” He paused, his grip growing tighter. “I… I am afraid of its coming.”

Jayce shifted in place, his eyes growing wide. He needed a moment to choke something back.

“I-I’m sorry,” he breathed, “that this is happening to you.”

He didn't swear he would never be taken. He'd finally realized he couldn't–that he shouldn't make empty promises. Viktor felt himself sink. How deep must the hole be, for him to fall forever like this?

“Don’t be. I did this. Every part of it.”

Jayce didn’t argue with him. Maybe he agreed. Maybe he didn’t have the words. Maybe he'd already tried and failed to convince him otherwise too many times. Instead, he kissed him again on his inhuman mask of a face. The message was clear: ‘it doesn’t matter if you did or not, I’m still here.’

If Viktor could make the choice again, he still didn’t know if he would choose differently. Could he have ever truly lived with himself, walking free with a trail of corpses in his wake? It would have been a different kind of torture, and one that would have allowed his plague to run free if he lost his mind unfettered. 

With his freedom gone, though, it became easy to fantasize. He could imagine a place far away, with just him and Jayce. One where they could lay entwined for as long as they pleased, where Viktor could try to learn to feel again.

It couldn’t be corrupt of him to want the thing he had already denied himself so thoroughly, could it? 

It couldn’t be evil to dream.

 

---

 

A while after, a team of artificers had turned up based on the Warden’s reports of a malfunctioning system. Jayce had worked quickly to create both a fabrication of the error and the way he had corrected it. Was the lie necessary, Viktor wondered? Would the Council see Jayce’s love for him, see Viktor’s pain, as a threat if left unveiled?

Regardless, they had gone about reviewing the system. The artificers conducted their checks on the pillars and exterior barriers, and then, predictably, balked at the idea of reviewing the shackles themselves. One of them made it to the very edge of the dias, encountered Viktor staring back at them, and promptly retreated.

Jayce had sighed, and said that while he had already performed his checks, he would do so again while they were present and report his findings. He did so in quick, clinical movements, and Viktor felt himself ache at being handled like a test subject so soon after his breakdown. 

But soon, the artificers were satisfied, and began to take their leave. Jayce had only waited fifteen minutes or so before entering the barrier.

A few hours later, and Viktor had found himself with his head in Jayce’s lap again, being read to from the novel that he’d brought the day prior. Though at first the idea had chafed, feeling childish and demeaning, Viktor gradually grew accustomed. Jayce was an accomplished orator, and the cadence of his voice was soothing.

He’d read four chapters to complete silence before asking, “What do you think so far?” 

It was a mystery thriller about an Zaunite private detective seeking out corruption from ‘the gilded towers of Piltover to the dark fissures of the undercity’. Politically, it was all wildly out of date, with the climate having changed considerably in the few years since it had been written. Jayce had told him that, despite it having been written by a topsider, it was supposed to be sympathetic and well informed on the subject of what would eventually become Zaun.

It was charming that he’d tried. 

Though seeds of the mystery had already been planted, the early chapters had mostly dealt with the protagonist’s strained personal relationships, including a separated wife and an estranged daughter. It also had the beginnings of what Viktor assumed was a turbulent romance with the Enforcer he reluctantly collaborated with. The interactions between the two men were charged, to say the least.

Viktor had always been underwhelmed by such things in fiction, but with his head in Jayce’s lap, it was the most relatable it had ever been. It was everything else that was difficult to connect to. He could not seem to involve himself mentally with the plights of normal people–of having a family, of working, of making ends meet. It all felt so far away from him. It was a role he could never fill again, not even in his imagination.

“I am having difficulty engaging with the protagonist,” Viktor said, after thinking about it. Jayce exhaled in soft amusement.

“Should I have gone with the cozy mystery instead?” he asked. Viktor wanted to smile, but couldn't.

“Perhaps.” 

Viktor had nothing against cozy mysteries, he’d read more than enough of them from the safety of his own home, when recovering from surgery–though that was another image of himself that was impossible to connect to. Who was that person he saw in his memories, he wondered?

“Do you want to keep going?” Jayce sounded like he wasn’t sure how seriously he should be taking Viktor’s complaint. His voice was rough from so much use all at once. “We can switch out to, um… apiculture.”

Three or so years back, Viktor had become entertained with the idea of beekeeping and read several books on the subject in a row. Jayce had noticed this at the time, and though Viktor’s interests had soon drifted to other topics, it seemed it had made an impression on him. It was fascinating that Jayce remembered his brief fixation at all. He’d just found the advanced cooperation between the insects interesting. 

Now, though, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about how even that society was imperfect. How they culled their own kind yearly. How they sacrificed unwanted queens. How they warred with other hives.

The only difference was that insects didn't know enough to suffer. They were ignorant to it, just like the Machine Herald's drones had been.

“Viktor…?” Jayce prompted gently when he took too long to answer.

“You should rest your voice,” he said. Jayce swallowed, accepting the verdict. “Simply being here is enough.”

Jayce marked his place in the book and set it aside. He caressed his hand down Viktor’s arm, his fingers trailing over the filigree of gold metal. It was a while before he spoke again.

“I need to ask you a question.”

Viktor hummed his acknowledgement. Jayce hesitated. 

“Did you… want me to stay out of your dreams? From now on?”

They weren't his dreams, Viktor thought to correct. He didn't dream at all anymore, not in the human way. But that wasn't what Jayce was asking. Trying to think of the real answer left Viktor hollowed out.

“Do as you please,” he decided, averting his eye. Jayce frowned.

“No,” he insisted. “If it's okay, you need to tell me it's okay. Otherwise, I won't do it anymore.”

Viktor had preferred when he had no input on the situation at all. It took him a long time to calculate an honest answer.

“You may continue visiting me.” Viktor could feel the tension in Jayce’s body relax. It was the answer that made him most happy, though fortunately it was also accurate. “You… give my heart comfort, even if I cannot be there to experience it.”

Jayce nodded, grateful. He paused before eventually deciding to push the envelope a bit further.

“You could join us,” he offered.  “You could seek me out there… couldn’t you?”

If Jayce wanted Viktor to live so badly, he didn’t know why he insisted upon killing him with questions. He felt the usual dull ache he experienced in place of his heart’s raging torment.

“No.” He was firm. “Last night, its touch nearly brought me to ruin.” Their gazes met again as he forced the words from his vessel. “I… am not strong enough, Jayce.”

Jayce took a moment to accept that, to fully process it. As he did, it came with a small, sad smile.

“Well… Maybe someday you will be,” he said. “And I’ll be waiting there for you.”

Viktor didn’t doubt his resolve. This time, he believed that Jayce really would never stop trying.

Notes:

Look at that! Progress from the Boys of Progress? Incredible.

It looks like the next update will be ready for the weekend as it's mostly finished now. I'm falling into a Wednesday/Weekends pattern here so that will most likely continue.

As always, I love to hear your thoughts! You guys are great.

Chapter 11

Notes:

Mechanics related to the Arcane/Shimmer/Hexcore/Anomaly get discussed In this chapter, and just to clarify, it's all just a combination of my interpretations, theories, and things that I thought would be fun for the purposes of this fic. It's not a reflection of what I think is concretely canon, because for a lot of it, I honestly don't know what is.

Thank you, as always, for the amazing support and wonderful comments! I appreciate it so much.

As the days passed, Viktor spent most of his time waiting. That was the curse of having something to look forward to.

Jayce visited as often as he could, of course, but he was a human with a life and needs. There were Council meetings, other loved ones, and the basic necessities of eating and sleeping. Viktor had none of those things. 

His parents had both died when he was still young, and from that moment on he had not put much effort into fostering relationships. He had seen it as not worth the struggle, when he knew that he alone could make something of his life. Even Heimerdinger, the one that first pulled him to the topside, had been more of an associate than a friend. One that burdened Viktor’s hopes more often than not, towards the end.

So quickly, Jayce had been the one to fall into the role of loyal pupil in his place. Viktor hadn’t concerned himself with it. With Jayce’s partnership, he had moved beyond the need for Heimerdinger’s support. And so it went. Another connection discarded in pursuit of the progress that would become his downfall.

Though Viktor’s evolution into this inhuman form was relatively recent, there had always been truth to it. Jayce was the one that made connections in the world, while Viktor was the creature hidden from sight. The one time he hadn’t been was among his followers, who had loved him so fully that he was a fool to have ever believed it was real.

The days that he allowed himself to think at all, his musings inevitably strayed towards the grim. It was easy for him to be idle, but it had been easier when he could just fade into the black, with no expectations of anything good ever happening to him again. Now, Jayce had leashed him with hopes of comfort, however ephemeral. He waited for it each day, like a drug. 

There were days where Jayce wasn’t able to visit for whatever reason, and it was beginning to look as if this would be one of them. It was growing late into the evening, he guessed, though there was no sun to determine it by. The only light in his prison was the glow of his own magic, stolen and repurposed into fueling his bonds. He was capable of keeping perfect time, but chose not to. It was easier to disappear that way.

He was about to dismiss the physical realm entirely when the sound of nearby movement drew him back. The entrance to the room was opening. There was someone coming in.

“Jayce,” he said preemptively, only to realize his foolish mistake a moment later. No, the gait of those footsteps was wrong. The person approaching wasn’t wearing a brace.

Instead, a woman appeared that he had never seen before. She was dressed similarly to the assorted artificers that would visit on occasion, and so he assumed she was one of them. She wore glasses, and her white hair was pulled up into a voluminous bun that almost reminded him of…

He pointedly ignored where those thoughts were going. He had spent enough time that night considering the weight of discarded love.

The woman stood before the dias with a notebook in hand. She stared up at him unflinchingly, even as his gaze fell upon her. That was unusual. 

He remained silent. He didn’t expect she had come for conversation.

“Should I call you the Herald?” she asked, calm and polite. “Or Viktor?”

Hearing his name spoken by someone who wasn’t Jayce caught him off guard. He allowed his discomfort to settle before speaking.

“You may call me whatever you prefer,” he said. He would make no bold claims to the name Viktor, even if it was what he had once been called. It still felt misplaced in his head most of the time, like a separate person he had stolen the life of. 

“Viktor, then,” she said, with a little smile. Maybe she thought she was being ingratiating with that small show of familiarity. He was disinterested. When he didn’t bother responding, she continued the conversation herself. “I came here tonight because I wanted to discuss some potential research opportunities with you.”

Research opportunities.

It would have been a perfectly average conversation in most other phases of his life. There was still muscle memory waiting, suggesting eloquent follow-ups that he may have pursued at any of the events where he was forced to mingle with Piltovan high society. Now, it could feel like nothing but a trap.

“I am no longer a scientist.”

“We wouldn’t require that form of input from you, though we would be happy to receive it,” she said, not missing a step. “I expect you know a great many things that would put our understanding of the world to shame.” He didn’t respond. Again, she continued. “We have been pursuing a form of advanced bionic augmentation, and with how cooperative you’ve been with the city’s requests, it only felt natural to ask you.”

Viktor felt cold all the time. Now, he felt colder.

“No,” he said, firmly. Her eyebrows raised.

“Please, Viktor, take a moment to consider. The technology we’ve been working on could be revolutionary for the injured and ill, and there is no more advanced state of what we would like to achieve than you. With some insights into the way your body works and how it was made we could–”

“Is it not enough for this city to fall to its hubris only once?” Viktor snapped. 

“We understand there were negative effects to the original implementation,” she said. “But is the technology truly inseparable from the crimes you committed? Your work could still save lives now. Surely there is some insight we could take away from it without bringing along the burden of past mistakes.”

She was making his head swim. It was the kind of opportunity he would have dreamed of, when he was still human. A way to make fully functional limbs and replacement organs, all without the limitations and abuses of undercity Chemtech. So much of his career had been spent on the Hexgates, and then in the refinement of Hextech gems. The next step would have been to find purposes for that source of power, just like this. 

The ache was returning. If his heart had full sway over him, he would have been losing his sanity at the idea. The thing he’d wanted all along, brought like an offering.

“There… are too many variables,” he managed. “No. I cannot trust my work to be released into the chaos of this world. I have already learned this lesson. It is what brought me here.”

He gestured broadly towards his prison, his chains clinkling as he moved.

For a time, they lapsed into silence.

“‘I surrender myself to the people,’” she said, clearly quoting something. “‘They may do with me as they will.’”

He froze. The hexclaw twitched behind him.

“That’s the quote the Enforcers that first detained you reported,” she continued carefully. “Every step of the way, you’ve made that stance clear: that you are doing what the people want from you. Why not continue that now, in a way that really matters? In a way that could do good?”

Something deep inside of him was screaming. He blocked out the sound. He couldn’t respond.

“You don’t have to give your answer now,” she added, that tentative smile returning to her face. “Please, just consider it. It could mean so much, to both Piltover and Zaun.”

She turned around and left, leaving Viktor completely undone.

 

---

 

Jayce sat in the Council Room, as irritated as he’d ever been with the proceedings. He had been planning on visiting Stillwater that evening, only to be informed in the afternoon that a meeting was being held at the same time. Now, he resented every second he was being delayed.

At least Sevika also seemed annoyed at being called in at the last minute. That was one thing they could routinely find connection over–a distaste for the politics they’d been forced to participate in.

Besides the annoying circumstances, the meeting itself had been unfolding as expected. He hardly knew why this was so important that they needed to be called in so late. Jayce barely felt like he needed to be there at all.

At least, until Councilor Ferros finally took the table. When he did, the atmosphere changed drastically.

“And now, to revisit an ongoing topic,” he announced. “I believe a renewed discussion of the Hexgates is long overdue.”

Jayce’s skull strained with the pressure suddenly building inside of it. To everyone else at the table, this seemed like old news. To Jayce, it felt like a siren warning of an approaching armageddon.

“No!” he snapped, unable to stop himself. He looked up to find himself the target of several startled expressions. Even Sevika seemed surprised by the vehemence of his rebuke.

“Please, Councilor Talis,” Councilor Ferros continued a moment later, unphased, “have some decorum. This is a table for discussion, and it’s only right that we all be heard.”

Sevika audibly scoffed at that, but didn’t move to interrupt him. Jayce clenched his hands beneath the table, trying to stave off the surges of dread going through him. He’d been so relieved when he’d heard they were still dormant. Any discussion of them couldn’t possibly be a good thing.

“As most of you recall, in the wake of the invasion, there were concerns raised regarding the safety of the Hexgates’ usage,” Council Ferros said. “At the time, however, these concerns were impossible to fully quantify, as Councilor Talis, their point of origin, had vanished and was presumed dead. From then onward, in an abundance of caution, all use of the Hexgates remained suspended, with the intention of fully understanding their function before having them reinstated–at significant cost to Piltover’s economy.”

Holloran, Tariost, and Torbek nodded gravely, clearly most concerned with that last part. Shoola seemed pensive, Sevika was irritated, and Bolbok’s mechanical helmet was completely unreadable as always.

“Early on, there were reports from the undercity of environmental contamination, but those complaints could never be substantiated. However, we no longer need fumble in ignorance. Councilor Talis has returned to us, and now his concerns can be reviewed in full.”

Jayce felt like all of the blood had abruptly left his body, leaked out onto the Council Room floor. Everyone was looking at him for a response, but he was lost somewhere in his own head, fighting for his life.

“The Hexgates created an anomaly that almost destroyed the city,” he eventually managed, struggling for each word. He had been caught completely unprepared. “It almost destroyed everything. ”

“But how is it that you know this?” Councilor Ferros pushed. “The Council acted upon your warnings dutifully, and without evidence, at that. But now, in order for the city to progress, we must act upon material facts.”

He needed time. They hadn’t given him any time. 

I went to the future.

It sounded insane even in his mind. How could any of them imagine? Would they write him off entirely?

It was killing Ekko’s tree.

But if the tree recovered, there would be no evidence remaining. Would Ekko have ever risked showing his home to Piltover’s elite? Unlikely.

It turned Viktor into a monster.

The thought tore its way into his head before he could stop it, that primal fear returning. He imagined the twitching remains of transformed humans, and steely hands locked around his throat. He thought of Viktor’s emotionless mask, staring past him like he was nothing.

He wasn’t afraid of Viktor, he tried to insist to himself. Viktor wasn’t a monster, and he wasn’t frightening, and his partner was still in there, same as he’d ever been.

Then, he remembered their encounter all those days ago, where Viktor had threatened to destroy what humanity remained inside of him. He imagined the human Viktor he had held each night, trembling in his arms, and how he could have been extinguished forever in that moment.

He was taking too long to answer. They were all waiting.

“I’ll compile my findings and bring them before the Council at a later date,” he forced out, struggling through the fog. “If you want evidence, then we’ll do this properly.”

“Very well,” Councilor Ferros agreed. “In the meantime, I would like to ask the assembled Councilors for expanded testing permission regarding the Hexgates and the Hextech gems they are fueled by. Our artificers have been studying them for many months now, and we have hit a plateau in terms of what we can accomplish with the previously agreed upon limits. We’ve outlined our requests in the documents now being passed around the table. It is paramount that we have as much data as possible when making our final decision.”

Jayce stared at the copy set before him. He could barely read it, his eyes skimming over the words with a mounting sense of disquiet. He was so rattled that he could barely make out what they were asking for, only that it had to be a bad idea. It was then that it struck him.

Had he become Heimerdinger?

Some time passed while they were given a chance to read. Jayce had still barely internalized any of it, besides that it would allow an actual activation of the Hexgates so that the effects could be measured, along with the removal of a number of Hextech gems from their chambers for study. 

When the vote was called, he still wasn’t ready.

“All in favour of Councilor Ferros’s proposal?” Tariost asked. She raised her hand. Holloran and Torbek followed without much hesitation, along with Ferros himself. Shoola’s frown had deepened.

“While your requests are sensible, I see no reason that this can’t be delayed until after Councilor Talis has made his presentation,” she said. “We’ve waited this long.”

“I agree,” said Bolbok. “The dangers of utilizing the Arcane have been made clear. We should allow time for Councilor Talis to prepare before leaping ahead.”

To Ferros’s raised eyebrow, Sevika just shrugged, keeping her arms folded across her chest.

Jayce was gradually feeling his breath come back to him. That was four versus four. A tie. Finally, the vote was abandoned.

“It was better when there were seven,” huffed Holloran. “None of this stalemate nonsense.”

Councilor Ferros stood. If he was flustered, it didn’t show.

“We will revisit this after Councilor Talis has presented his evidence, then,” he conceded. He looked to Jayce. “When can we expect to see your report?”

The thing was, Jayce had no evidence. He also had no idea where to get it.

The anomaly was gone, along with its effects. He hadn’t had the time to record anything scientific about it when it came up. Ekko and Heimerdinger had come to him for help, and then the moment they had gone to analyse the Hexgates, everything had gone to hell. He never saw either of them again, after that point. 

Was the leaf sample Ekko had given him still around? Were the multicolor stains that had marked Viktor’s commune? Would those mean anything to anyone?

“I’ll give you an estimate during our next meeting,” he said, trying not to sound nervous. He had no case, in truth. Not one that would convince a room full of people that already doubted him. He was no longer the Man of Progress that had been lifted far above his station by benevolent benefactors. Now, he was clinging to the precipice by force of will alone.

Viktor, he suddenly thought. His skin prickled with lingering anxiety. He tried to push it away, to force it back where it belonged. Viktor had experienced the Arcane in ways that no one else in Piltover ever could.

Viktor would understand, just as he always had.

 

---

 

When Jayce finally made it to Stillwater, he had to argue with the Warden at the front desk. It was after hours, they’d tried to say. Thankfully, it seemed that being the person to bind and tame the Machine Herald got him at least one good thing, which was the tiniest amount of control over his situation. After said Warden was informed of the purpose he held there, he was let by.

It wasn’t the thing he’d ever wanted to be famous for, but he also had to take what he could get. If he was lucky, they would let him continue to be Viktor’s handler for the rest of his life, and that would be a victory. Such was the compromise he’d been forced into.

When he finally made it down to the basement, he found Viktor lost somewhere deep within himself.

He didn’t respond when Jayce called him the first, second, or even third time. He just stared at the floor ahead of him, as if his body had been powered down. It wasn’t the first time Jayce had found him like that, but it set his heart pounding every time. There was a recurring fear he faced whenever returning to Stillwater: that someday he would arrive to find that Viktor had given up for good.

Thankfully, Viktor finally began to stir when Jayce deactivated the barrier. Initially, Jayce had only done that when bringing Viktor something approved by the Council to drop off, but now he just did it whenever he thought he could get away with it. The closeness with Viktor was addictive, and Jayce felt like he deserved the vice.

“Jayce,” Viktor murmured sadly, looking up at him. It had taken time, but Jayce had learned how to know. The heavy melancholy in Viktor’s illusory expression was undeniable. Seeing how Viktor looked now, Jayce could no longer remember how or why he’d been afraid of him in the Council Room.

Sometimes the fear just seized him, often in unexpected and impractical ways. Sometimes, it was violent enough to almost make him forget how much he loved the man sitting in front of him.

“Sorry I was late. I wanted to come earlier, but the Council got in the way,” Jayce said, kneeling in front of him. He carefully took hold of both of Viktor’s hands, as if he could share his life force through them. “Are you doing okay?”

If there was one thing to take pride in, it was that Viktor’s days of avoiding those sorts of questions were over. Though it took him a while to decide what he wanted to say, Viktor did speak.

“An artificer spoke to me. She asked to study my body, in pursuit of lifesaving augmentations.” He averted his gaze. “She claimed it was to help those in need.”

The description pinged something in Jayce’s memory. Hakim, the artificer who shared the lab with him, was often working on something to that effect. The work wasn’t complete, but from what Jayce had understood, there was potential. And they wanted Viktor involved?

“What did you say?” he prompted.

“I denied them,” Viktor said. “Of course I denied them. This form was created as an act of hubris. Progress born of cruelty and arrogance and evil. Is there any way its influence could not corrupt?”

Jayce honestly didn’t know. He wasn’t the one that made the Hexcore, just the one that abused it. He didn’t fully understand what Viktor had done to achieve his final evolution, either.

But how much of what Viktor was saying was reflective of the science and how much of it was just the way he felt about himself?

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Jayce assured him, squeezing his hands more tightly. “But you aren’t evil. Your body isn’t evil. It’s just the way you are, now.”

He lifted one of his hands to hold Viktor’s angular cheek and, at long last, Viktor leaned into it. This level of intimacy had been hard won, and there wasn’t a day that passed where Jayce wasn’t grateful for it.

“Some part of me thought that perhaps it could be used for good,” Viktor admitted quietly. “When she described her research, I almost… felt hope. Hope that some good could still come from all I’ve done.” They met each other’s gaze, and could see the self-destructive sorrow lurking deep within. The human soul, at the center of it all. “Am I really such a fool? Why haven’t I learned ?”

Jayce sighed helplessly, trying to keep his composure. Maybe now wasn’t a good time to talk about the Hexgates.

“I think I know one of the people working on that project. If you want, I can try to find out more about it for you. Maybe it really could be worth helping with.”

Jayce had his own set of serious reservations when it came to spreading any of the technology created as part of their mutual downfall. Yet, hearing that Viktor had almost hoped for something… Jayce desperately wanted for it to be worth believing in. Viktor needed something to show him that his existence wasn't a curse. If he could help develop a beneficial technology, even in some small way, maybe…

Jayce couldn't afford to get ahead of himself. For now, he allowed Viktor to weigh his offer.

“Perhaps,” Viktor murmured. Jayce sighed, and then opened his arms.

“Come here,” he said. Viktor shifted reluctantly. Eventually, though, he leaned over so that Jayce could hug him. He even raised one of his hands to rest on Jayce’s back in return, as much as his chains would allow.

“I look ridiculous doing this,” Viktor pointed out. He was at least two feet taller than Jayce, and had to lean quite severely to be huggable. Jayce chuckled softly and let him go. 

“Did you want to do some more reading?” Jayce offered instead. 

Viktor was perfectly capable of reading on his own, but Jayce usually found that whatever books he brought were left untouched unless he personally forced Viktor to engage with them. So often, it felt like the moment that Jayce left the room, Viktor would lose all interest in being human. It was like humanity was a hobby they shared together rather than a natural state of being for him.

Fortunately, Viktor was willing to indulge him, at least for a few hours at a time. They were in the process of working their way through another novel, though Viktor was growing increasingly annoyed with it.

“Idiots,” Viktor grumbled as the chapter ended. It was the cozy mystery Jayce had threatened him with before. Unfortunately, it seemed that the interpersonal drama had strayed in the direction of being too tedious and petty for Viktor to put up with it. 

Emotion clashes with reason, Jayce could imagine Viktor booming with the full force of the Machine Herald. He wondered how much less patience Viktor had for human squabbling after he’d dreamed of a world without it.

“Is that a hint to try something else?” Jayce asked. Viktor paused and then hummed.

“I will allow them two more chapters,” he said. Jayce found himself smiling more genuinely than he had in a while.

He started reading again. Viktor was lying against his lap, but Jayce kept having to shift around, his hips and leg aching badly no matter what position he sat in. He was always a bit uncomfortable sitting on the hard floor of Viktor’s prison, but it had been getting worse and worse as the weeks went on. Viktor must have noticed earlier, but it took until then for him to bring it up.

“Your body is hurting you,” Viktor said, pushing himself up. “You should take a break.”

Jayce scoffed. “I had to put up with watching you strain your leg and back for seven years. Don’t start that with me now.”

Viktor stared at him, tilting his head at the challenge.

“...At least sit differently, then,” Viktor insisted. “Lean against me.”

Viktor repositioned so that he was sitting with his legs open and his torso straight, providing a space where Jayce could lean against his chest like the back of a metal chair. Jayce hesitated, then moved into place–it was still so strange having Viktor be this much bigger than him. As he looked up, the top of his head didn’t even meet Viktor’s chin.

It was a shockingly intimate gesture from Viktor. Sitting like that, Jayce was fully encircled by him, with his legs and arms on either side and their bodies pressed close. Then, Viktor startled him further by pressing his fingers into the muscles of his lower back.

“Your hips are bearing the burden of your brace,” Viktor explained. His fingers shifted around to the front of Jayce’s pelvis, where the muscles attached to his thigh. He massaged carefully. 

Jayce tried to avoid audibly yelping. Human Viktor would have absolutely lost his mind if Jayce started doing this to him unprompted–but Jayce couldn’t say he hated it. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was the kind of casual intimacy that he had been displaying towards Viktor for most of their career, which he had rarely received any reciprocation for. 

Maybe Viktor was trying to actively give him something he wanted, even if the abruptness of it was making it difficult for Jayce not to squirm.

“Again,” he managed, “I’ve seen too much to take being scolded over that.”

“I am not scolding,” Viktor corrected. “Only pointing out.”

Jayce sighed, surrendering himself to the experience. Viktor’s hands were strong enough that they could apply just the right amount of pressure without an ounce of strain, and he was well-versed on what muscles may be causing trouble. Reading was forgotten about entirely for the next several minutes.

Jayce could feel that Viktor was trying to care for him in return. It meant more than he knew how to say. As much as he didn’t want to spoil such a pleasant moment, Viktor’s openness drew out the worries that Jayce had been avoiding speaking aloud.

“I think we had similar problems today,” Jayce admitted. “The Council is talking about reactivating the Hexgates.” Viktor’s hands paused on Jayce’s back.

“...I see,” he said a moment later, continuing his ministrations.

“They want proof that the anomaly existed, that it was dangerous. But… it’s gone now, and I don’t know how to give that to them. I don’t even fully understand how it happened in the first place.”

“There is the chance of a recurrence.” Viktor brought his hands up to Jayce’s shoulders. “The Arcane is wild and cannot be contained with certainty. Aberrations appear at the sites of its strenuous use. The Hexgates. My commune.” The last part lingered heavily before he continued his thought. “I believe that the strain of corruption that manifested before was influenced by my use of the Hexcore.”

“The Hexcore?” Jayce repeated, wanting elaboration. 

“Yes,” Viktor said, his shame weighing heavy. “My work was a fusion of Hextech and Doctor Reveck’s Shimmer. Shimmer’s nature, I believe, is that of reckless consumption and growth. When mingled with the raw power of the Arcane, it became like a virus… one that I could utilize to devour the world.”

Jayce had already known about the Shimmer. He’d read about it in Viktor’s notes while he was desperately trying to understand the evolutionary cocoon his partner was trapped in. It hadn’t mattered at the time, in the face of everything else.

“That strain was destroyed,” Viktor went on. “But there remains the possibility of similar or entirely separate aberrations in the future. How long from now, or in what form, I could not say.”

“So, it’s unprovable,” Jayce concluded helplessly.

“It’s chaos.” Viktor was impossibly gentle as he crossed his arms around Jayce’s chest, holding him close. It was probably the first proactive hug he’d ever received from him. “Its danger lies in its unpredictability.”

Jayce felt his eyes grow watery.

“I want to warn them. It’s my responsibility to warn them. The city needs to know the risks, no matter what the Council thinks. But all I know is what I saw. That… version of the future. What happened at the Hexgates. Th-They won’t understand. They trusted me before, why won’t they believe me now?”

He was becoming more desperate, his words shaking as uncontrolled misery wracked his body. The fear was coming back. No matter what he did, it kept coming back.

“They will believe what is convenient to them,” Viktor said carefully. “They feared Noxus and the Machine Herald, and so they followed you for a time. Now those troubles have passed, and they will attempt to reclaim their glory. You cannot control this aspect of humanity, Jayce.”

If anyone knew that last lesson, it would be Viktor.

“Damn it,” Jayce hissed, trying to hold back tears. Eventually, he failed. He hung his head into his hands as Viktor continued holding him, that strangely pliant metal skin growing warmer from their close proximity. 

Viktor didn’t have much to say in terms of pep talks or optimism. He wasn’t a distributor of pleasant lies. What he did do was understand. He saw the source of Jayce’s pain more clearly than anyone else ever could, and stayed with him through it.

“Tomorrow you may continue trying,” he said. “For now, rest.”

Who was Jayce to disagree? After a while, he even dozed off in Viktor’s arms.

Chapter 12

Each day and night, Jayce charted the courses of Viktor and his estranged heart.

Most often they moved in tandem, two celestial bodies pulled by the same essential gravity. He could see the shifts in their trajectory mirrored between their separate worlds, the heart locked in its distant orbit by the will of his conscious mind, bound together but held apart. It was beautiful and horrible all at once.

There was a deep unfairness to the way Viktor’s human soul was left trapped in isolation, held at a distance from anything that could have comforted him. Jayce could sense it when he visited, which he continued to do every night that he slept. There were things about how Viktor acted in that space that made more sense, now that Jayce understood his relationship to the dominant presence of his mind.

The Viktor Jayce comforted in dreams felt everything–all the pain that waking Viktor had shut away, for fear that it would overwhelm him. His misery continued whether his mind chose to feel it or not. Any healing was only hindered by his rational mind’s unwillingness to engage, his recovery restrained by a lack of lasting understanding of his own plight. Instead, all he could do was scream from within a glass cage, able to see the world beyond but unable to touch it. 

Viktor’s heart was helpless to do anything but soak in the same self-loathing and despair he’d been drowning in from the start. His thoughts ran in circles, and any progress Jayce made with him would seemingly be undone by the next time they spoke. He couldn’t reason or internalize. He could only experience.

Jayce had noticed all of this before, in their early days of interacting. He’d just seen it as a mark of how dire Viktor’s emotional situation was. In truth, it was even worse than he’d known. Viktor thought he could ignore a wound simply because he couldn’t feel it. Whether he looked at it or not, it continued to rot.

The only comfort was that Viktor’s heart and mind didn’t seem to want different things. If his heart had wanted the freedom his mind refused, Jayce didn’t know what he would do. As it was, his heart was every bit as committed to his penance as the Viktor he spoke to in person. After all, his heart was the part of him that felt the weight of his guilt most acutely. 

And so, Jayce kept working with them both, dreaming of a time that Viktor’s wounds would begin to heal in earnest. The only future seemed to be in securing the mind’s understanding, in the hope that one day he might set the heart free.

For now, Jayce sat in Viktor’s containment room, trying to colour in his most recent drawing of him with pencil crayons. He had wanted to use paint, but he couldn’t think of a way to bring it in through security that wouldn’t make him look insane. Maybe he could tell them that Viktor himself wanted to paint, though he absolutely did not. It was still like pulling teeth to get Viktor to engage with books that weren’t being read to him.

Currently, though, Viktor was reading a concise documentation of Hakim’s bionic augmentation project. When Jayce had asked Hakim about it, and suggested that one of the artificers had been inquiring with Viktor on the subject, he hadn’t been surprised. Instead, he had been excited to provide a write up, to see what a true ‘machine god’ thought of it all.

Jayce hadn’t entered the barrier that day, though he felt himself shivering for it like an addict. He knew that he needed to be careful and to restrain himself in the name of not drawing the Council’s attention, but the more he had allowed himself in, the more he yearned for it like a forbidden tryst. One where, if they were caught, they would risk losing each other forever.

So, for the moment, he controlled himself. 

“It is… brilliant work,” Viktor said, rising from his habitual silence. He was on the last page of Hakim’s documentation. He had read it all very quickly.

“Yeah,” Jayce agreed. “It really is.”

Mechanical limbs were not unheard of in Piltover and Zaun, particularly in the latter. Those were tools, however, built for their function. They couldn’t feel, and in most models their manual dexterity was limited. In the case of Zaunite Chemtech, they would often require refueling, to the point that even Zevika usually left her mechanical arm dormant when she had no specific need for it.

That wasn’t a problem for Chem-Barons or the otherwise wealthy, but for the average person, it would be a constant tax on the use of their body that they couldn’t afford. In the same sense, it put organ replacements out of the question, even if they had been refined enough to fit safely within a human body.

Hakim’s work was different. It seemed centered around artificial tissues that would move and feel the same way as organic ones, that would use a small enough amount of energy that it could be powered responsibly. It was as far from a weapon as any augmentation could be, though that power source was one thing not elaborated on in the documents.

Jayce had asked about that after reading the report in the lab, and Hakim had apologetically explained that the theoretical power source was in development by another team and that it was all too hush hush for him to show it off yet. That was another trouble with the whole thing.

No matter how brilliant or well-intentioned Hakim was, he was working under contract with House Ferros. The same family who wanted to reactivate the Hexgates.

Jayce had bought himself some time in that regard, but he was still running out of it. It was downright arrogant for Ferros to have his people bothering Viktor about these things, all while Jayce was being pressured in the Council Room to give up control.

“I can understand my relevance to the project,” Viktor said carefully. “Though my manufacture was enabled entirely by the Arcane.”

Viktor had explained that much in bits and pieces before. He hadn’t had much control over the initial phases of his transformation, with them being shaped more by raw intent than anything else. As the Hexcore and him had become more intertwined, and his awareness heightened, he’d been able to take a more active role in the direction of his evolution. He’d had enough control that he could reconstruct the Hexclaw and graft it to his back, after all.

In Hakim’s case, every part would have to be fabricated by House Ferros. Any attempt to imitate Viktor’s body would be inherently missing steps–the main step being the magic.

But wouldn’t it be something fantastic to recreate that function without the burdens Viktor had faced?

“I think that…” Viktor began, setting down the papers. He froze mid-sentence and mid-motion, lifting his head as if he’d heard something far in the distance.

Then, everything started to move. 

Jayce had never felt anything like it. The stone around them was shaking violently, like they were both in a box being rattled from the outside. It was enough to send Jayce sprawling out of his chair. It was enough to displace a few chunks of ceiling, weakened from the recent construction.

“Jayce!” Viktor cried as the stone fell nearby.

As quickly and as sinuously as a snake lashing out with its fangs, Viktor was on his feet and moving. In a desperate attempt to get to Jayce, he slammed into the limit of his chains, the runes of his prison burning brightly as he strained. Just as quickly, his shackles bit back, sending him down to his knees with a groan like creaking metal.

Jayce was certain, for a moment, that he was going to die. He would die, and Viktor’s immortal body would be buried under a thousand tons of stone, unable to free himself for the rest of time.

Through some small mercy, it didn’t happen. Instead, the shaking gradually abated, leaving only a small amount of displaced debris in its wake.

It had been an earthquake.

The hexclaw was twisting and clicking wildly as Jayce collected himself, like it was trying to manipulate the arcane but couldn’t summon the energy. Viktor’s gaze was razor focused, even as his body was left sagging from the jolt his bonds had given him.

“Jayce, go,” he urged. “Go to the Council. They must convene. Something has happened in Zaun.”

Jayce didn’t want to leave–not while Viktor was trapped in this box and earthquakes were happening. Him being there wouldn’t save either of them, though. He couldn’t free Viktor, and the people that could wouldn’t be swayed by the Machine Herald being in theoretical danger.

He stumbled towards the barrier, straying as close to Viktor as he could get without going through. He raised his hand, wanting so badly to reach out and touch.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said. He ran for the exit, passing through the newfound chaos of Stillwater prison on his way.

 

---

 

It was only once Jayce was on the boat heading back to Piltover that he could witness the full breadth of what Viktor had meant. 

Smoke was rising above the undercity from the assortment of fires caused by the earthquake’s chaos. Not just smoke, but chemical gas and fumes–somewhere, a Chemtech operation had been disrupted, its toxins freed, and now they were bleeding out across the city. On a primal level Jayce wanted to get off the boat and run to offer help to whoever needed it, but he knew that wasn’t the most effective thing he could do at that moment.

He needed to get Piltover to mobilize, and as quickly as possible. It was what Vikor would want him to do. Only he had the voting power, and he needed to make it count.

After what felt like a painfully long trip, he finally made it to the Council Room. Fortunately, most of the other Councilors were already congregating, despite the event’s recency. Jayce assumed that had at least something to do with the way that Sevika was storming around, herding people like sheep. As soon as she saw Jayce enter the room, she turned to the group.

“We’ve got to act now, ” she demanded, slamming her metal fist into the table. “We’ve got at least two major tunnel collapses, a chem leak, and fires burning all over the city. Every second we wait is more people we lose.”

Discussion commenced. Jayce noted with some relief that it seemed like most of the Council was willing to send in support to handle the immediately pressing issues like firefighting, but it began to become divided over the subject of recovery supplies and cleanup. The atmosphere was clear; how much money were Piltover’s elite willing to pour into the lawless undercity?

Most were inclined towards being stingy, and as the voting lines began breaking down the middle as they had before, Sevika looked like she wanted to pull her hair out.

“This is your responsibility!” she snarled. “I told you weeks ago that those mines needed to be shut down, and you didn’t listen. It’s been nothing but red-tape and excuses from you since then.”

“We began an investigation,” Councilor Ferros said levelly. 

“Yeah, well, Councilor Talis’s investigation didn’t amount to shit,” Sevika snapped. Jayce felt himself flush. He couldn’t tell if she was pointing out that it was his responsibility and he failed, or emphasising that he had been the one doing it instead of them. Either way, the shame weighed heavily.

He should have tried harder, done more. His entire world had been consumed by Viktor’s situation, but was that really an excuse? He was still a Councilor.

“She’s right,” he said. “We had time to handle this, and we didn’t. Now… we just have to help as many people as we can.”

Sevika met his eye across the table, and for a moment she almost seemed apologetic for name-dropping him, when he had been consistently voting on her side for almost every issue. It didn’t last long, though. She turned her fury back at the table, and debate began anew.

Emergency response teams were already on their way for the fires, as they had the risk of spreading, but they were unwilling to direct Piltover citizens into the areas of highest risk to help. Volunteers would have to do, they said.

“Not even two years ago we were at war with the undercity, and now they expect us to solve all their problems for them,” Councilor Tariost said impatiently. “Imagine such gall.”

“We can’t ask our men and women to die for people that despise them,” Councilor Holloran agreed.

By that point, Caitlyn had arrived, having given her preliminary orders. She stood by the Council table, her hands folded neatly behind her back.

“I’ll enlist for volunteers, then,” she said crisply. “Surely some of our people will have the courage to do what’s right.” That earned her some scowls.

The most pressing issues had been decided upon, for better or for worse. The remaining debates were mostly to do with how much resources could be afforded for recovery and the care of survivors. More than half of the table voted for ‘as little as possible.’

“You must understand,” Councilor Ferros said, as a miniscule amount of outreach was decided upon. “Piltover is still in recovery itself. Rebuilding came with a high cost, and with the sudden suspension of the Hexgates, that loss has been multiplied. There is a limit to what we can responsibly offer.”

“Fine,” Sevika growled. “Give the undercity your pittance. It’s not like we’re used to getting anything more. I’m going back there to do the real work.” She stood from the table, already preparing herself to leave, now that the last relevant vote had been taken.

“I’m going too,” Jayce said, standing up with her. “If there are people still in those mines, then they are already running out of time.”

Most of the Councilors lingered behind as Jayce and Sevika took their leave. On the way out, Caitlyn joined them.

“I have a locomotor waiting outside,” she said. “I’ll follow you to the undercity as soon as I have some recruits.”

Sevika seemed caught off-guard, her anger still burning from that endurance test of a meeting, but lifted a shoulder in acknowledgement. They rushed to the bottom of the government building–as promised, a locomotor was rumbling outside. Vi popped her head out of the passenger side window.

“Is that everybody?” she asked. She looked them over, her brow raising at Sevika. Sevika raised her eyebrow right back. Vi pursed her lips. “Good. Or else Councilor Sevika would have to ride in the trunk.”

In response, Sevika spat on the street.

As they got into the back of the locomotor, Jayce spotted a blue-skinned vastaya in the driver’s seat–Steb, he thought his name was. They’d only interacted once or twice before. As was typical, Steb said nothing at all, and quietly waited to drive.

“Take us to the mines,” Jayce said. Without any further questions, they were on their way.

 

---

 

Even with the locomotor it took a while to get to the fissures. Through the window, Jayce watched as smoke and hazy green-and-pink fog engulfed the sky, only thickening the further they got in. As tempting as it was to stop for every bit of smoke they saw, it did seem like Piltovan emergency services were working on it, drawing water up from the river. It was the mines and chemical waste that nobody would want to touch. 

At one point, they had to leave the locomotor behind because the pathways became too crowded and vertical. Fortunately, there was no chance of getting lost. Sevika and Vi both knew the place expertly. 

Once they were finally at the site of the first mine collapse, Sevika received a report from one of her people that had been deployed there. The gas leak had made the area dangerous, at first, but the wind had picked up and was blowing it and most of the smoke out to sea. Jayce could hear it howling through the looming rock faces, and coursing through the fissures like a wild river. It was a strain to communicate over its cries.

It wasn’t long before Jayce noticed green streaks of energy overhead, as a group of masked figures surfed along the raging wind like waves. They were all riding hoverboards of some kind–Jayce was immediately curious about their construction, but knew it wasn’t the time to ask.

Jayce had no idea who they were until the one at the front swept off his mask, revealing familiar hourglass facepaint and a head of white dreadlocks. 

“Ekko?” Jayce asked, stunned. Ekko snorted.

“Damn. Never thought I’d see you again,” he admitted. “But it’s not the best time to catch up.”

Ekko explained that he and his team had just gotten back with some precision explosives they’d created. There was at least one team of miners still down there, they thought, based on the work schedules and which tunnels had collapsed. While exploring the area earlier, they had heard a consistent percussive rhythm down below–most likely survivors trying to tell any rescuers that they were still alive. 

The problem was that there were multiple paths and no certain way of knowing which would lead them to the people they were trying to save. If they spent all their time on the wrong path, it could condemn the miners to death by asphyxiation. 

Upon entering the main shaft, Jayce could already feel his anxieties rising. He’d never been in a mine before, and the fact that parts of this one had recently collapsed didn’t make it any easier. In the back of his mind, he was already going over worst case scenarios. What if he was killed down there and left Viktor alone? What if he got trapped in a hole somewhere and starved to death like he’d narrowly avoided doing in that hellish future?

He tried to stay calm. There were people down in those tunnels that were already facing that outcome. He was the one in the position to do something about it.

As they made it through to where one of the collapses had been, they passed by a few sets of people setting up additional structural supports. They were mechanical, and seemingly capable of burrowing themselves into the stone walls without additional labour required. Ekko tried to calm some nerves by explaining what they were.

“We built these modular supports to reduce risk in rescue situations like these. There’s been way too many of them, lately.” He glanced at Jayce. “Try not to pass out, Talis. We've got some experienced miners down here, keeping an eye on things.”

Eventually, they got to work that Jayce actually thought he could handle. A small team was at the end of the tunnel, trying to clear away the fallen rocks with a combination of Ekko’s explosives and regular tools. Jayce was quick to grab a sledgehammer as soon as it was offered to him. Swinging a hammer was something he knew how to do.

And so, they worked.

It was straightforward, backbreaking labour. Big rocks were broken into smaller rocks, and then those smaller rocks were hauled out. Even with the explosives, progress was arduous. Worse was that they didn’t even know if they were in the right tunnel. For all their efforts, their progress could be leading to nowhere. 

They still heard that intermittent percussion, though it was becoming less frequent. They had teams working in three different tunnels which the mining experts had guessed at being the most likely options. It was starting to become apparent, though, that unless they narrowed down their focus, there may be nobody left to save.

“Sure wish I had those Atlas Gauntlets now,” Vi said as she arrived to haul away more boulders. She had some alternative gauntlets on, but they were nowhere near as big or powerful. 

“Did you lose them?” Jayce asked, already feeling like he was going brain dead with weariness. The air down there was so hard to breathe. 

Vi paused to pant. “I lost… one of them.”

Despite everything, he wished that she had brought the remaining one. They were made for this, weren’t they? They could have been making so much more progress with them. With Hextech.

It chilled him to think about how the siren call of his life’s ambition would never truly go away. Using magic to help people could have put an end to things like this. How easily could Viktor have carved away at these rocks, if only he weren’t chained in Stillwater’s basement?

Exhaustion set in fast, and teams had to swap out often. It felt like forever and no time at all when someone came along to tell him he was due to take a rest. He limped back towards the mouth of the mineshaft, drank some more water, and felt like he hadn’t accomplished anything at all. He sat against the cave wall, listening to the wind rage outside.

Without meaning to, he drifted from consciousness.

 

---

 

He woke to the sea of stars.

Usually, he’d had to at least put some effort into finding his way there. This time, it felt like he’d been summoned–whisked away from his sleeping mind by a guiding hand. It didn’t take long to figure out why.

Viktor was there, waiting.

It wasn’t the small, fragile form of the heart that Jayce had met with many before. Instead, it was Viktor as he’d been as he attempted to bring about his glorious evolution–as divine as he was enormous. He was a blaze of red, blue, and gold, lit with starlight and shimmering synapses. He should have been brighter than he was, though. 

Everywhere that Jayce knew a shackle had been placed in the physical world, he could see Viktor’s godly form grow muted and dim, as if swallowed by absence. Chains sprouted from his limbs, coiling around his body and throughout the space around them in an endless web. His aura flickered and faded in places, like disruptions in a transmission.

Jayce was hit with a realization. Was this what it was like when Viktor proactively reached out to him? When he showed him his full self?

“Jayce,” Viktor’s voice echoed. He shifted downward so that Jayce’s comparatively diminutive form floated right in front of his mask. This close, the wound in Viktor’s face was almost as big as Jayce was. “I’ve found you. Are you safe?”

“Viktor,” he gasped. “You… You’re really…” You’re really big, he almost said. His presence was overwhelming, even with the chains smothering his essence. After a moment, Viktor seemed to understand, as if he hadn’t noticed the discrepancy until just then.

“...My apologies,” he said, beginning to pull away, prepared to shrink himself down for Jayce’s comfort. Jayce held out his hands to stop him.

“No, no– it’s okay. It’s just… surprising. I almost forgot, somehow. You’re… incredible.”

Viktor paused, taking that in. After some hesitation, he decided to listen. Instead of retreating, he lifted his hands, cupping Jayce carefully between them and bringing him close.

“Please, tell me…” he said. “Is Zaun…?”

Viktor still didn’t know, Jayce realized. Of course he wouldn’t. How could he?

“It’s… not good…” Jayce started, haltingly. “But…”

He explained that the earthquake had caused collapses and chemical spills. He explained the fires. He explained that Piltover’s Council was helping, but as little as they could get away with, citing economic concerns. Viktor listened somberly. Jayce could feel the turbulence in his mind through their touch.

“If I had…” Viktor began, lowering his gaze. “...No. There is no place for me, there.”

Jayce sighed, caressing one of Viktor’s giant fingers with his hand. He didn’t know if he should regret making Viktor question his choices. What good did it do, if he was already trapped? Even if he wasn't, would getting involved turn out any better than it had the first time?

“I’m in the mines, trying to free the people stuck down there,” Jayce explained. The weight of exhaustion returned to his shoulders, as he remembered. “We can hear them somewhere, but we don’t know what tunnel we need to clear first. So, we’re doing them all at once, but… it’s not happening fast enough. I… don’t know what to do.”

Viktor quietly considered.

“There is one thing,” he offered. “If you were willing.”

“What is it?” Jayce sat up abruptly.

“With some effort, it could be possible for you to open yourself to the Arcane.”

To that, Jayce had one of the most discordant emotional experiences of his life.

He, Jayce Talis, could open himself to the Arcane? The source of all his life’s wonder and misery? The thing that had saved and inspired him as a child, leading him to a life of invention and discovery? The thing that had torn him apart and thrown his scraps back to Piltover, broken and deranged? The higher plane that he and Viktor had existed together in, wild and free?

“You, too, once existed among its flow,” Viktor explained gently, sensing his shock. “Though your mind is not equipped to contain it naturally, it may come to you. It has left its mark, just as I have.” He brushed the tip of his thumb very gently against Jayce’s forehead, revealing the shining fingerprints beneath his hair. “I could shield you in the process… Guide your thoughts so you do not lose your way.”

Jayce still couldn’t believe it. “And that would show me where they are?”

“There is a chance.” Viktor’s tone contained an implied warning: avoid getting your hopes up . “There is no reason to what the Arcane shows us. It knows what it knows. It may lead you to these people’s salvation, show you its horrors, or nothing at all.”

Jayce hadn’t even known how Viktor could do that–not in any amount of detail. Viktor had some kind of heightened awareness of the world and the people in it, of course, but the idea that Jayce could witness any of it himself seemed impossible.

“I… I’ll do it,” Jayce decided. Viktor was pensive, but nodded his head.

“Then I will show you the way.”

Viktor leaned forward, so that Jayce could touch his forehead. With a few last moment doubts, Jayce did.

And then, he was somewhere else.

 

---

 

The first thing Jayce noticed was the sound of running water.

The light was dim but atmospheric, the world viewed through a thin mist that reflected sunbeams in shades of aqua and white. The ground was similarly pale and faintly iridescent, leading only towards a low, railless bridge spanning a wide river of flowing colour. 

Jayce took a moment to adjust. This wasn’t the real world, but he somehow felt more grounded; he didn’t float, he walked. It was a place he was sure he’d seen before, a truth he tried to understand as he cautiously walked to the opening of the bridge. 

As he grew closer he could see the river more clearly. It wasn’t water, but patterns of glistening rainbow suspended in a web of milky white. He’d seen it before, and the memory arrived painfully: it was like Viktor’s arcane cocoon had been. As he knelt closer, it even reached for him the same way, like small fingers of shimmering ferrofluid rising to meet his touch as they moved downstream. 

His hand was almost close enough to make contact when a voice drew his attention away.

“Not yet,” it said. “You must have patience.”

It was immediately recognizable, with its soft cadence and familiar accent. There was something blandly pleasant about it, though, something unyieldingly serene. A subtle mechanical resonance lined each word. 

He raised his head to see Viktor as he had been in the commune. He had the same long, sun-bleached hair, the same pulsing purple skin. The only difference was that he wore his robe as a formless veil across his shoulders, a loose cloak over his otherwise nude form. His feet dangled into the swirls of colour below.

It was the same face and body as the Viktor he’d ruthlessly killed.

“Hello, Jayce,” Viktor said, with calm indifference.

Notes:

Remember how I said at Chapter 8 that I felt I was at the midpoint in the story? I was super wrong. That was probably more like 1/3 of the story based on my current outline. Isn't that just typical?

As always, thank you so much for reading and to everyone that has left such kind comments!

Chapter 13

Notes:

Quick warning that I've added the "Graphic Depictions of Violence" tag because I feel like some things have been pushing past that boundary, and will continue to in the future.

Also, fun fact: this Zaun section was originally supposed to be two chapters but has somehow turned into four. But it sounds like people in the comments are happy about the story being longer than expected, which was very flattering, so thank you all!

Jayce felt like he was going to be sick.

“Why do you…?” he trailed off, fighting to stay on his feet. He’d just been talking to Viktor. Why did he look different now? Why did he have to look like this in particular? “I thought…”

“I was expecting you,” Viktor said, as if he thought that would explain everything. “You have come to witness the Arcane.”

Slowly, Jayce’s mind began to settle. He started to understand. This wasn’t the Viktor he’d just been talking to. He could feel it, from the way he spoke, the way he looked and moved. This Viktor was a stranger to him, as much as he had been the day he found him in the commune.

“Viktor,” Jayce said, his mind aching and fear creeping at the edges of his senses. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Could Viktor, the real Viktor, still hear him? The placid version of himself just continued to stare back at him, his expression unchanging, completely unmoved by the fact that Jayce must have looked like he was about to faint. His feet idly toyed with the stream of Arcane fluid flowing around them.

“Please, clarify your meaning,” Viktor said, his faint smile both unshakable and meaningless. Jayce didn’t know what to say. He was still struggling to get past the part where the primary Viktor thought that this was helpful guidance. To ship him off to one of his… clones?

Another part of the ‘grand machine’, as he had said before.

“How many of you are there?” Jayce dragged a hand through his hair. “That has to be at least four now.”

The heart, the mind, the black eyed spectre, and now… this.

“That is of no import to the matter at hand,” Viktor said. “Sit.”

Exhaling through gritted teeth, Jayce gave up. He sat down beside this strange new Viktor, his legs crossed a safe distance away from the grasping miasma below. 

“So, what’s going on here?” he sighed.

“This is a stream of Arcane knowledge,” Viktor explained. “At all times it flows, bringing its visions with it. Once, it required physical touch to access, but now it has expanded to any space that has soaked in my essence. And so, it became my function to watch the river, and to report only what is valuable. To experience it all would only place an undue burden on the rest of my mind.”

Jayce tried to imagine what it would be like to experience a constant flood of visions, primarily born from what lay within the walls of Stillwater. He’d been in that prison often enough now to know what it would be: a nightmare.

“You placed yourself here, and now… this is all you do?”

“The work requires a steady mind. And so this part of me was devised with one. I do not feel what is unnecessary.” The last part was said pointedly, as if he already knew it was something Jayce would question. There was no hesitance or worry to be found, only an aura of unfaltering purpose. “This way, I cannot be distracted from my task.”

Jayce didn’t have to ask what he meant by that. Not with that hollow stare and indifferent tone. If the dominant Viktor only felt what was necessary to tether himself to humanity, then this Viktor felt nothing.

Something about the idea gnawed at him. Either this was a glorified automaton with Viktor’s face, or it was a real Viktor that had been stripped of his humanity and repurposed into a tool. Could it be called cruel, if this version of Viktor didn’t feel enough to be hurt?

“Are you… okay with that?” It had to be a stupid question. Jayce felt he knew the answer before it had even left his lips. 

“Why wouldn't I be?” Viktor asked. “Could my purpose be fulfilled less strenuously if I was battered by my disgust? My pity? My fear?” He gestured to the arcane river, as if to indicate its vastness. “No. It is the parts of the machine bound to those things that suffer most.”

“Why do you keep calling yourself that?” Jayce rubbed his temples, trying to keep himself steady. “A machine.”

“It is what we are. Moving parts, interlocked. A man-made device designed to perform a function.” Viktor paused, and then added: “As obsolete as that function may be. To be technically defunct changes nothing.”

“What function?” Even asking made Jayce nervous.

“To bring about the Glorious Evolution.” Viktor met Jayce’s startled gaze coolly, without an ounce of sorrow or regret. Jayce shivered, his fight or flight instincts beginning to scream. “No longer, of course,” Viktor added, a moment later. “That was determined to be against the world’s best interests. And so, we exist without use. Normally, such a machine would be disassembled or destroyed. And yet…”

“Stop it!” Jayce said, his frustration flaring. “Stop saying things like that.”

“As you wish.” 

It was so easy, so unbothered, that Jayce felt like he’d just shoved against open air.  Viktor’s attention returned to the river. Jayce wished that he could stir him into an argument, if only so he had somewhere to vent all the feelings building up inside of him.

“...Why would the other you even show me this?” he eventually asked, his resentment tingeing his voice. “Show me you. ”

Viktor already knew how jarring Jayce found these ideas. Wasn't this version of himself everything Jayce was trying to prevent his partner from becoming?

“Perhaps it is something he wanted you to understand,” Viktor said. “Perhaps he thought you may be ready to do so.”

And just like that, guilt started replacing anger. Hadn’t Jayce told Viktor that he wanted to know him, even if he was different? At the same time, it was hard not to see this version of him and withdraw as if facing an enemy. An unfeeling shadow, only concerned with the uncontrollable magic that had taken him over. It was everything Jayce had convinced himself Viktor already was on the day he had decided to take his life. 

It was the same brush he’d used to paint over his commune, his followers–one that rendered them as nothing more than faceless obstacles, far beyond saving. He’d been too afraid to ask why they had become that way, why Viktor might choose to shun his humanity when all it had ever done was hurt him. It was a complication that would have been too much to bear.

He’d believed what was convenient to him, like so many others. 

Maybe that was why Viktor wanted to show him this. He was confessing that the things that had scared Jayce so much were still a part of him now.

“I’m sorry,” Jayce said. “He… You’re right. I want that, too. I want to understand.” He looked up, trying to catch Viktor’s eye. “Will you show me?”

As before, there was no lowering of walls or flickers of true affection in Viktor’s expression. Jayce reaching out emotionally or not made no difference. He had to be honest with himself; it hurt to have Viktor look at him and for there to be nothing behind his eyes. It hurt so badly that he wanted to drown him in the suffering that would enable him to also feel love again.

Viktor nodded in acceptance, unaware of Jayce’s inner ugliness. He leaned down to skim his hand along the river’s surface. 

“The mines are outside of my realm of influence,” he said. “But they should be within yours. You must carefully reach into the flow. Slowly, Jayce. I cannot lead, but I will follow.”

By way of example, Viktor touched his fingers carefully to the shimmering current. Tendrils of it reached upwards in response, as if hoping they could pull him in deeper. Swallowing, Jayce mirrored the action. Viktor’s hand slid over his, their fingers interlocking.

The response was immediate. 

Jayce was consumed with a vision of a Zaunite miner in those same caves, coughing up blood into the hem of their dusty shirt. They were dying, just like Viktor had been, cursed by the dust, gas, and toxins that slowly killed them as they tried to make ends meet for their family. Jayce’s heart twisted. As he began to panic, he could feel Viktor’s serene thoughts mingle with his own.

This isn’t what we need.

The scene shifted again, deeper into the dark. Everything was shaking. Another miner, not yet an adult, was just realizing that they were about to die. Before they could even scream, the ceiling fell, crushing their body. They lived long enough to feel their bones break, their blood leak, and their lungs strain for one last breath of air. They never found it.

Jayce’s spirit thrashed with revulsion, desperate to get the image, the resonating agony, out of his head. If he was alone, his journey might have ended there, in despair and death. But, before it could linger too long, Viktor guided him away once more.

Viktor was unbothered by the carnage they’d witnessed. Of course he was. That was all part of the machine’s design.

Show us the survivors.

He felt Viktor’s request dissolve into the Arcane, soft and reverent, like a prayer. 

This time, Jayce observed a party of miners heading down a tunnel he recognized. One of the other digging parties had been close to it, he thought–he’d seen the same curves of rock when he was delivering more explosives to them. He watched the group travel farther down the path, idly chatting as they did. Then, the shaking began.

Though they initially tried to flee upward, one was quick to spot the way the ceiling supports were beginning to lean. They fled deeper into the shaft before it fully collapsed, a wave of dust and debris surging over them. They were alive, but trapped in the dark with nothing but their mining helms to guide them. Their lanterns had fallen and smashed upon the ground.

That was it, Jayce realized. That was something he could work with. He was about to pull himself from the river, as best he knew how, when he heard something scratching in that looming dark. Something that watched him with hunger.

It latched onto him, pulling and tearing. Deeper and deeper, he was drawn into unknowable darkness, until it smothered all rational thought, all breath, all life. Yet, there was something stirring there. Many somethings. Reaching and clawing and dragging him down, just like in his—

Suddenly, he was back on the bridge. 

Viktor held his wrist in a vice grip, having yanked it up from the river. Jayce’s heart was hammering hard enough to break apart, the back of his mind itching and crawling with an unnameable dread. He tried to jerk his hand away, desperate for space, desperate to breathe, but Viktor didn’t budge. His hold was impossible to escape.

As Jayce finally looked up, still writhing, he was met by Viktor’s pitch black eyes staring back at him.

This version of Viktor didn’t hesitate. He clutched Jayce’s forehead with his free hand, and the light flowed through.

First, there was terror. Then relief. Then… confusion? The pulling sensations he experienced a moment before faded into the ungraspable phantasms of a forgotten nightmare. When he finished his work, Viktor tilted his head, expressionless.

“It is done,” he said. His shoulders relaxed and his eyes closed. When he opened them again, they had returned to the same shifting hues as the arcane flow.

Jayce fell back, scrambling away. 

“You…” he stammered, eyes wide and frantic for an entirely different reason than they had been a moment before. “What did you do?”

“I no longer recall,” Viktor said, disinterested. He looked back to the river. “That, too, is by design.”

“Bullshit.” Jayce crawled back across the bridge, latching a hand around Viktor’s shoulder. He jerked Viktor back, forcing him to pay attention, to meet his eye. “You must know at least something. What is happening to you, Viktor? This is the second time you’ve had to remove something from my head. If that’s just for me, then what have you been doing to yourself?”

All this time, the other versions of Viktor had kept alluding to one thing: that he was somehow contaminated in a way he couldn’t speak of. Here, Jayce decided to take the gamble. If there was one thing this Viktor had been so far, it was candid. Maybe without the restrictions of fear and love, he would finally explain.

“I have been assigned a protocol.” Viktor was so patient as he spoke. He wouldn’t even offer the satisfaction of irritation. “Of things not to be shared with the rest of the system, when I come across them. Things that would cause great psychological harm. Our sensitivity to the cosmological realm makes us vulnerable. We cannot be.”

The realization weighed heavily inside of Jayce, a block of icy coldness in his gut.

“It’s still after you.” He felt himself tremble. “Whatever… Whatever pulled us out of the Arcane, it’s still trying to get into your head.”

Jayce still remembered, even though the edges and details had been eroded by Viktor’s light. He remembered what the black-eyed version of him had said. That it was a darkness from beyond the stars, that it had marked him before they ever knew. 

What did it want from Viktor that it would follow him even now?

“That information is not to be shared,” Viktor said automatically, like it had all been pre-programmed. “Its removal is in the hands of another aspect.”

“Let me help,” Jayce babbled, grabbing Viktor’s other shoulder. “Please, let me help you.”

Viktor smiled at him. It was an empty gesture, a veneer of kindness.

“You cannot help, Jayce. You can only become a liability.”

He placed a hand over Jayce’s heart.

“Now, you will leave this place,” he said. 

Viktor pushed him away with overpowering strength. Jayce couldn’t get a word in edgewise. He was shoved against the bridge, and as his back should have met its surface, he found himself waking violently against the stone wall of the undercity mine instead. He was shivering. Around him, the wind continued to howl.

As his hazy eyes adjusted, he noticed a small creature perched on the rocks ahead of him, faintly lit by the cave’s nearby opening. It was a bluebird. 

It didn’t make any sense for a bluebird to be there, and so Jayce rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was still dreaming. As he finished, it was still there. It cocked its head, chirped softly, and then took off, fluttering back towards the mouth of the cave.

Outside, it disappeared into the gale.

 

---

 

His trip into the Arcane had paid off. Jayce only wished that he could actually feel relieved.

A liability, Viktor had said. It had to be the truth. That version of him had no emotions, no reason to lie. That was what Viktor’s system had judged him as, objectively. Even the dominant Viktor, the one who loved him, had implied the same in the past. 

Jayce was what Viktor was afraid of losing. That made him a weakness–a vulnerability to the machine that Viktor had made himself into. More than anything, Jayce wanted to prove him wrong. But what if, in trying to save him, he only made things worse?

It wasn’t like Jayce hadn’t made that mistake once already.

He tried to push it out of mind as he travelled down the mineshaft. For now, he had something else to worry about. He needed to find Ekko immediately.

He’d run into his classic problem–he had information, but no way to substantiate it. Just telling the other miners he had a hunch probably wouldn’t do it. He was a Councilor, but that meant less than nothing in Zaun. What he needed was the support of someone who was trusted in the undercity, and who also had a good chance of believing a crazy story.

Ekko passed both requirements with flying colours. Fortunately, he was also still in the mineshaft when Jayce returned. He was in the middle of putting up more of those mechanical supports.

“Ekko,” Jayce said as he approached. “You got a second?”

Ekko’s initial look was wary, as if wondering what the Piltovan could possibly want from him at a time like this. He glanced at the Firelight that had been helping with the support, and then shrugged.

“Sure,” he said. “What’s up?”

“It’s, uh… kind of sensitive,” Jayce said. The Firelight in question raised their eyebrows, and then looked to Ekko for guidance. Ekko sighed reluctantly, then waved a hand, suggesting his associate could leave. 

“Fine. I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit. After I talk to the Councilor.” The Firelight looked hesitant, but left towards ground level. As soon as they were out of hearing range, Ekko leaned against the side of the tunnel. He sounded like he was expecting bad news. “What is it?”

“Look… I don’t really know how to explain why I know this, but I figured out where the survivors might be. Nobody here has any reason to trust me on my word, but I thought that you might…”

Ekko scoffed. “You get shot into another dimension again?”

Jayce’s eyes widened. He’d never actually had a chance to speak with Ekko after what happened at the Hexgates. He knew where he had been sent… but what about Ekko and Heimerdinger? He could only hope it had been somewhere less terrible.

“Kind of. Not really. But… I… had a vision.” For a moment he had thought he would lie, but then the truth spilled out. “I saw the path the mining team took. If we focus all our effort and explosives in that direction, then I think we can make it.”

Ekko raised his eyebrow. “A vision? What kind of vision?”

“Think of it as a symptom,” Jayce said, tapping the fingerprints on his forehead, which glowed obnoxiously bright in the dim lighting of the tunnels. He couldn’t explain that he’d done it through Viktor. The fact that they could communicate telepathically was a secret not even Ekko could know. “I’m still… connected to the place I went. Sometimes, it lets me see things.”

“How do you know it’s real?” Ekko wasn’t exactly skeptical–it was more accurate to say he was pressing for scientific rigor. Sadly, as usual, Jayce didn’t have any to give.

“I’ve seen it be right before.” 

It was mostly a lie. Jayce had never done this before, period. He did trust, though, that Viktor knew what he was talking about, to a level he was willing to stake his own reputation on.

Ekko sighed heavily, pushing back his hair. 

“...Tell me what you saw,” he decided, after some consideration. “I’ll come up with something.”

Ekko followed through. After narrowing down the mining party’s path based on Jayce’s description, Ekko redirected the efforts and resources of the rescue group towards a single location. Jayce never heard the details of the excuse he gave, just that it was something to do with a device he had made. It didn’t take much persuading. For someone who was still so young, Ekko must have been one of the most respected people in the undercity.

Even while narrowing their efforts, it still took hours to make it through the blockages. For most of it, given the severity of the damage, they had to practically rebuild the tunnel as they went. With the moveable supports it was a lot easier than it could have been, but it ended up being for the best that they had more people to swap between than before.

The steady percussion that had signalled the crew’s survival had stopped at least an hour ago. Morale was sinking. Exhaustion was setting in.

But then, they heard the first muffled traces of shouting voices through the stone.

A fierce second wind arose among the rescuers. They were almost there. While initially the survivors’ calls were barely audible, they were becoming clearer and clearer, until you could almost make out their words. One last explosive was placed, with warning shouts for the survivors to stay back. 

The final wall between them crumbled in an explosion of dust.

A hand emerged through the newly created gap, grasping frantically. The hole was just big enough for a wiry teen to squeeze through, with the rescuer’s assistance. He was covered with dust, but also stained with… blood?

“You gotta get them out,” he babbled, not pausing long enough to celebrate his own freedom. “There was something in there… it… it killed… Old Buck, he…” The rest of his explanation was incoherent. Ekko led him away to somewhere quieter, trying to calm him down.

Vi caught Jayce’s eye through the dim light.  Her look was pointed, and he immediately understood why. A mysterious ‘something’ in the darkness sounded familiar in the worst kind of way. He nodded back, readying himself with his sledgehammer as the rest of the team pried open the passageway. She raised her fists.

Soon, the hole was big enough for an adult to pass through, and the rest of the mining crew started flooding out. Some were deathly silent, while others were already breaking into hysterical laughter. A few more level-headed souls tried to explain.

“Buck… his body’s still back there. Something got him. It’s a fucking mess, man. The panic alone coulda killed us all.”

Vi turned on her mining helm and slipped through the hole without waiting for permission. A few people shouted after her, but she didn’t listen. 

“We’re just going to check it out,” Jayce explained, following her soon after.

The cavern beyond was narrow but long. Lingering dust clouds hung like heavy fog before their helm lights. Most of the environment was comprised of shattered, sagging stone, but the splashes of colour within it told the story of a murder scene.

Blood had been pooling for some time now, growing dark and murky as it had been left to dry. Along with it, there were blotches of purple muck, all centered around the corpse of an older man. In life he must have been bulky and well built, adept at his job, but now Jayce couldn’t look away from the hideous wound across his chest. 

It was as if something had exploded inside of him, violet discharge erupting from his torso like a giant pustule. Jayce couldn’t take in the rest of the details very well. He was already throwing up.

“Jayce,” Vi said. Even her voice was wavering, though she was steely about violence in a way that he could never be. “Look at this.”

She hauled something up off the ground. 

At first glance, it was a giant insect, leaking luminescent purple viscera from the many places it had been struck with pickaxes. It had dozens of legs, in a configuration similar to something like a house centipede, though each limb was without joints, bending like a series of small tendrils rather than what a spider might have. From its theoretical head, hung something sharp and glistening, slightly curled like a butterfly’s proboscis.  

In several different ways, it lined up perfectly with the pulverized sample that Vi had shown him all those weeks ago. Larger, though. Much larger.

Jayce stared at it wide-eyed. If it was the same kind of creature that had been haunting the commune, then how did it end up down here?

He staggered forward, directing the light of his helmet towards the back wall. The cavern had been enclosed on both sides by falling rubble–almost a miracle, in the way it had left a pocket large enough for the survivors to shelter in. How long ago had the attack happened? How long had the creature been among them without them knowing?

Finally, he looked upward, and he saw.

In the ceiling, like a toothless mouth, there was an opening. Unlike the regular whites, greys, and blacks of the minerals present elsewhere, it had a purplish hue, the interior coated in malformed stone. It was pitted and eroded, as if marked by acid.

It was exactly the same as the rock that Sevika had first brought him.

Chapter 14

As Jayce attempted to sleep that night, he couldn’t stop thinking about corpses. 

He thought about the miner they’d found dead, swollen with caustic fluids. He thought about the teen he witnessed being crushed to death through the Arcane. He thought about Vi, and how she might have been another body on the pile, if she’d gotten less lucky, if the creatures she’d fought against had been bigger and stronger versions of themselves.

She’d told him, after the fact, that the corpse she found near the commune had signs of a similar process–like it was being prematurely digested. The Council had assumed it was Shimmer related, just another horrifying creation of the undercity, whether or not the culprit had been found. Their only recommendation was another Enforcer shakedown.

But if that was how it all came about, then why did a sample of its acid-washed stone cause Viktor to fall into that dark trance? How had that been the start of Jayce’s abyssal infection?

If Jayce only had the same information as the others, he’d be assuming the same things. It was two separate events, of course: one was bio-engineering gone wrong, and the other a kind of cosmological malevolence. It was the simplest interpretation.

Maybe Viktor had an unrelated vision when he touched the rock, and the void hitched along for the ride. Maybe it had just been another avenue to assault his mind. That was what had happened when Jayce had attempted his own visions, wasn’t it?

It was what he wanted to believe. Maybe if he let himself, it would be marginally easier to rest.

He was sleeping in the home of a local Zaunite. By the time recovery efforts were suspended at the mines, he hadn’t had the strength left to travel home–not when there would be more work to do in the morning. The same house was hosting several other undercity good samaritans, having been opened to anyone who needed a place to drop after a long day of cleanup. They’d run out of beds and couches, and so most of them were using thin mats and threadbare blankets on the floor.

Jayce had been offered a couch, but ended up taking a mat. Being presented with undue luxury felt inappropriate there. Despite everything, the host, a local community figure named Vanessa, had been very kind about his role as a Councilor. He still couldn’t believe that anyone wanted him in their house, period, for reasons that weren’t taking him hostage.

He’d wondered if that was the case, at first–if he was going to get taken advantage of by accepting any form of charity in the undercity. That instinct had only made him feel guiltier. In the end, he’d come there under Ekko’s recommendation. Vanessa was well-known for being good to other fissure folk.

He thought about Viktor sleeping in a place like this, back when he was young. He thought about too many bodies being crammed into a single, modest house. He thought about hard floors and thin mats that only served to agitate his already throbbing leg, hips, and back.

Maybe Viktor had been better off. Jayce realized that he didn’t know, because Viktor rarely spoke of it. All he’d ever needed to say was that he was from the undercity, and that had been enough to convince Jayce of his misfortune. To ask for more details would have been impolite, in Piltovan society. 

And so he never had. Viktor’s undercity heritage had remained a mysterious quirk for as long as they’d known each other. A tragic backstory that needed no elaboration.

It had been barely real, to the point that Jayce had managed to forget it was the case at all in exactly the wrong moment. It was a wonder that Viktor had ever trusted him again, after what he did in the early days of the conflict with Zaun.

There were too many restless thoughts, too many moving bodies, too many whispers and snores. When Jayce eventually fell asleep, it was the most surprising thing that had happened all night.

 

---

 

Jayce was startled when he arrived in the sea of stars. He hadn’t thought he would have the energy. Maybe that was a sign of it getting easier. Maybe Viktor was finally letting him in.

Because of that, Jayce wasn’t sure which version of Viktor he would find among the nebulas. He didn’t even know which he would prefer. They were two sides to the same coin, equally deserving of his attention. He only wished he could care for both of them at once, to see his partner in a form that was vibrant and complete.

Eventually, he came upon Viktor’s heart, who was neither of those things.

Even in the astral plane, the spectral impression of chains hung off of his wrists and ankles, dimming his light. He was curled into himself, as was often the case–the only form of comfort he had, when he was abandoned to that lonely place. Now, though, he was also fidgeting anxiously with his hair and fingers, as if there was an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. He only stopped when he noticed Jayce approaching.

“Jayce,” Viktor gasped. He lunged in Jayce’s direction, grabbing at his shoulders as if he were slipping down a mountain face and was searching for the handhold that would save his life. “What happened? Did you succeed?”

Jayce exhaled softly, bracing himself for the conversation he was about to have. This Viktor wouldn’t be able to hold back his fear or anguish. Sometimes, it felt hideously wrong to see him this way, even though he needed the companionship. Since Jayce had realized the truth of the heart’s situation, it had started to feel like visiting a loved one that had been ravaged by age or mental illness, who was no longer capable of maintaining their own dignity.

Viktor had always been so careful with his emotions, no matter how strongly he felt them. It didn’t feel fair for this to be forced upon him.

“It’s okay,” Jayce said first, hoping to soothe the nervous energy that was consuming him. “We found the survivors. Most of them got out.” Jayce tried to smile, though he wouldn’t have been surprised if his uneasiness showed through. He didn't mention the crushed bodies they had dug up later, from a crew that had been less lucky–in particular, he didn’t mention the teen he had witnessed die from within the Arcane. “It worked. The trick you showed me worked.”

“The trick…” Viktor repeated, sounding lost. Did him and the Viktor on the bridge communicate at all? Probably not, if the latter’s behaviour was any indication. That aspect of Viktor wouldn’t want to touch the heart at all.

“It doesn’t matter.” Jayce lifted his hand to stroke Viktor’s hair, hoping to ease the fiercely clenched muscles in his arms and shoulders. “I’m somewhere safe. It worked out… as much as we could hope for.”

Viktor readily soaked up the affection, though he still seemed confused and anxious. If Jayce was honest, he needed this as much as Viktor did, after the day he’d had. Interacting with Viktor in the spiritual plane was still a balm he craved keenly. Even after months, the marks they’d left on each other’s souls hadn’t faded. To be apart for too long felt like they were losing an essential part of themselves.

“I have been thinking disturbing things,” Viktor murmured, sagging against Jayce’s body. His eyes were cloudy with the storm of emotions raging inside of him. “I thought that… if I were free… I could have saved them. I could have lifted the stone. Removed the waste. I could have… I could have healed…”

He dug his fingers onto his own hair, pulling at it in a fit of self-destructive despair. Jayce tried to stop him as he saw it begin, but he was afraid that if he pushed too hard it might break Viktor completely. 

“Viktor, please,” Jayce whispered gently. “Please don’t do that.”

“I am poison,” Viktor whimpered. “Poison to Zaun. Poison to you. Yet, even now… after all that I have done… I can’t stop thinking that I am the cure.” There were tears in his eyes, his body shuddering. “This is how I was corrupted. This deplorable arrogance.”

Jayce knew he couldn’t talk Viktor out of it. He’d already tried so many times before. It hurt to be so helpless in the face of Viktor’s self-hating grief. It did provide Jayce one thing, though, which was insight into the things that Viktor’s mind might be feeling, even if in far more muted ways.

Viktor still wanted to help people so badly, even if he had taught himself that to even try was an act of delusional evil. He must have been stewing in his cage, regretting that he had made himself impotent during such a crisis, and then regretting having that hubristic idea even more viciously.

The thing was, Jayce didn’t believe it. He didn’t believe it had all been a mistake that Viktor would repeat, if only given the opportunity. He had seen the depths of Viktor’s regret and remorse, and he couldn’t perceive his partner as someone who would suddenly forget those lessons if given the slightest bit of agency.

He believed in Viktor in a way that Viktor couldn’t believe in himself. He wished that he could show Viktor what he saw in him, and that he could force him to understand that he wasn’t irreparably broken.

The poison wasn’t part of Viktor. It was something that had been inflicted upon him.

Even as Jayce whispered sweet things to Viktor’s heart, pleading on behalf of the man he knew he was, he couldn’t stop thinking about the abyssal darkness that was still chasing them. It was yet another curse that Viktor was being forced to fight, alone in the mechanized world he'd created. After finding that creature in the tunnels, Jayce had convinced himself he would tell Viktor what he saw and demand real answers. 

Facing the heart, though, he didn't know if he could. What would it do to him to be forced to face the thing he was trying so hard to forget? The only prospect more frightening was what might happen if he was allowed to keep struggling against it alone.

“Viktor,” Jayce said carefully, cradling him in his arms. “I want to help you. More than anything, that's what I want.”

“I know,” Viktor murmured. With Jayce’s care, he had been slowly winding down. Jayce hated that something he needed to say may be about to ruin all of that.

“There… There’s something that’s been trying to hurt you. Something that you’ve been hiding from me. Do you know what it is?”

Viktor tensed against him. He lifted his head from Jayce’s chest, his eyes wild and searching. There was faint recognition in his eyes–one that grew more lucid with every moment, and became more painful to match.

“What?” Viktor asked. He shook his head slightly. No, his movements seem to say. No, please, don’t ask me this.

“That dark place.” Jayce kept pushing, with no other way forward. “The one that found us in the Arcane. The one you’ve been protecting me from. I need you to tell me what it’s been doing to you. Tell me what it wants.”

“I… can’t.” Viktor only shook his head more frantically. He was breathless in his panic. “I can’t. It’s inside of me. No matter how many times I…” He tried to squirm out of Jayce’s grasp. “To even look is to invite madness.”

Jayce couldn’t bear to hold him against his will. Viktor slipped away from him, burying his face in his hands.

“It knows my corruption,” he sobbed. “It knows what I am. Like for like, it calls to me. I cannot resist it.” He lifted his head, staring into the distance, emptiness in his eyes. “I… can only forget. P-Please, Jayce. Let me forget.”

“Viktor…” Jayce found himself pleading, utterly lost in the distance between them.

“No!” Viktor yelled, the light in his hair and body flaring along with his anger. “You will not force me. You… You won’t.” And just as quickly, it sank back down to fear and despair. “Please…”

“I won’t,” Jayce said, surrendering. He couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’m sorry.” He closed the gap between them, and Viktor only tentatively allowed him to, shrinking like a frightened animal. Jayce reached out, carefully taking Viktor’s hand, trying to draw his partner back toward him. “I won’t force you to do anything. I promise.”

As a mercy, Viktor believed him. He fell back into Jayce’s arms, allowing himself to bask in his warmth. As Jayce traced the lines of Viktor’s cheek, he saw his eyes cloud over with black. A blink later, they had returned to gold, and Viktor collapsed against him, the fight drained from his body.

This version of Viktor had so little self-control, Jayce had thought that he could manipulate the information out of him. It was a terrible thing to think and to do. 

There was only one Viktor that could choose to tell him the truth, and it was the one imprisoned in Stillwater.

 

---

 

The next morning, Vanessa served up a breakfast of biscuits, jam, and coffee. Though the sounds of people moving about had woken Jayce the second it began, he stayed where he was and let everyone else eat first. When he went home, it would be a return to comfort, to a place where he never had to question where his next meal came from. He couldn’t be sure that applied to anyone else in that house.

Even Vanessa he had to wonder about. She was feeding such a large group. It was nothing fancy, but Ekko had told him that she routinely brought food to miners, all free of charge. She’d already invited the people there back for lunch, if they so desired. She said they should invite any other recovery workers who were hungry, too.

Between that and the decent house she had, there had to be money coming from somewhere. Of course, in the undercity, there was always the chance of an unpleasant answer to that question.

As he sat, trying to stretch the pain out of his back, hips, and shoulders, he found himself staring at a painted mural on the interior wall of the house. It was of a bluebird, rendered wild and free, on a backdrop of abstractly painted gusts of wind. Did bluebirds mean something in the fissures?

“Do they still worship Janna in Piltover?” Vanessa asked him, catching him staring at the mural. It was enough to stir his memory. Ekko had mentioned she was a Janna faithful, but he hadn’t known that bluebirds were a symbol of that.

His memory of seeing one the other day was growing increasingly mysterious.

“Not much,” he admitted, a bit sheepish. Piltover wasn’t much for worshipping gods. As a people, they preferred to be the masters of their own fate. Maybe that was just because they had the luxury to do so. “I guess it’s not really in fashion.”

Vanessa laughed. 

“Nah, I guess they don’t have much to pray for up there, do they?” She gestured for him to come over to the counter where the food had been laid out. “C’mere. I have one more batch just about ready.”

He nodded. As odd as he felt receiving Zaunite hospitality, he didn’t have it in him to refuse a direct invitation. Her kinky black hair was tied up in a mane-like ponytail, her clothing protected with a well-worn apron.  As he drew in closer, he noticed a bluebird necklace peeking out from behind it.

“You know,” he said. “I think I saw a bluebird in the mines yesterday. It was so strange I thought I was dreaming at first.”

She beamed, snapping her fingers. “Now that’s a wonderful omen. And you lot pulled it off, didn’t you? Got the survivors out. Janna herself must’ve been watching over you. I know she was watching over the rest of Zaun. Did you see those winds? The work of the goddess, for sure.”

As Vanessa went to pull the biscuits out of the oven, Jayce tried to shake off the strange feeling of weight that was left on his shoulders. He knew at least one god that had been watching over them. Was it really so odd for there to be another?

His entire life, he’d never truly conceived of Janna as being a real thing. Why hadn’t he? He had believed in magic more than he believed in anything else. Why not believe in goddesses of the wind, too?

Because it was undercity superstition, he guessed. Because he didn’t think he needed them, just like the rest of Piltover. Not when he had plans to control the Arcane itself. Who needed gods and prayers when he could do that?

Did Viktor believe in Janna? It was another thing he’d never thought to ask while their partnership functioned on Piltover’s terms. What would a being like Janna think of them, if she were real?

He was so lost in it that thought experiment that he didn’t notice the plate and mug Vanessa had pushed towards him.

“Wakey wakey,” she teased. “Looks like you need this more than I thought.”

The moment the scent reached his nose, he couldn't resist. He went for the coffee first.

“Can I ask you something?” Jayce glanced around the room. It seemed that he was the only one left in Vanessa’s home. “What do you think of the Herald?”

He hated calling Viktor that, but he didn’t know if people in the undercity would even know his real name. Vanessa raised her eyebrows, as if he’d just said something playfully audacious.

“That’s one hell of a question, coming from you, Councilor,” she said. “What rumour should I believe? That you’re his jailer? Or that you’re his lover?”

Why not both? Jayce thought miserably.

“Y’know,” she continued. “A year ago they were praising you for being the one to defeat him. The Defender of Tomorrow, they called you. They even built a statue, I think.” Somehow, nobody had told Jayce about a statue. How chilling. “Guess they drew their own conclusions when you both disappeared together. Sure didn’t want to give Ekko his due in your place.”

Jayce stood there stunned, his mouth half full of biscuit. “Ekko was there?”

“He said he was, at least.” She shrugged. “At the time, he was the only witness. ‘Course, nobody on the Council was all that interested in what he had to say. They’d already given Sevika her token seat… if anybody was going to be a hero, they wanted it to be their Piltie boy.”

That meant that, during the final battle in the Hexgates, the only people there had been Ekko, Vi, Jinx, and him. Three Zaunites and one Piltovan. And, somehow, he got all the credit, despite being dead. Maybe because he was dead, actually. As a martyr, he couldn't have any opinions on what followed.

“Imagine their surprise when you show up again with the Herald’s mark, raving like one of his followers,” she added, glancing at his forehead. She creased her brow apologetically. “That’s just the rumour, of course. But those topsiders were not happy.”

“You know,” he said stiffly. “I was actually hoping you would say what you thought of him , not me.”

She laughed without judgement.

“I don’t know what to think of you, Councilor,” she said. “I’ve just been sayin’ what I was told. But the Herald? We were in these fissures at the same time. I brought someone to his gates, once. She’d lost her legs up to her knees in the mines. Faulty explosives.” As if to answer Jayce’s inevitable question, she added: “I didn’t ask for anything myself. Didn’t need it. But that poor miner? Walking again before the end of the day. Went home feeling pretty good about all of it.”

Jayce was feeling off-kilter, again. Like the floor kept tilting in ways that only he could perceive.

“Do you still feel good about it now?” he asked. 

“All I know is what I saw,” she said. “And I saw his followers leave the commune, all white and gold. Didn’t hurt anybody along the way. Went straight to Piltover. Crossed the bridge. Made history. I know what that looks like to me.” She clicked her tongue. “And now he’s in Stillwater. Pretty obvious who his real enemies are.”

“They didn’t… Viktor went there on his own,” Jayce said, without thinking. It was only at her startled look that he realized it was something best kept to himself.

“Why’d he do that?” she asked, all levity gone. Jayce swallowed the lump of biscuit in his throat.

“He felt… guilty for the bloodshed. For what happened to his followers in the end.” Despite everything, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything that would make Viktor look worse in the eyes of the undercity. It was dangerous for them to love him, but how could Jayce bear to soil his legacy even more than he already had? “He didn’t think the fight had been worth their lives. He never wanted to hurt anyone.”

“I’d heard he was a pacifist,” she admitted. “Back in his commune days. Figured something pretty big must have happened to change his mind.” 

Jayce wouldn’t, couldn’t, say what that thing had been.

When Jayce didn’t say anything immediately, Vanessa smiled ruefully, leaning onto the counter.

“So, what do you think, Councilor?” she asked. “Am I under arrest?” 

“What?” Jayce startled. “No! No, I wouldn’t… I just wanted to know what people who weren’t his followers thought. The undercity… Zaun, it was his home.”

“Doesn’t sound like something a jailer would care about,” she said slyly, the brightness of her smile returning. “Maybe the Herald just needs to regain his courage. Maybe you do, too.”

Jayce was still trying to figure out what to say to that when she pushed a biscuit sized package towards him, wrapped in a paper napkin. 

“Here,” she said. “Take this for later. There’s still a lot more work to do down here.”

“Thanks,” was all he ended up saying in the end, slipping the gift into his coat pocket. He started heading to the door, but then paused. No, he couldn’t just leave it like that. “I mean it. Your people have no reason to treat me with kindness, but you did anyway.”

“Thank you, Councilor.” He looked back in time to see her wave him off. “You know how many of your kind would come down here and break their back trying to save a few trencher lives? You’re making an impression, out there.” She winked. “May the winds be with you.”

A earnest smile came to his lips. He waved back to her and was on his way.

It was still windy as he got outside. If it hadn’t been, he wasn’t sure how well he could have been holding up. The air in the trenches was hard to breathe, just like he knew it would be. Not as bad as in the mines, especially with the air circulation, but he knew his privilege was showing. 

Behind him, someone coughed raggedly.

“On your way to the spills?” they asked in a gravelly voice. It was another Zaunite, lurking outside of Vanessa’s home. She was pale and wearing a respirator and hood, with a few wisps of long white hair poking out the front. Jayce guessed that even some undercity folk struggled with the air. It was best she had protection, with a cough like that.

Was she one of Vanessa’s associates? He thought he’d seen her the night before, when everyone was arriving to rest. Either way, he hadn’t actually decided where he was going yet, that day. He’d been planning on figuring out where to go along the way.

“If they still need help,” he said. “Would you be able to show me where they are?”

By the time they arrived, cleanup work was already well underway. The previous day had been spent dumping sand all over the affected area. Now, the goal was to shovel up all that chemical-soaked sorbent and dispose of it properly. There were a number of vehicles and wheelbarrows being moved about, with workers dumping hazardous materials inside. Jayce was provided with a pair of heavy-duty gloves and a respirator, and then sent to work.

The source of the spill was a factory close to the mines, which had been used to process the harvested gasses directly into Chemtech products. He never got the full story. Safety provisions weren’t followed. Costs were cut. It seemed to explain itself. Something had collapsed in the earthquake and the pipes burst, leaking out all over the surrounding neighbourhoods. 

Again, Jayce found himself contemplating all the ways he could die from this. Ultimately, though, his memories of Viktor won out. People like Viktor were suffering, and that was all the reason he needed. He only wondered why he hadn’t realized this about the world earlier in his life.

Though he hated to admit it, his body was really beginning to suffer. It was infuriating. He’d spent so many hours in the forge, doing labour that was just as difficult. He’d always managed to shake it off, with some rest. Now, his lower back felt like it was going to be the end of him. His bad leg was screaming every time he put it under pressure.

His body was forsaking him, and it was humiliating to realize. 

Eventually, he reached his limit and decided to break for more food, limping heavily as he walked. After leaving the contaminated area he remembered the biscuit in his pocket, his stomach growling eagerly. He pulled it out, suddenly wondering if it could have somehow been contaminated by the fumes. 

He started unwrapping it, wondering if he would be able to tell by smell. He never got as far as figuring that out, because as the napkin parted, something gold slipped out of it. 

It was a long chain. At the bottom, there was a pendant.

It was the same shape as Viktor’s brooch.

“Shit,” Jayce hissed. The moment recognized it, he was already stuffing it back into his pocket. This had really gone too far. He couldn’t afford to be messing around with this. 

He didn’t know what Vanessa expected him to do, or what the gesture was supposed to mean–but if he formally associated himself with the Machine Herald’s cult, Viktor’s situation would be completely fucked.

He needed to go home, he realized. He’d done what he could. He could barely walk now, and he’d just been reminded vividly what could happen if he stretched the Council’s tolerance too far. It wasn’t worth it. Not if it meant being separated from Viktor forever.

The one problem was that he’d lost track of his ride home. Were Caitlyn and Vi still waiting for him somewhere, or had they gone already? Maybe if he could find Sevika…

He didn’t manage to wander far before he realized he was being followed. A small band of Zaunites had appeared from the alleyways around him. 

“Jayce Talis,” one of them said. It was a smaller woman, dressed in a beige cloak. The rest were all in similarly pale shades, matching outfits cobbled together from disparate wardrobes. “We found you! Are you hurt? I saw you limping…” She reached out a hand, smiling more sincerely than she had any right to. “Please, come with us. We can care for you.”

Jayce reflexively backed away, but the movement caused a sharp surge of pain to go down his back, so intense that it almost sent him to the ground. He’d overdone it even more severely than he’d thought.

“I’m fine, thanks,” he choked. He needed to get out of there, but he clearly wasn’t going to happen on foot. 

“Don’t be afraid,” a larger man said, coming up behind him. He looked like the kind of guy that may have once been someone’s hired goon, but now his expression was calm and pleasant. He rested a hand on Jayce’s shoulder, supporting him, whether he wanted it or not. “We’re friends to you, we promise.”

The man leaned forward, fishing a golden chain out from beneath his shirt. At the bottom hung an identical pendant to the one that Jayce had just hidden away. It was Viktor’s symbol, and all that implied.

Jayce was certain then that he wouldn’t be given a choice.

Notes:

Got his ass.

As a head up, the next chapter is probably going to be later than usual, as it's a bit tricky and I needed to give myself some room to breathe. I'm hoping for some time early next week. Thanks everyone!

Chapter 15

Notes:

IT'S DONE. This chapter took a million years to write, but it's finally done. Hopefully, it was worth it in the end. I've made decent progress on the next chapter though, which is good, so that should be out closer to schedule.

There's a one time content warning for this chapter concerning drug use, but it's a spoiler, so I've put it under this drop down in case anyone is sensitive about that topic in particular:

Content Warning

Nonconsensual drugging.

While being escorted by his new ‘friends’, Jayce found his attention straying to the graffiti adorning the walls of the fissure’s well worn buildings. Mural by mural, it told a story of legends past and present.

Now that he was looking for them, he saw bluebirds everywhere. Every so often, they would pass a full mural of Janna, as if guided to her by a breadcrumb trail of her patron animal, offerings left at her feet. She was the oldest of Zaun’s protectors, and was worshipped most devoutly in this part of the fissures, where the desperate and dying came to congregate.

Another key figure was Jinx, gone but not yet forgotten. Here and there, her image remained in hasty spray painted tags rendered in her classic style and elegant political iconography. It was a lasting reminder of her stint at the center of a theoretical Zaunite revolution. Even now, there were messages calling for her return, as if she were only in hiding and enough encouragement may inspire her to rejoin the fight.

The closer they got to their destination, though, the more the Machine Herald’s presence came to dominate. Jayce couldn’t help but notice how inaccurate most of it was.

Drawings of Viktor from when he had been leading the commune were the most on point, though they still took plenty of creative liberties, with the details skewed as one artist copied from another without ever having seen the real thing. They didn’t even draw his moles, Jayce found himself thinking in a moment of irrational resentment, somehow jealous that his partner’s image had been co-opted by people who had never known the real him.

It was a profoundly stupid thing to feel. Even so, the compulsion remained–the instinctual desire to claim seniority, to be the one that knew Viktor closest and best. If they really were lovers now, maybe that was normal. Jayce didn’t know how or when that had happened, nor did he particularly care. It was such a petty definition in the scope of everything they’d been through together. 

He would be anything for Viktor, he thought. Jailer. Lover. Partner. If seven years of companionship hadn’t made that so, then the astral binding of their souls certainly had. It didn’t matter what anybody else called it.

His attention strayed back to the graffiti. Here, there were attempted renderings of the Machine Herald’s final evolution, though none of the artists had ever seen it. Their attempts were too similar to his drones to be accurate, though Jayce couldn’t fault them for that. No one had spent as much time studying Viktor’s new form as he had.

He imagined presenting his sketches to the Machine Herald’s followers and watching that information spread like a contagion. Would Viktor even want the world to see his real face?

“Did they get it right?”

Jayce was pulled from his musings. It was Yazzy who had spoken–the smiling girl in the pale cloak who had first identified him. She had introduced herself earlier, as friendly as anything, despite the fact that they had been in the process of press ganging Jayce into following them. Now, it was as if she had heard his thoughts.

“Not exactly,” he admitted. Viktor’s face wasn’t blank the way the drones had been. His amber eyes had survived the transition, now cut as slits into shining metal. None of the art he’d seen had even guessed at the way his human face had been split in two, petrified and pushed aside for the mask that emerged from within. He didn't have a halo of metal, but a halo of light, behind a five-pronged crown of gold.

It was all so vivid to Jayce. To everyone else, it was just a fantasy.

“What's different about him?” she prompted. He supposed he shouldn't have expected her to leave it at that. 

“He… His face is different,” he tried to explain. “It has points on the top, like this.” He gestured ineffectually with his hands. “And… he still has eyes. And hair.”

Yazzy beamed despite his lame description, pleased to have been awarded such secret knowledge. His apparent expertise only invited more questions.

“Is it true that you knew him?” she asked. “Since before his evolution?”

Jayce felt jolted by the question. He continued at his slow pace, trying to figure out a reasonable response while simultaneously contending with a variety of sharp body pains. The big guy had offered to carry him, which he had strictly refused. Thankfully, they accepted his rejection. It hadn’t yet come to physical manhandling with them, but only because Jayce was so wary about pushing them to that point.

He’d rather walk each painstaking step by his own will than be in a situation where they started thinking he might be an enemy. Their tolerance of him was entirely predicated on him being a friend to the Herald. He had no idea how much doubt he would need to cast before a very pushy escort turned into a full-fledged hostage situation.

Would they be stupid enough to try to make an exchange with Piltover? They had no way of knowing that most of the Council would be happier to let him die a martyr than to sacrifice anything to save him. There was also no guaranteeing that anything these people did would be strategically smart.

Jayce’s life was in their hands, even if they hadn’t had cause to consider that yet. He just hoped that if he came in peace, he could also leave in it. That would have been the Herald's way.

“I did,” he finally confirmed. Despite everything, he couldn’t help the whisper of a smile that formed on his lips. It was back when fortune still seemed like it was on their side. “He was my partner. We developed Hextech together.”

That was something he didn't mind putting out there. Any damage he could do to the Council’s misinformation campaign on that subject was welcome. 

“We already knew that, Yaz,” sighed another member of the group, a boy of around her age. He had a pair of goggles resting in his hair that reminded Jayce of the ones Viktor used to wear in the lab. “If we’re going to interrogate him we should at least get new information.”

“I’m not interrogating,” Yazzy huffed. “I’m asking questions!”

“If you read those old issues of The Chronicle you wouldn’t have to. A decade ago the Herald was working at the Academy, and then a couple years later he invented Hextech. Even if this Piltie gets top billing in absolutely everything.”

“Don’t be rude,” rumbled the big guy, who Jayce had heard being referred to as ‘Zen’ earlier. “He’s an ally of the Herald.”

“Don’t worry about Perce,” Yazzy assured Jayce. “He thinks he knows everything.”

“I didn’t say you could tell him my name,” Perce hissed, and then looked Zen. “And we don’t know that. Not for sure.”

“Milly said—” Yazzy began.

“Would you stop? ”

Jayce felt a headache building on top of everything else. Yazzy had been a lot more intimidating before he knew anything about her. Now, it was starting to seem like she must be even younger than Caitlyn. 

“I don’t mean the people here any harm,” he said. He wanted to add that he would have left them alone entirely if they hadn’t dragged him along, but he couldn’t see any point in agitating Perce more than he already had.

“See?” Yazzy said, scowling at Perce. “Besides, it’s not like you’re the one that can break the Herald out of Stillwater.”

Jayce felt himself stagger to a stop, completely winded by that statement. He had to deny it. There was no possible way he could let the Machine Herald devotees go around thinking he was going to spring Viktor out of jail. He’d spent weeks figuring out how to put him in jail, part of him wanted to scream. It was what Viktor wanted. It was what the Council wanted. It wasn’t supposed to be his decision anymore.

What could he say? That he wasn’t going to do that? That he couldn’t? That he didn’t know how? That Viktor didn’t even want him to? That Viktor wouldn’t let himself help them, even if he was free? No combination of words was right.

Zen rested a massive hand on his shoulder again, having noticed him waver. Jayce looked up at him dizzily. Despite Zen’s patient expression, the gang tattoos lining his face and arms told a different story. 

“You doing alright?” Zen asked. Jayce couldn’t help but see something scrutinizing, maybe even suspicious, in the man’s eyes. “The offer to carry you still stands.”

Jayce tensed, trying to contain the impulsive desire to fight back and flee. With his body aching as badly as it was, he wouldn’t be outrunning anyone, and he didn’t have any weapons to keep an attacker at bay with. The only things he had on him were the Herald necklace, a contaminated biscuit, and a dud explosive from yesterday’s mining rescue. He’d pocketed the latter when he realized it didn’t work, intending to return it to Ekko, but had never gotten around to it. Now, he slipped his hand into the pocket that contained it, carefully grasping it in his fingers.

He considered taking the gamble–to press it to the man’s chest and demand he be escorted back to Piltover under threat of death. Maybe, if he was lucky, they wouldn’t question its nature, or force him to prove whether or not it was live.

But, that would be an escalation he couldn’t take back. A risk he couldn’t afford. Not with Yazzy, Perce, and their other gangmates flanking him from all sides. Not with Viktor trapped, alone, and waiting for him.

“It’s just my back,” Jayce managed through gritted teeth. He slid his hand out of his pocket. “I’ll be fine. We’re almost there anyway, aren’t we?”

He knew, because he was starting to remember it. He remembered because he had been there once before. 

Crowded streets opened into unkempt fields. Though once flowers and crops had grown here, now they had browned and withered, leaving nothing but lifeless husks in their place. A pathway formed in pale, organic curves led them through the devastation, arriving at stained-glass gates. Beyond, the air of overwhelming tranquility that had dominated the space was gone, left as only a faded memory.

The rounded huts of Viktor’s commune were largely intact, but had been marred by casual acts of vandalism. Their once pearly walls were littered with spray painted tags, the Herald’s symbol reflected in a full spectrum of colours, drawn by an unknowable number of hands.The streets were filled with wandering Zaunites, some curled and withdrawn in quiet surrender, others preaching around barrel-lit fires, and others celebrating boisterously. Among them, the metallic bodies of the Machine Herald’s old followers stood like ghosts.

There were so many of them. Jayce had been told they were disposed of, but there had to be dozens of them here. The repossessed drones were posed as statues and shrines around the commune, their gilded forms gleaming in the noon-time sun. Some were missing limbs, others were dressed in the dripping wax of melted candles. Jayce couldn’t look away as they approached.

Which was unfortunate, because it turned out that for many of the commune’s new residents, Jayce himself was the true spectacle.

Too late, Jayce noticed the way their eyes lingered on his forehead, his identity given away immediately. No one else with those marks had survived the evolution. His existence was something mysterious to them, something touched by the holy. They weren’t even through the gates before the residents started crowding around him, reaching out with desperate hands.

“The mark of the Machine Herald,” one of them whispered, grasping at his forehead even as he tried to flinch away. More followed their example, encouraged by their boldness. Soon, hands were latching on his shoulders, his arms, his clothes. They dragged him in, probing fingers dragging down the marks on his face as the crowd gasped in awe.

Jayce felt like he was going to have a heart attack.

“Out of the way,” Zen growled. His massive form dragged Jayce out of their reach and inserted itself in his place. “Lady Ceve asked to speak to him first.”

That name earned a response. Some backed away out of respect, others backed away out of wariness. Either way, Jayce was thankful for the space. It was only after they escaped that first group of gawkers that he had the mental capacity to even consider what the concept of ‘Lady Ceve’ implied.

Was she a leader among them? What qualified her to be that, with the true Herald absent? He glanced at Yazzy as her group blocked the other commune residents from swarming him again, slowly progressing through the crowd in a pack.

“Who is Lady Ceve?” he asked breathlessly. Yazzy smiled.

“She’s a healer!” she proclaimed. “She’ll fix you right up.” Behind her, Jayce noticed Perce roll his eyes. Somehow, that didn’t make him feel any better. He wasn’t feeling great about anything he saw.

He’d travelled this path before. He remembered staggering, dragging that otherworldly hammer behind him, his mind in a state of total collapse. He remembered looking at the residents of the commune and seeing nothing but mechanical monsters. He remembered levelling his weapon at a child, murder in his thoughts. He remembered when that child took his hand, with all the trust in the world, and brought him to the savior he would go on to kill.

He was going insane all over again, he thought.

He was so nauseated that he almost forgot about the pain wracking his body. His focus darted around in a panic, trying to take in too much at once. The eager crowd was still surging around them as Zen shouted threats. In the commotion, his eyes caught on a rag-wearing Zaunite trying to pry a piece of ornamented gold off of one of the drone bodies, only for a larger man to tear them away from it, slamming their back against a nearby wall.

“Keep your hands off the saints!” he snarled.

Jayce wanted to run. He wanted to be anywhere else. Even in his frantic mental state, though, he was terrified of going into that crowd alone. He was too broken. Too defenseless.

Along the way, he saw that same woman he’d met outside of Vanessa’s home. The one with the respirator and hood. The one that had led him to the spills. She was leaning against a nearby hut, unsurprised by his arrival. Had this been the plan for him all along?

They approached the shattered remains of the strange orb at the commune’s center. The one he’d found Viktor suspended in. The one he’d been led to in peace. The one he’d entered and lifted his hammer and saw Viktor’s face and—

He felt Zen’s strong arms wrap around him, hoisting him up. Yazzy was babbling something in surprise. Together, they hauled Jayce’s swaying body into the darkness of that alien orb until, eventually, there was light again.

“He just collapsed!” Yazzy was saying to someone. Jayce wasn’t paying attention. He was too busy trying to breathe. 

“Bring him over here. I will tend to him.”

Jayce felt himself sit down. He assumed it had to be him that did it, because he didn’t know who else it would be. Someone was touching his face, trying to look into his eye. He flinched, swatting them away with a hand.

“ Don’t, ” Jayce gasped. “Don’t touch me.”

“Sorry,” Yazzy said. Gradually, his perception of his surroundings was returning. The girl was crouching in front of him with an expression of genuine concern. Behind her, Perce quietly slipped from the room, looking exasperated. Zen didn’t stop him, despite the way he seemed to be blocking the exit. “I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t think they’d get that… intense.”

“They simply know an agent of the divine when they see one,” a new voice said, velvety and commanding. Its owner was an older woman dressed in wraps of pure commune beige, hung with golden adornments. Her hair had been shaved close to the head, leaving nothing but a film of grey peachfuzz. For a moment, Jayce thought that she had the same marks as he did–a row of glistening fingerprints across her forehead.

It was only as Jayce’s vision focused that he realized the marks had been tattooed or painted, rather than left by Viktor’s touch. 

Her large, statement earrings made a sound almost like windchimes as she pushed Yazzy aside, leaning in to inspect him. As she brushed her fingers along his forehead, his eyes caught on one of her necklaces… one that had a severed drone finger hanging from its center. He recoiled.

“Hush,” she purred. “You’ll be safe in my care, Councilor Talis. Here, we are all servants to the same master.”

Jayce scowled.

“Ceve, is it?” he managed, now that his breath had begun to slow. The situation was taking shape.

From what he could see, his woman had made the remains of Viktor’s hollow her own. The shattered roof had been tented over with colorful fabrics, its previously barren interior inhabited by worn furniture, rugs, and aesthetic tapestries. Cases of glowing liquids had been set up on a nearby table. Chemtech.

“It is.” She smiled, straightening up again. “A lot of people here were very eager to meet you. It’s so fortunate that we can be of use to each other.”

“I’m not so certain we can.” Despite everything, Jayce couldn’t keep his disdain from his tongue. Here she was, in Viktor’s space, peddling drugs in his name.

“Nonsense,” she said genially, as if he had only been doubting his usefulness to her. “You know the circumstances of our Machine Herald better than anyone. I have it on good authority that you were the primary talent behind the construction of his current holding cell. Given our shared interest in his welfare, I can only assume that you are also the key to dismantling it.”

How she could be so sure of that, Jayce didn’t know. The Council had put out word that the Machine Herald had been contained after Viktor’s bonds were complete, if only to reduce the population’s anxiety, but the details had been sparse. Was she just assuming it was his doing? Was she following rumors, like Vanessa had?

Even so, she was only wrong about that last part. He’d handed away control of the prison to the Council. No amount of personal regret would change that.

“It’s not that simple,” he said. If he was the one who had built the prison, then why did they think he would be so quick to turn around and destroy it? If Viktor had wanted to be free all along, and Jayce was on their side, then why would he have trapped Viktor to begin with? There was no purpose to a ruse like that.

But maybe that was exactly the problem. From the outside, Jayce’s actions must have been completely inscrutable. First, the city’s savior, and then the lover of its worst nightmare. 

“Then demystify it for us,” Ceve said. “Tell us what you need to set your lord and lover free. You may be alone in Piltover, Man of Progress, but know that you have the support of Zaun. It’s only here that the people understand the true cost of evolution.”

Again, he thought of just telling the truth. Would they even believe him? What would a cult leader do with the information that the Machine Herald was too despairing to fight for himself or anyone else?

Anyone but Jayce, at least. From all that he’d seen, he knew that Viktor was still fighting for him , in so many small ways. Most of the time, it felt like Jayce was the only reason Viktor continued to live at all.

And despite that, it was Jayce that had been willing to lock him up and throw away the key.

He found himself speechless, in the face of it all. To try to help them free Viktor would be madness, and it could only result in losing what little access to his partner that he still had. Dreaming of that, of a world where Viktor wanted to live under his own agency, was hopeless. 

Wasn’t it?

“Poor dear,” Ceve sighed, after he fell silent. “That was selfish of me. Before we talk of such big things, let me tend to your pain. That brace… I noticed your limp on the way in. With treatment, I could offer you some lasting relief.”

Jayce jerked away as she tried to touch his brace. Yazzy stepped forward, raising her hands placatingly. 

“It’s true! She really can help!” she said. “My head used to hurt crazy bad all the time, but then Lady Ceve gave me these and it’s been way better.” She turned around, pulling down her hood and lifting her hair. On the back of her neck, someone had carved a series of runes, lingering now in the form of faintly purple scars. 

Just from a glance, Jayce could already tell. The runes were total nonsense.

Yazzy dropped her hair, looking back at him like he should have been impressed. Instead, he found his glare at Ceve only intensifying. If there was hope to be found anywhere, it wasn’t in the hands of a charlatan like this.

“Thank you, Yasmin,” Ceve said sweetly. “Now, though, you should go wait outside. He deserves some privacy while we discuss his needs.”

Though she seemed a bit hesitant, Yazzy eventually nodded and hurried away. Now, it was only Zen and Ceve.

Jayce reached into his pocket, running his fingers over the dud explosive again. Even if a bluff worked, how far could he get before he was sent sprawling by either his leg or his back? The helplessness was excruciating.

Again, he found himself thinking of Viktor. Had he felt like this his entire life? What must it have meant to him to offer people like Yazzy relief, knowing what it was like to feel so weak? To finally accomplish what he wanted, only to be faced with such a cost?

Jayce felt his heart sink.

“The Herald doesn't want to be freed,” he finally said, now that they were alone. “Any plans you might have begin and end there. The only reason I built that prison at all was because he asked for it. He thought that he should face justice for taking so many lives. Having your people throw theirs away to ‘save’ him will only make that worse.”

He expected that to take the wind out of her sails, to leave her wondering. It didn’t. Instead, her attention on him remained razor focused.

“I’m afraid they won’t be so easily dissuaded,” she said. “We all felt the moment when the Herald touched our minds, promising transcendence. I think you underestimate how addictive a feeling like that can be.” She batted a hand, dismissive. “Maybe the people of Piltover are prepared to carry on with their lives, but the undercity can’t afford to let such an opportunity pass unexamined.”

Jayce still remembered it. The sensation of being among so many minds, united. Maybe he would have thirsted for it like they did, if it was the only peace he’d ever known, if he didn’t know the emptiness that would follow.

“You can’t force him to do anything,” he said. “No one can. Not even now.”

“Not us.” Ceve shrugged. “Not the Council. But perhaps you.”

Jayce choked on air, his heart clenching. Ceve smiled.

“I have my own ways of finding information, Councilor Talis,” she said. “There are some things that are hard not to take notice of–like your frequent visits to the Herald’s cell, sometimes lingering long into the night. Such a peculiar relationship you have with our lord. What could you possibly be doing in there?”

Jayce wanted to speak, to deny her, but he couldn’t. He’d known all along that he was being reckless. Stillwater was full of Enforcers and Wardens, and there was no telling how many of them were corrupt, or to how many ears they would be reporting his activities. He’d only hoped that he’d earned enough favour that it wouldn’t matter. In his silence, she continued.

“I imagine that matters of scientific necessity have been well exhausted by this point. I can see only one other reason for such devotion. It’s what you are to him.” She brushed her fingers over Jayce’s forehead as she passed. He jerked away. “The Machine Herald’s favoured supplicant.” 

“I work with him because no one else wants to,” Jayce said through gritted teeth. “No prisoner deserves permanent isolation.”

“But is your presence there really such a gift?” she asked, sweeping back towards the table where the Chemtech sat, its light casting her in shades of green, pink, and purple. “You fought alongside Piltover to bring him low, to put him in chains, and now you linger, whispering in his ear, feeding his delusions that there will be an easy end to what he started. While Zaun burns, he only sees you. You’re the perfect warden to his cage, the key to his action or inaction.”

She was wrong. He knew she had to be wrong. Yet, it was the kind of wrong that was so audacious, so cutting, that it somehow made him question everything, if only for a moment. It wasn’t like that. Was it? He’d been wrong before. So very wrong.

“Viktor wants to help you,” he said, pleading, though he wasn’t sure who to. “That was all he ever wanted to do. But he… he…”

There were too many words, too many feelings, too many cutting memories. Everything jumbled together. Ceve slipped towards him again as he fumbled.

“To want means nothing,” she said. “We are only what we do. So tell me, Councilor: what do you think he will do for you? ”

Jayce tried to stand. Before he could get even half way, a debilitating tear of pain went up his back, sending him back down. It stole the breath from him. As his body seized, he reached for the inert explosive in his pocket, as a last desperate gambit.

From behind, Ceve rested a hand on his shoulder. Before he could react, she’d pressed something like a respirator over his mouth. Only, this device wasn’t meant to clean air; it was meant to insert chemicals into it. A vial on the side, with a vibrant purple glow, released its contents. The mask filled with gas.

In a moment of utter panic, Jayce did the worst possible thing. He gasped.

“Here,” Ceve said. “For your pain.”

He squirmed, ripping the mask away from his face, but it was already too late. The drug had entered his system. He could feel it crawl into his lungs, before shrieking up his throat with razor sharp claws and burrowing into his brain. It was a surge of agony, exhilaration, and strength that made him feel like he might explode, rip open, be reborn as something new.

He screamed. His entire body spasmed, collapsing him forward. Ceve pet his shoulder, in soothing mockery.

“It’s worth the kick, I promise,” she said. 

As Jayce’s vision flickered, the room’s shadows stretching and growing and consuming, he could only dimly observe as a crowd of unfamiliar faces pushed their way through the room’s entrance, as if summoned by his cries. Zen tried to stop them, but he was outnumbered. 

“What did you do to him?” one of them demanded as the world started to turn sideways. It was a woman, he thought–one with shining metallic arms and eyes of green glass. “You can’t have him here!”

“It’s only Shimmer, darling,” Ceve said blandly. “And a few other things.”

“Shimmer? Are you insane? Wait, why am I even asking, I already know that you are!”

Meanwhile, Jayce sloughed out of his chair, pooling on the ground. Around him, people argued about what should have been done with the Piltovan Councilor they’d come upon. About how bad it would look for him to be in the commune. How destroying his reputation would ruin all their hopes. Jayce didn’t think he was there anymore, though.

Instead, he was crawling along with the beast inside his head, creeping from dark corners, searching and screaming and ravenous. From this vessel, he could taste the savage light, nearly grasp it in his claws. It was the heavens, a celestial body eclipsed in void, bound to him in shining chainwork.

Soon, he would feast.

Chapter 16

The pathway was a rotting scar cut through a once fertile expanse. He pressed his body through the cracks in shattered earth, pitch black and breathless, bleeding acid and eroding stone. He could see nothing at first–he only could feel the hunger deep and empty inside of him, and smell the primordial energy flow through the land ahead, channeled by a distant, otherworldly heartbeat. 

He moved in a frenzy, desperate to sink his teeth into those luminous veins, a horde of other monstrous forms crawling beside him. He, though–he alone was the one who knew the way. He could feel it on the end of the tether, beckoning him forward, calling him to feed. He followed his hunt until the darkness faded and his carapace baked beneath celestial light.

He had emerged into a galaxy of stars. It was the place that had sung in his memories, even as he scavenged in the dark.

Before him was a being of bound chaos, creation and destruction entwined. It had been reduced by its imprisonment, made vulnerable and weak and ripe for the taking, a meal like pulsing blood waiting beneath the thin flesh of an animal's throat. 

This wasn't the celestial body, only a vital organ left exposed. Like prey, when it saw him, it was afraid.

“Jayce?” 

The word was meaningless to him. Instead, his focus was on the vibrant thrum of life and magic within that fragile vessel. It had skin painted with starlight and limbs bound in spectral chains. He’d seen it before, he thought abstractly. Its eyes widened as he approached, looking for something that wasn’t there.

“...Jayce!”

He lunged, digging in his claws. There was no blood beneath the flesh, like some part of him had expected. Instead, the body broke open with spurts of wild, arcane fractals, dispersing into the abyss. He would drink of that primal energy, he thought, carve it out with his teeth. He would follow the trail of its leaking veins into the beyond.

The vessel screamed and begged, struggling to free itself. Something about its noise grated against his ears, reflecting fear back into his own empty heart. Somehow, each bite hurt him in return, like invisible blades raking through his form. Some higher instinct begged him to relent, but he didn’t know how.

He only dug in deeper, ripping the wound wider with his claws. He felt spirit give way beneath his touch like the cracking of bone.

“Pl-Please…” he heard it whimper, falling loose as its fight died in his arms. He pressed in close, tasting its seeping essence, drinking in the contradictions that had been sewn into its creation. They had been born as kindred, despite the way the arcane flowed through it. Soon, it would all be the same.

He reached inside, searching for its shining core, but before he could find it, the vessel’s hands lashed out with renewed strength, tightening around his wrists.

“Jayce, stop this!” the vessel cried, an echo of otherworldly power radiating through its form. It wrenched his claws away from its leaking chest. Its eyes blazed with golden light, a spectral crown emerging, the nebulae in its body burning fierce red and blue.

He was powerless against it, in this new form. Its grasp in that place of spirits was unshakeable, the pressure of its will far beyond the scope of his comprehension. It was simultaneously small and impossibly vast, human and otherworldly. Despite that, its terror rang true with every fragment of its immense being, sending the whole realm trembling alongside it.

“Please,” it whispered, but with such overwhelming potency that it may as well have been a roar. “Please, come back to me, Jayce. I don’t understand…!”

He was held tight between its hands as the tidal waves of its panic surged over him. Even in its new, deific form, the marks he had left on it still bled streams of starlight. Its other injury bled too, the one that still shattered one half of its mask-like face. He wanted to reach inside of the wound and tear out that inner light. He wanted to take it as his own.

Behind its metallic armor, he could still see flashes of its devastated human face, both physical realities true at once, worlds overlapping and intersecting. It had tears in its eyes, desperation on the edge of madness.

He thrashed against its hold, bearing his teeth, straining to bite. He grazed one of its fingers as it tried to keep him still.

“Stop, I said!” it cried, pushed over the edge. It tore away its hands from him, but before he could move, a sharp pressure in his forehead stunned him. From above, five tendrils of light had latched to their matching fingerprints, suspending him there, immobilized. “That is enough!”

The savage light poured through him.

He was held in stasis, opposing forces raging within his body and soul, but not yet relenting. The empty hunger refused to let go, squirming inside of him as he fought futilely against the light’s control. For a time, the being watched him as he snarled and struggled, as if waiting for something to change. When it didn’t, it shrank away hopelessly, clutching its shattered faces in its hands.

“What happened, Jayce?” it babbled to itself. “What has happened to you?” Gingerly, one of its hands fell to the hole he had torn in its chest, probing the edges of the wound and flinching in pain. “Why… Why have you…?” Its voice hitched, emotions reaching a fever pitch. 

They emerged as a raucous scream–of fear, of despair, of shrieking metal and eldritch anguish.

At the sound, something broke within him, too. 

He’d done this. He’d left those wounds with tooth and claw, attacking without mercy. He saw the damage in the present, and also in a time before. A time when Viktor had laid strewn across the floor of his hollow, his chest gaping open, the life fading from his eyes–

Viktor.

As that name returned to him, a cacophony of other memories came with it. He’d been in the commune. The cultists had dragged him there. That woman–she’d force fed him Shimmer. It had torn him apart, and then he’d… oh god, what had he…?

“Viktor,” Jayce gasped, straining against the darkness still scratching behind his eyes, still clenching around his heart. He felt it's call to tear and consume, but he was coming to understand the wrongness of it, sharp like shattered glass in his skull. 

Viktor was contorted with agony, but slowly, he lifted his head to look. Though the expression of his mask didn’t change, Jayce could see how hollowed out he was. That mournful scream had reduced him to ashes, and only at the sound of Jayce’s voice did life begin to rekindle.

“Jayce,” Viktor murmured. “You… You are still…”

He reached out with fragile hope, faltering. He didn't dare believe. Then, all at once, he gave in. He folded his deific form around Jayce like a shield. Somehow, in the same instant, Jayce could feel himself embraced by human arms, Viktor's heart wrapped around him tenderly despite the way it still shuddered with pain and fear. 

“Stay,” both Viktors prayed. “Please, stay.”

This time, the shadows couldn't be exorcised cleanly. This time, Viktor was forced to fight for him. Jayce was still held immobile by Viktor's heavenly power, and he could only wait as the darkness inside him lost the battle by inches at a time, slowly receding back into the abyss. By the time it had left completely, the misery of Jayce’s remorse had become so intense he couldn't breathe. 

He could feel Viktor's open wound press against him in their embrace, he could hear echoes of Viktor's unearthly screams in his ears. He had done this. He had been the monster. 

“I'm sorry,” he begged. “I didn't… I don't know what…” What came over him? That was a worthless statement in the face of what had just happened. He hadn't been taken by impulse, he had been reformed into something else, possessed by cruel alien thoughts. He couldn't even recognize himself, in his memories of what he had done. 

“I'm sorry,” was all he could say, again and again. He recited like a mantra, as if saying it enough would see him cleansed from his sin. The tethers of light released him and he crumpled into himself. Viktor pulled away, looking at him warily, and Jayce could again see two faces at once, both human and god.

“What happened?” Viktor asked, though he, too, could barely form the words. “What did it do…?”

They both knew what ‘it’ meant in that moment, more synchronously than they ever had before. It meant the darkness that hunted. It meant the beast at their throat. 

“Someone drugged me,” Jayce managed, finally able to speak some sense. “It… It took me over… I don't…”

“Drugged you?” Viktor repeated, and finally there was anger alongside the hurt. He was tensing, coiled as if to strike. “Where are you now?”

“The commune.” The memories flooded back. Where was he now? Where was his body? “But I… I can't…”

He was trying to explain more clearly, but was rapidly losing focus. He could hear voices somewhere else, somewhere that his body lay. With dread, he realized he was waking up. 

“Jayce!” Viktor cried, realizing the same thing. He could feel the pressure of Viktor's will closing around him, trying to keep him there. It wasn't enough.

Viktor's hold on him wavered. He fell.

 

---

 

“...usually helps with overdoses. But she wouldn’t tell me what the mix was, so I could only guess. Normally, Shimmer doesn’t make people pass out like this.”

Someone was leaning over him as they spoke. There was the muffled sound of people eating and drinking in the distance, made quiet by a closed door between them. Something sharp burned in his airways, like chemicals and spice.

“Some ally you’ve got there,” another voice grumbled, this one familiar in a way he couldn’t quite remember. “You ready for a change of scene yet?” 

“She’s not my ally, Ekko. You can’t throw out an entire hypothesis just because some vulture is trying to swoop in on the same good idea.”

“The ‘good idea’ part is where you lose me. You didn’t see him in action. It wasn’t what you think it is. He killed people. Innocent people. Those followers of his? They’re dead.”

Viktor, Jayce thought, his consciousness stirring. He’d left Viktor in the astral plane, wounded. He willed himself to leave his body again, to return to the stars, but he couldn’t. There was a frantic energy in his brain, one that refused sleep.

“And you didn’t see him in the commune! Goddamnit, I know you Firelights think you’re the authority on what’s good for Zaun, but you’re not on this. You want to play around what’s respectable to Pilties? Try gunning for a Council seat like Sevika, so the two of you can accomplish nothing twice as fast.”

A door opened and then slammed. Porcelain rattled. In the same moment, Jayce found the strength to move.

“Viktor!” he gasped, springing upward.

He was laying on a cot in some kind of backroom–probably for a restaurant from the food-related supplies stacked on shelves around him, and the noise outside. Ekko had been leaning back in his chair, a foot braced against the edge of a nearby table, but as Jayce woke he almost lost his balance. He narrowly managed to avoid tipping himself over, carefully grounding himself as he looked to Jayce with wide eyes.

“...Some timing you’ve got there,” Ekko said, as if catching his breath. There was wariness there, beneath his controlled exterior. Jayce didn’t have the presence of mind to figure out why.

“What happened?” he asked, starting to get up. “No. No, I have to… I need to get…” He paused, remembering his back. He expected that sitting up so suddenly would have crippled him with pain all over again, but it hadn’t. He was still sore, but the stabbing sensations that had interrupted his escape were gone. He rubbed his spine wonderingly.

“Someone gave me the heads up that you’d gone missing from the spill site,” Ekko said carefully. “Found out you were high on Shimmer in the commune.”

It sounded terrible, hearing it like that. Jayce knew what it would look like to the Council, to the people in Piltover. It didn’t matter what had been done to him. They’d see it as a disgrace, a scandal, a reason to take away any power he had left. 

“They drugged me,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “It…” It had hollowed him out and crawled inside, changing hands to claws, love to hunger, compelling him to carve Viktor open, the frantic rage, never ceasing–

He choked out a sob, clasping a hand over his mouth, the other wrapping around his gut. He’d hurt Viktor so badly, in a way he could never take back. He hadn’t been able to think. Stopping himself had been impossible, and the knowledge of his helplessness now marked his body like a scar.

Ekko was cautious, like he was handling something fragile.

“That witch wanted to hand you over to the Enforcers so they could take you home. We both know how that would have looked.” Ekko laid it out patiently. “Good thing some of the other cultists disagreed. Their people got you out and brought you here. I guess some of those guys still know better than to kidnap a Councilor. Their leader was here, but…” He sighed, looking at the door. “Guess you just missed her.”

Jayce tried to take solace in the fact that things may not yet be irrevocably ruined. Not with the Council, at least. He found himself staring at his hands, expecting to see something sharp and deadly, expecting to see them soaked in luminous blood. He felt a twinge of thirst at the thought.

He was still human, he tried to remind himself. As human as he’d ever been. So why didn’t he feel like it?

“...You alright, man?” Ekko asked, when he didn’t speak. “Never seen anybody react to Shimmer that way. It was like you were hallucinating.”

He wished, more than anything, that hallucinating was all it had been. Instead, the truth lingered caustically, like poison in his gut.

“I need to go to Stillwater,” Jayce said, staggering to his feet, already moving towards the door. “There has to be a boat that goes there from here. Take me to it.”

Ekko stood, blocking his path.

“Forget it,” he said. “You are not going to that place looking like this. You know they have tests that can detect Shimmer usage, right? Flo and her people fought to keep you out of Enforcer hands, and now you wanna walk right up to them?”

Jayce’s attention lingered on the earliest part of what Ekko had said, his body tingling with a rush of cold.

“Looking like what? ” 

Ekko’s brow furrowed. Then, biting a bullet, he dragged Jayce in front of a small mirror that had been set up in the corner of the room. There were stray eyeliner sticks and lipstick tubes scattered around it, as if this was where the restaurant staff came to reapply. What Jayce saw wasn’t something makeup was likely to help with.

Viktor’s marks, the finger prints that always softly shimmered, were blazing with light. Beneath them, the edges of his face were softly spiderwebbed with dark veins. At the center, his hollowed out eyes glimmered with purple light. 

He backed away, bumping into Ekko. He didn’t know what he was looking at. Shimmer didn’t do that. Not for so long, not unless you were shooting up. All he’s done was breathe it in, and it had taken over his body and mind. It had changed him.

“The veins looked worse before,” Ekko tried to assure him. “It might be wearing off. But those eyes… you can’t be seen like this in Stillwater, man. They’ll take any reason they can get to force you off the Council–”

“It doesn’t matter!” Jayce growled, his head pounding, his thoughts fraying. This was too much. There wasn’t space for it all. “Viktor needs me now. ”

Ekko grabbed him by the shoulder, overcome with frustration.

“It does matter! It matters because you’re the only progress Zaun has made since Sevika was appointed Councilor. Two out of eight isn’t a winning ratio, but it’s better than watching proposal after proposal get ignored like our token seat doesn’t even exist.”

Jayce faltered. Some ugly part of him thought that it was irrelevant, that despite everything he’d done in Zaun over the last couple days, that none of it would matter if Viktor was taken from him. Taken by the Council, taken by the abyss, taken by those maniacs in his commune–it was all the same.

He’d tried to give Zaun everything he could, and he’d gotten kidnapped and drugged and altered in return. It would have been so much easier to leave it at that–to just let himself hate.

“You’re one of the only advantages Zaun has got, up there,” Ekko persisted, and Jayce could see the genuine desperation in his eyes. “You must care. You proved that yesterday. You came down here and you put your hands in the dirt for a bunch of trenchers. That can’t have come from nowhere.”

It hadn’t come from nowhere. This entire time, he’d been thinking of Viktor–imagining what he would have done had Piltover ever given him the chance, or if his body hadn’t forsaken him since birth. It was what Viktor had wanted, more than anything. He still remembered the world as Viktor had seen it, an interconnected galaxy of stars, each person within it cared for and protected. That impossible dream.

Jayce staggered back, and then sagged back down to the cot. What was he supposed to do about this? What was he supposed to do about anything? He loved Viktor so much, but he couldn't stop hurting him, couldn't stop turning on his ideals the moment things got too hard.

Something was tugging desperately on his mind. He didn’t know if he could trust it. Was that the feeling of him finally breaking? If he followed it, would it lead him to Viktor, or to the abyss?

“They don’t listen to me anyway,” he said, feeling like he was about to collapse. “There’s so many things I can’t explain. About Viktor, about those monsters . The only evidence is in my head.” He looked up at Ekko, begging for connection. “It happened to you too, didn’t it? At the Hexgates? Something… impossible.”

Ekko hung his shoulders, the fight leaving him. Sluggishly, he moved back to his chair and sat.

“Yeah. It did,” he said. “So, tell me. I’ll listen.”

Jayce found himself looking down at his own body again, as if checking that it was still there. What had Ceve done to him? How could he have believed so strongly that he was something else? He’d thought he had a carapace.

“Viktor and I… after we disappeared from the Hexgates, we ended up getting pulled somewhere else. A whole different plane of existence. I… don’t remember a lot about it anymore, but I think it was… the Arcane. Its purest state.” 

He assumed that Ekko didn’t need an explanation for what that was like. He’d gone through it himself. The only difference was that when he and Viktor had been there, Jayce remembered feeling so free. Like the strain it had put on his body and mind initially no longer applied. Like he belonged there.

“But… something found us,” he said, his words painted in the lingering dread of so many fearful nights. “Some kind of… abyssal nightmare . And ever since we ended up back here, it feels like it’s been… following us.” He shook his head, trying to stay centered. “Even remembering it too clearly does something to you. It’s like it rots you from the inside.”

Ekko’s eyebrows raised. This was clearly more intense and more abstract than he’d been expecting.

“Viktor has been protecting me from it, but he wouldn't tell me what it is. Wouldn’t talk about it. We… We thought it was just us.” Jayce understood why. Viktor didn’t want to give it residence in their minds. That could have been a fine strategy if it were only a psychological threat, something cosmological and distant, dangerous only to the magically inclined. The more he learned, the more he feared that was no longer the case. “But it’s not.”

If the nightmare had a connection to something real, something physical that could kill… could they risk ignoring it?

“That thing from the mines,” Jayce said, sickness rising in his throat the same as it had when he first saw it. The spilling of corrosive viscera. That man’s destroyed body, ruptured like a boil.. “It… I don’t know how, but it’s connected. It has to be.”

“Why do you think that?” Ekko had coiled up defensively, his arms crossed, his brow furrowed. It wasn’t due to any displeasure with Jayce, though, it seemed. He was imagining a threat, one more deadly than the infection to his community’s tree ever could have been. Something worse than earthquakes and cults. An existential danger, of the kind they thought they had locked away for good.

Jayce lifted his hands helplessly. Why did he think that? Why did he think anything anymore? He spent every day walking on the edge of insanity. Sometimes, even he wondered if he could be trusted.

“I felt it. When they drugged me, it… crawled inside of me. It was like I was one of them. I could feel them everywhere. I couldn’t control myself.”

Even saying it, he felt like he was about to break down all over again. He took a shuddering breath. Just from looking at Jayce, it seemed like Ekko could tell that it was real to him, even if it wasn’t real to anyone else.

“It could have been something she laced the Shimmer with,” Ekko said. He’d said that he would listen, but now it seemed like he was trying to convince Jayce out of it. “We thought she might have added hallucinogens to the mix, or some new strain of Shimmer we’ve never seen before. That could explain why it’s affecting you like this.”

Jayce shook his head. He knew that was what the answer would be. It was what Ekko thought, it was what the Council would think. He could tell them about Viktor’s visions, about the trips he had taken into his partner’s mind. He could tell him about the way the endless void had haunted him at night until Viktor had cleansed it from him. He could tell them about the way that Viktor thought he was still contaminated by it, its presence slowly withering him away like his illness born anew. It was all the same.

In a best case scenario, they’d believe that he’d been drugged against his will, and see his experience as a drug induced delusion. At worst, they’d see him as an addict and banish him from the Council. There was no world where they believed in the monster filled void that had been haunting them. Not really.

It was a prison that he and Viktor were trapped in together. One that nobody else could save them from.

“See?” Jayce said frailly. There was no more room for resentment, only tired acceptance. “You don’t believe it either.”

“It’s not that, it’s…” Ekko sighed, tapping his fingers on the table. After a moment, he scrubbed his hand over his face. “No, you’re right. I don’t even know where to start with that. But we have to get to the bottom of it one way or the other. Those things are a threat to the undercity, no matter where they came from. The more we know the better.” He gave Jayce a look that at least attempted to be comforting. “If they really are some kind of malevolent alien force, then, hey. You’ll be our expert.”

Jayce exhaled. A fraction of tension left him.

“I don’t know how I could ever prove it,” he said, with a faint edge of unshakeable hysteria, the kind that almost resembled humour. “I can’t even prove that the Hexgates are dangerous. I’ve been trying to tell them about the anomaly, about your tree… but all the evidence is gone. It’s all… anecdotal.”

At that, Ekko took his turn looking defeated.

“Well, I still have a few samples of those corrupted leaves, but I don’t think they’d do you much good.” The bitterness was unmistakable. It spoke of a fight long lost. “I showed them that a year ago, when things were still settling. They were putting on a better act back then–they at least pretended they were gunna look into it. A couple months later, I got told my claims were ‘unsubstantiated’. And there was no way I was bringing them back home so they could take a closer look.”

That was the exact word that Councilor Ferros had used when describing the claims of environmental contamination. Unsubstantiated. Had he been the one to tell Ekko the same thing all those months ago?

The shared helplessness was crushing. In the face of it, though, there was one thing that stirred a figment of hope. One thing they’d saved, among so much loss.

“So… it’s better then?” Jayce asked. He needed it so badly. One mistake, just one mistake, that could be taken back. One wound that could be healed. “The tree? It lived?”

Ekko looked surprised to be asked, surprised that anyone from Piltover would care. His shoulders loosened. He nodded.

“It lived,” he confirmed, the traces of a smile on his lips. 

There wasn’t time to say anything more on the matter, because someone was pushing their way back into the room. A brassy, metallic hand was the first thing he saw, followed by a set of green tinted goggles. He recognized those features. It was the woman who had rushed into Viktor’s hollow after he’d been drugged.

“Look, someone tracked down the Sheriff’s pet,” she was saying. “So, the Councillor’s ride should be here shortly. When he–” She paused, finally observing what was going on in the room. “Oh… Yikes.” Her eyebrows raised. “Still glowing, huh?”

Ekko rolled his eyes. “Jayce, this is Flo. That cultist I was telling you about.”

“Not a cult,” Flo snapped, resting her mechanical hands on her hips. Both of her arms were fully converted all the way up the shoulders, but the construction was different from anything Jayce had seen in the undercity before. It was sleeker, somehow, and missing any chemical ports that could function as a fuel source. “If we were a cult, I would have let Ceve take him back to her creepy drug den.” 

Her expression brightened a little as her attention settled on Jayce, though dampened by genuine contrition.

“Sorry about all of this, by the way,” she said. “I didn’t know you were there until Perce came and told me. They’re lucky my arms were low on charge or else I would have really made an issue out of it. Of all the officials to kidnap and mess with, they just had to pick the one who’s on our side.”

Jayce didn’t know whose side he was on anymore. There was only one thing he wanted right then, and it was being kept from him.

“Is this permanent?” he asked helplessly, touching his face. The veins. His eyes. There was no way. Not on top of everything else.

“I’ve never seen anything quite like this, but you’d need way more Shimmer than that to permanently scar you,” Flo said. “It’s already looking way better than it was when we first got you out of there. Just… try sleeping it off, first.” She paused. “As for your forehead…”

Carefully, she knelt down in front of him, delicate awe in her eyes. She looked like she wanted to reach out and touch him. He flinched away.

“Those markings,” she murmured. “It’s him, isn’t it? He’s here with you.”

Jayce wanted to think so, but he wasn’t so sure. Were the marks glowing because Viktor was present, or because he was trying to hold him away, to contain him like he had in the astral realm? Would Viktor even want to see him, after what he’d become?

“I just don’t get why she’d do it,” Ekko mused, filling the uncomfortable silence. “Why drug the guy that’s supposed to be your god’s messenger? Shouldn’t she be more worried about, I don’t know… divine wrath?” Flo huffed, but took his dismissive tone in stride. “Did she actually think she was helping him, or is this some kind of scheme?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Flo agreed, shrugging. “If you ask me, she’s always been in this for herself. To her, the Machine Herald is just a branding opportunity for her drug racket.” She made a disgusted sound. “Imagine that. A real, Zaunite god reaching his apotheosis, and that’s all she can think about. Something like this could change the undercity forever, and people like her are going to screw it all up.”

Jayce couldn't bear to reflect on that too deeply. Viktor would never trust himself to change anything again, after everything that had happened. To imagine it, though–to imagine Viktor, glad to be alive, at the center of real, positive change…

Jayce sighed in defeat. Tentatively, Flo smiled.

“I know it’s not a great time,” she said. “But I really would love to talk, someday, when this is all cleared up. There are so many projects I’ve been working on, and I feel like you two would really… get it, you know? Your work changed everything for Piltover. I want that for the undercity, too.”

He could barely stand to witness it: a young innovator, looking to him for mentorship and guidance. He didn’t know how to tell her that he didn’t believe in it anymore. Progress no longer felt like a way forward. It just felt like a trap. For her, and others like her.

“I’ll think about it,” he said, retreating inside of himself, away from those hopeful eyes.

Not long after, Vi and Steb arrived in the locomotor. 

Notes:

And with that, FINALLY, Jayce is leaving Zaun.

I think I mentioned this before, but in my original outline this whole Zaun adventure was only two chapters long, and included phrases like "Jayce is forced to party with the cultists at the commune" (no partying actually occurred, unless you include getting gassed with Shimmer). It ended up being five chapters. I feel like whenever I write something in my outline it sounds tame, and then what I put on the page is completely deranged in comparison. It's back to Viktor POV next, which I am excited about.

Going forward, I think I'm going to settle on a weekly Wednesday update schedule. I liked being able to post more than that, but the further I get into the story the more thought I have to put into everything I write and I can't guarantee biweekly updates without stressing myself out. If the words happen to flow out of me for a certain set of chapters then I'll probably sneak in a weekend update as well occasionally as a surprise, though.

I'd really love to hear what people thought of this whole arc because it was definitely the most challenging part of the story for me to write so far! Since there are mystery elements to this whole thing, it really helps to know what people are taking away from the stuff I've written, to know how mysterious or not-mysterious I've been, lmao. Thank you so, SO much to the people that have been commenting all the way through this thing. It's been absolute gold to me.

And thank you to my beta, who has gotten me this far!

ALSO: I've finally made a Tumblr side blog to talk about this fic and to generally enthuse about Arcane/the eldritch Viktor niche. Another reason I've decided to slow down to a weekly update schedule is that I want to draw art for this fic too, which will be getting posted there as well.

Chapter 17

They dropped Jayce off at his childhood home, bundled in the hooded cloak that Flo had given him. It hid his markings at a glance, but he knew that wouldn’t work once he got inside. His mother would see what had been done to him, and he still didn’t know how to cope with that.

“Take care of yourself, alright?” Vi had said, through a crack in the passenger side door. They both knew she’d caught glimpses of what was underneath the hood, but wasn’t willing to push it. Theoretically, he was grateful that she cared at all. Presently, he was mostly glad she gave him space.

“You too,” he said automatically, hollowly. Vi stared at him a few moments longer before closing the door. Caitlyn would be hearing about this later, he was sure. Would she be able to help him, if this all went bad? He couldn’t count on it. Not until it was all he had left.

After all, none of this was her fault. It wasn’t fair to drag her down with him.

As the locomotor pulled away, he found himself standing there uselessly, a stranger to this place, this community he had grown up in. It felt like he had been gone for months rather than days, the idea of entering the house oddly surreal. He’d thought about going somewhere else to hide out, somewhere less personal, to wait until this all settled down. He couldn’t do that to his mother again, though. He couldn’t just run off into the undercity and then disappear without a word.

Before he could change his mind, the door to the house flew open. His mother had seen him through the window and recognized his shape, despite the cloak, despite the shaken way he held himself. She wrapped her arms around him and swept him inside.

As she pulled down his hood, he wanted to resist. What if she thought the worst of him? What if she didn’t understand? Yet, when his Shimmer marked face was revealed, her shock lasted only a moment before transforming into gut wrenching concern.

“Oh, my baby,” she gasped, running a hand down his spiderwebbed cheek, staring into his glinting purple eyes. “What happened to you?”

His defensive walls came down. 

He wrapped his arms around her and cried. He’d barely said anything up until that point, and still had no explanation now. She didn’t ask for one. Instead, she began whispering comfort without fully understanding the source of his wounds.

“I didn’t take it on purpose,” he eventually managed. “Someone… forced me to… I didn’t know…”

She hushed him, wrapping him in another hug. She tried to hide it, but he could see her own eyes glistening.

“I believe you,” was all she said. 

She didn’t question when he said he needed to lay down, that he’d talk about it later. She pulled off his cloak, took his coat, and led him upstairs to his bedroom. She said to take as much time as he needed, and that she would bring him supper when it was ready.

He was so grateful. He wished he could speak well enough to tell her. Instead, he dropped onto his bed, fully clothed. Afternoon sun was still streaming through the window. He was glad for it. He didn’t know if he could stand the dark yet–if he ever would be able to again.

He had tried to sleep in the back seat of the locomotor. He’d tried to let his thoughts drift away, to find Viktor in the stars. His body had stayed rigid, though, his fear latching onto his consciousness and refusing to let go. To sleep was to die, it told him. Maybe it was right. That realm was the same place the monsters had been. The same place that Viktor had been left, wounded and alone.

Now, as he lay in bed, he felt much the same way. He lay there for fifteen minutes, muscles taught with stress, his senses searching for threats. Then an hour. Then three hours. 

He didn’t have to sleep , he reasoned. He just had to focus, to leave his body behind. Yet, when he tried to meditate on his connection with Viktor, like he had in the past, there was a conspicuous absence. It was like reaching out into the dark and feeling his fingers sweep through empty air, where he’d been expecting to find a familiar surface. It frightened him. It reminded him of what he’d done. Would Viktor even want to see him? The stress intensified. The cycle began anew.

Eventually, his mother brought supper up for him. He pretended to be asleep. He should have been hungry, he realized. He’d only eaten a couple biscuits in the morning. He didn’t feel it, though. All he felt was a knot of tension where his stomach should have been.

Occasionally, he would get up long enough to look at himself in the mirror. He was counting down the minutes until he had recovered enough to travel to Stillwater without inviting his own arrest, the lines on his cheeks and the glint in his eyes fading by imperceptible margins. Yet, whenever he saw his reflection, it felt like an unfamiliar creature was staring back. 

For a moment, he would stop seeing himself, and instead see a slavering beast with ravenous eyes and a venomous maw. He couldn’t bear to look for long.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, when his mind slipped free from the rigid cage of his body. He had curled into himself, trying to wish away his torment, thinking of better days–days when Viktor and him had shared such easy companionship, talking over coffee and drawing up plans for the technology that would change their worlds forever.

And then, he was lost. 

The starlight was all but absent, barring a faint glimmer of it at the bottom of the expanse, shifting like dull auroras. When Jayce first realized he was in his astral form he was briefly flush with hope, thinking that he may be finally able to see Viktor, to make up for what he’d done. That hope diminished when he saw the version of Viktor he was being presented with.

Pitch black eyes stared back at him, ringed with pale light like eclipsed suns. This Viktor’s form was spectral, made of faded purples and blacks, his edges subtly distorting like something not quite real. There was no urgency, fear, or love in his expression.

Instead, he watched Jayce with faint, clinical interest–a specimen that needed to be catalogued and understood. Before Jayce could come to grips with this new reality, Viktor reached out and took his jaw in his hand, positioning him so that he could better meet those depthless black eyes.

Whatever he saw in there, Jayce didn’t know, but he’d witnessed this Viktor’s work before. If Jayce was deemed a contagion, what would it do?

“Viktor,” Jayce gasped, trying to pull away. “Please, let me see him. The… one who makes the decisions.”

He didn’t know what to call the Viktor he knew when speaking to one of his own aspects. Would this version of himself even be capable of taking offense? Viktor’s expression remained blank in response, his feelings inscrutable. 

“Have you found safety?”

The question caught him off guard, coming from the spectre. He had been wanting to tell Viktor he was safe all day, but this wasn't how he imagined it. 

“Y-Yes. I made it home. I'm coming to you as soon as I can. The Shimmer left marks on my face, but–”

“You are a danger to the system, Jayce,” Viktor interrupted, his voice a distant and empty transmission. “No other soul could cause the damage you have.”

“No,” Jayce choked. “No. That wasn’t me. I swear. I… I wouldn’t—”

Viktor lifted Jayce’s chin sharply, almost spitefully–a silencing gesture. Then, he let go, his arms falling to hang lifelessly at his sides.

“Your intention changes little. Regardless, your bond with the core has been weaponized. You have poisoned it. You have made us weak. Thankfully, I have found a solution.”

From the emptiness of space, a dozen shadowed hands rose, grasping at his limbs and body. Only, it wasn’t just hands–it was an amalgamation of indistinct bodies, all reaching, all clinging, all holding him in place. Among the mass, he thought he could make out different versions of Viktor’s face, all brought together as part of the same inhuman horde.

“What–no!” he gasped, lashing out in panic. The dark eyed Viktor approached. Jayce didn’t know what he was going to do, but whatever it was, it felt as far from right as possible. “Let go!”

“You will be alright, Jayce,” that unknowable Viktor spoke. His voice was strangely gentle. He stiffly raised his hand, pressing it against Jayce’s head.  “For your loyalty, it is the end you deserve.”

“I said no! ”

Jayce was so tired of being helpless, so tired of being manipulated, so tired of being scared. Whatever this was, it was not the Viktor he knew. Viktor had sworn–he’d said he would never alter him against his will. And if that was true, then this wasn’t him.

With a roar of exertion, Jayce tore free of the restraining hands. He wasn’t even sure how. He had expected them to be too strong for him, as Viktor usually was. Instead, they were scattered by his will, falling away as if struck. The realm began to fade.

The last thing he saw was that dark reflection of Viktor, looking at him with regret.

He woke abruptly, convulsing against his mattress. Something was happening to Viktor, he realized with frantic alertness. Whatever it was, he needed to stop it before it was too late, even if it meant putting everything at risk.

It was still light outside. He couldn’t have been unconscious for long. 

Stumbling to his mirror, he checked his reflection one last time. His eyes were darker than usual, but no longer glinted with light. The spiderwebbed veins were faint enough that he wouldn’t have noticed them at a passing glance. He made up his mind, quietly crossing the upstairs hall to his mother’s bedroom. She was still downstairs, and he hoped she wouldn’t hear.

He approached her vanity, finding a pot of concealer. He applied it to the remains of his Shimmer marks as best that he could. He almost looked normal, he thought, with the makeup applied–as normal as he’d ever look to himself again. Even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t and couldn’t wait any longer.

The sun was hanging low as he slipped out, leaving his supper untouched and his bedroom door closed. 

The path to Stillwater was well trodden. He knew the exact time the ferry would arrive, along with the shift change. He knew how long they would be on the water. He watched Stillwater as it approached in the distance, the dark of night coming with sombre indifference. Fall had arrived and the days were growing shorter. The cold settled in anticipation of the coming dusk.

By the time he was passing through the prison’s front doors the skyline was red behind him, the remaining sunlight slipping through his fingers.

He had no bag with him, this time. He hadn’t even brought his coat. There was nothing to search, and he expected his path to Viktor’s cell to be quick. But, when the Warden at the desk saw him approach, they pulled out a device he’d never seen before. 

“Before you pass, we need to have you do a breath test,” they said. “There are some new strains of Shimmer on the rise. Standard procedure for everyone coming out of the undercity.”

On any other day, Jayce would have been bemused but compliant. If that was standard procedure, it had never arisen before, in all his months of visiting. Now, it felt custom-selected to catch him in the act, designed to herd him into a corner. The inexpertly applied concealer on his face itched, his eyes suddenly dry and prone to blinking.

How long did Shimmer remain detectable, when its marks still lined his flesh? 

He could have tried to argue or resist, saying that it was absurd, that he was a Councilor, but he could see no path forward there. Instead, he nodded mutely. 

He took the device. It was a long glass tube with a mouthpiece on one end. They instructed him to blow into it. Trying to keep his hands from shaking, he did.

He handed it back. The Warden watched the tube, waiting for some kind of reaction. There was a strange anticipation in their eyes, as if they were looking for a particular result. One they already knew to expect. 

Maybe it was the paranoia Jayce had been stewing in all day, but they almost looked disappointed when they didn’t get it. The air in the tube remained stagnant. They waited a bit longer than they needed to.

“I guess that’s a pass,” they said, finally relenting. Jayce didn’t have time to make sense of that, nor to reflect on what it could ultimately mean. Another Warden was already running over, shouting for his attention with urgency.

“We need Councilor Talis downstairs right now,” they said roughly, their obvious stress manifesting as anger. “His prisoner has been acting up all day, and it’s putting our people at risk.”

“Viktor,” Jayce breathed. He couldn’t think about anything else. He ran.

 

---

 

Viktor had thought that he was immune to pain.

He’d been idle, when it began, content to be as still and mindless as a statue while he waited for word on Jayce’s second day in the undercity. He knew something of Jayce’s visit to his heart the night before, enough to be sure that Jayce was safe and the rescue mission a success. The details he had remained distant from, though, especially when he felt those estranged pangs of his heart’s panic and despair begin. 

That was nothing new. His heart’s moods were best left ignored, as cyclical and unreasonable as they were. He pitied Jayce’s futile attempts to heal it, but he had vowed he would not interfere. He didn’t know whether or not to hope that Jayce would one day realize his mistake in pursuing a lost cause. His efforts were soothing, though always temporary.

That following afternoon, though, the echoes of his heart’s routine torment had abruptly taken on a different timbre. Viktor’s inclination had still been to disregard it, to coast through the tremors of emotion as they were repelled by his partition walls. That was, until he felt the violence begin.

Until he felt an unseen enemy carving him open from the inside. 

For most of Viktor’s life, pain had been a constant companion. He thought he knew all of its hues and shades, from cold, lingering aches, to searing hot cuts. This, though, was something that he was entirely unprepared for, after months of living in numbness. This pain was as blades against newborn flesh. He was unprepared. Defenseless.

He would have retched, if he had the mouth to do so. The destruction he felt was so primal and visceral that it crumbled the barriers between body and spirit, collapsing him inward even as some virulent force erupted out. He could put no name to the agony. Instead, he only knew this: his very soul was being butchered, and it had started with his heart.

His partition collapsed beneath the shock of it, and he reached out blindly, flailing against his attacker like an animal maddened by its own suffering. What he found there waiting for him, as his disparate parts collided, was the image of his deepest and darkest despair. His heart had already all but succumbed to it.

It was Jayce ravaging him. Jayce’s spirit, twisted and changed by the same poison Viktor had felt within himself, locked away deep inside and shrieking to be free. He recognized it suddenly, the beast that hunted him like a trailing shadow. The one he tried so hard to forget. It had escaped its cage and contorted Jayce into its vessel, and now Viktor was trapped within its claws.

Entangled with his bleeding heart, Viktor was helpless against its tides of anguish. He screamed. Pleaded. Jayce had to be in there somewhere. He had to wake up.

The attack did not cease.

Raked with blinding pain that twisted thought and distorted memory, Viktor called upon the fullness of his power. He embraced the surety of metal, the persistence of the machine. 

While Viktor was cloaked in his divine strength, Jayce was insignificant before him–a candle to the sun. And yet, he had inflicted such great violence that the wound remained through his transformation, leaving even his deific soul mutilated and bleeding. It was then that he understood.

It was the bond between them that had made it so. The same connection that had given Jayce such easy access to his heart had allowed him to be its butcher. The mingling of their souls had made Jayce the perfect weapon against him, and the void had exploited it. It was an assault from within, nearly an act of self harm.

And it was a bond that flowed both ways. Through it, Viktor exerted the weight of his will.

It was easy to take control of Jayce’s spirit, like he had on the day of his ascension–to hang him on strings and smother his resistance. Jayce growled and bit like a beast, straining against the leash, but Viktor kept his hold, even as he shuddered and gasped from the pain of his injury. His heart was within him now, ruptured but still beating, forcing pulses of pestilent grief into his veins.

The void’s hold on Jayce was not relenting. While Viktor searched for a solution, there was no clear point of excision, not like before. In the past, the origin of infection had been obvious, distinct memories and thoughts that could be expunged. Now, the darkness seemed to suffuse Jayce’s entire being. He had been pulled in, become a part of it. 

And Viktor could not find the man he loved inside. 

This new reality began to assert itself. As the creature thrashed, as its abyssal passenger fought against Viktor’s expulsion, he realized that Jayce may never actually wake up. There could be nothing left, at the end of this, just the husk of a twisted soul and a shattered mind. There would be nothing left of Jayce and, in turn, there would be nothing left of Viktor.

He had nothing. There was nothing else. If Jayce was gone, then life would be an endless act of torture, a punishment that Viktor could no longer endure. He had been arrogant, at the start of it all. He had craved penance without realizing that the pain could truly exceed his tolerance.

He could no longer look at it, that savage thing with Jayce’s face. Where had he gone? Where had his partner gone, when this was all he left behind? 

Viktor buried his face in his hands.

“What happened, Jayce?” The words fell out of him brokenly. He couldn’t feel Jayce there. The connection had been corrupted beyond recognition. “What has happened to you?” He had only been gone less than two days, attempting to do good. What had befallen him? What misery had Viktor allowed with his absence? “Why… Why have you…?”

He felt the ragged wound at his chest, inflicted by the hands of his lover. Hands that had touched him so tenderly, that had held him so warmly, that had wiped away his tears. Viktor remembered, through the eyes of his heart and mind both. 

All of it. Gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

A howl tore out of him, an uncontrolled keen. The same sickness that had taken Jayce welled up inside of him now, blackening his vision, drowning his thoughts in formless despair. His heart would die that day, he thought. He would take the beast’s bargain. He would do anything, anything just to make it all end.

But then. 

“Viktor.”

That single word cut past it all, a light through the storm at the edge of madness. His cries died in his throat, his gaze drawn to the tormented face of the man he had thought he’d lost for good. There was something in his eyes. Something familiar.

Jayce was there. Jayce was fighting.

Viktor almost couldn’t believe it, the morass of his surrender still sucking him down. He reached out, but faltered, unwilling to trust–unwilling to open his heart for a moment more, only to have a blade plunged through it again.

“Jayce,” he whispered. “You… You are still…”

Even if it was a lie, he could resist its call no longer. He threw himself around Jayce, embracing him, mind and heart entwined. As he felt that flicker of his partner still alive within, he vowed to wage war there until he had been freed.

Whatever held Jayce in its grasp was slowly losing its grip, and Viktor fought for every inch. He would spend as long as he needed to, coaxing Jayce’s spirit back to where it belonged, rejuvenating his memories, strengthening his will. He could not allow him to slip away again.

“Stay. Please, stay.”

When Jayce finally returned, it was with an outpouring of heartbroken apologies. Viktor had anticipated nothing less, but in the same moment, could not overpower the instinctive fear that coursed through him. Despite his love, he could not fully separate the image of the man he saw now and the one that had torn him open. It had happened before, after all, and that memory was wrought into his spirit like a scar.

He pulled away, taking in the sight of Jayce's miserable soul. There were inklings of the darkness still within him, but his mind was free. By what vector had it reached him? His body? 

Where was his body?

“Someone drugged me,” Jayce explained, and Viktor’s heart was pounding, each burst a strain that frayed the edges of his wound. “It… It took me over… I don’t…”

A drug, was all Viktor could think. Jayce had gone to the undercity and been drugged. He had allowed Jayce to go. He had asked him to help, to save Zaun in his place. He had done this to him, and Jayce was still out there somewhere, vulnerable and hurting—

“Where are you now?” 

The anger rose in him like thick smoke, filling his chassis and clouding his mind. The embers that birthed it were stirring to life now, sparking and flaring, catching the ruins of him ablaze. It was wrath at an unjust world, one that he had wanted so desperately to end, to move past like a bad memory. And yet, he had allowed it to endure.

“The commune,” Jayce said. The word was another jolt to Viktor’s system, sending it further into chaos. He was in the commune? How? Why?  “But I… I can’t…”

Then, their connection faltered. Viktor sensed it as it happened, the way the expanse seemed to tug at Jayce’s form, pulling him back to whatever danger he had escaped only with unconsciousness. Viktor reached, grasping, fighting to keep at least this part of Jayce with him, to never let him go again.

Viktor’s wound throbbed, his torn soul shrinking inward. He lost his grip. Jayce fell away from him, disappearing back into the unknown.

“ Jayce! ”

His cry echoed between worlds, filling the starlit abyss and radiating out into the metal and stone of Stillwater. He’d been screaming out loud before, he realized, the material and spiritual worlds intersecting. Though his wrenched open chest was illusory in that purely physical place, he could still feel it and the Arcane leaking through him, uncontrolled.

The commune , Viktor thought again. Jayce had told him where to go. Yet, as he moved, his chains dragged against him, his prison’s runes flaring with blue light, the petricite drinking him in hungrily. He thrashed against them with a violence he never had before, his actions almost involuntary, the emotion so savage and strong that it could move his body like a puppet. His magic pooled and pulsed, straining the device containing him, and for every inch he pushed, it clamped down on him just as brutally.

“ Jayce! ” he screamed again, the metallic groan before a structure’s collapse. 

People were gathering outside of the barrier, summoned by his struggles. Their guns were raised, their eyes hateful and afraid. For a moment he stilled, staring at them with a delirious eye, before surging against his chains with such force that it caused them to leap back in terror. A rifle discharged, fizzling against the barrier.

“Hey!” one of the Wardens barked impotently, wanting to believe they were in control. “Knock it off in there!”

Viktor’s approach here was irrational, the still lucid part of himself knew. Insane, even. In his effort to keep his heart from bleeding out, he had allowed it to corrupt his system, to take control. It was the exact thing he had been trying to avoid, the storm that he had been quelling since the day he arrived back in Piltover. The Wardens had no concept of what he had been willfully holding back, how much of himself he had locked away to ensure his own quiet compliance. 

Now, he was forced to cradle that madness in his arms–that vile, corrosive aspect that burned and disfigured him even as it mewled. To keep it close was to expose himself to a malfunction that would destroy all that he had built. To let it go was to die, to lose every trace of what he was before. 

The man known as Viktor would not survive another attack with his heart alone and exposed. 

“You must find Jayce Talis,” Viktor hissed like low, shrieking steel. “He has been gone too long.”

The runes of the prison surged again, his uncontrolled magic flooding it in waves. The shackles were bitterly cold against him, constricting more tightly with each rebellion. Despite his lashing out, the cage held.

“Isn’t he in the undercity right now?” another Warden growled with derision. They did not like the prisoners in this place. To bend to them was unbefitting. “On some charity trip? Thought that would make you happy, Herald. Aren’t you supposed to be the sump-rat savior?”

The hexclaw snapped, its claws clenching together viciously. Viktor coiled and writhed, his evolved body weakening with each effort, the cage biting down on him. He’d been made too vulnerable, too weak. The chains were free to gnaw at his damaged soul, and his failure only emboldened his jailers. 

He could not trust these brutal agents of Piltover. Not the ones that held Jayce’s future like a hostage against him. Not ones that would condemn Jayce for their bond. There was only one that knew Jayce’s true value.

“Caitlyn Kiramman,” he said. “Call her here. I will speak to her.”

His request took them by surprise. He had never asked the Wardens for anything before, content to sit in his cage and disappear while the prison rotted around him. Now that he was making demands, their cruel indifference was turning to scorn.

“We don’t negotiate with prisoners, ” one of them spat. To them, they were defying a criminal and tyrant. To them, such words were bravery. To Viktor, he could only see the boot crushing the undercity’s neck, as it had been since the day he was born. They were the architects of a thousand tragedies that he’d witnessed within those walls.

Viktor roared, a sound so loud and intentionally monstrous that it caused some of the Wardens to drop their weapons in favour of shielding their ears. It was the voice of the machine, the sound of grinding metal and ungreased joints. 

He only stopped once the Wardens had fled through the exit. He collapsed forward, clutching at himself with his hands.

He kept trying to breathe. He couldn’t stop himself, his ribs heaving with emptiness. There was no mouth, no lungs. His chest was filled with nothing but latticework and spirit, a direct portal into the Arcane that powered him. Now, the force of that strained connection pressured his wounded soul, becoming almost unbearable.

His heart was still bleeding, even now. He closed himself around it, trying to stop the loss, to knit the wound closed. He’d never been harmed in such a way before. He didn’t know how it could be repaired.

If he were in control, he could have filed that away as something to think about in a more measured fashion. Instead, his heart cried out through him, devastated by the violation of it, the cruelty of what had been done. It drowned all reason. 

He stretched along the tether between his and Jayce’s souls, trying to bring his partner back. He pulled and pulled, but he had grown weak with exhaustion, and there was only an indistinct stirring on the other side. What was happening to Jayce, somewhere beyond his reach?

He could be imprisoned, could be suffering, could be dying–all while Viktor was left helpless, ensnared in the chains that he had begged for. 

Normally, he dismissed the concept of time. He had no control over what it would bring or take from him, and so his ability to keep perfect track of it would do nothing but cause mental strain. Now, though, he set a timer running, one that would document how long Jayce Talis had been left in danger.

It was time he imagined running out, moment by moment, like sand in an hourglass.

While, at first, he had been relieved to be left alone, he was swiftly coming to regret it. The Wardens wouldn't listen to his request. He needed to try again, to somehow contain the vitriol that boiled inside of him. He was the only one there that could know of Jayce’s fate, but he was the one most powerless to act.

But what would the Wardens do with any information he gave them? What would they do with Jayce, if they found him drugged and hurting? Viktor’s mark on him was a stain. Any hint that they could communicate outside of Piltover’s control would forever cast Jayce as a risk, as an agent of the Machine Herald’s will.

Yet, what use was sparing him from that fate if the alternative was losing him entirely?

At the fifteen minute mark, he called out through the room’s locked gate, trying to regain the Wardens’ attention. If any of them heard him, they didn’t respond. It became a habit, an obsession. Every five minutes in the dot he would call for someone to listen. 

They must have seen him as a siren, luring his victims into deep water. No help arrived.

At the hour mark, he understood that they would not return, and if they did, it would not be to listen. If they looked for Jayce, it was beyond his power now. It felt like a betrayal of his home to send Enforcers to its doorstep, but if not them, who would save him?

If they could save him at all. If it wasn’t already too late.

As the hours passed, the darkness crept in.

He could see it grow in the corners of the room, beyond the reach of his prison’s light. He could catch it hiding behind pillars, staining his hands, and crawling inside of his body. He had tried not to think of it, to put it somewhere he could avoid its putrid stench–but now its essence was intrinsically bound to the only hope he knew.

The memory of Jayce’s ravenous eyes and inhuman claws inhabited his mind and soul as tenaciously as any infection. It spread. It sickened. It crept between the cracks in his already faltering will. He would never escape this. The emptiness would follow him until he was destroyed, until it finally drew him down into the black, until it gifted him with the only end within his reach.

It would take Jayce, and then it would take Viktor.

And then Viktor would take the world.

He had been a fool to think he could withstand it. It would always find its way in, and once it was there, it would never leave. He would always remember the sweet scent of oblivion. He would remember the promise of release. He would waver. He would fall.

He found himself once again screaming on the precipice, the only relief he had from the pressure. It was building inside of him, cracking the walls of his chassis, hurting with such intensity that he would tear himself open to escape it. His magic sputtered and flared, lashing out against his bonds. Still, as the power surged, it held.

If he had not been contained, what devastation would he have already wrought?

“You have lost all reason.”

It was his own voice from a different mouth. From within, another aspect had arrived.

He recognized its black eyes and shadowy, ever-changing form. Sometimes, it was almost human. Now, it was a darkened mirror of metallic curves and synthetic flesh. He had felt it many times in whispers, as it slunk through the system, securing it against the void. It was the one that spirited away his darkest thoughts before they could take hold. It was the one that remembered the shape of their enemy, even when his forward faces could not.

“The heart has ruined you,” the Voidwarden said. “You will destroy the system, like this.”

He felt its fingers sink into his soul, probing the infection, scanning his thoughts. It already knew what had condemned him to this fate. It was not burdened by emotion, the way he had been forced to be, as the heart’s only shield. It still had the freedom to reason.

“I will make you forget,” it said. He could feel its influence creep into his mind, the way it subtly pulled at his recollections. He felt how easily it could all slip away.

No.

He resisted its touch. To forget would be to abandon Jayce. He could not protect his partner against a threat he didn’t know. He could not save him from danger he had forgotten.

“You cannot save him as it is. Our powers are bound. The warders will not help. You stumble on the edge of ruin, and for what purpose?”

I will not forsake him.

“Then you would condemn the world in his place.”

He remembered it. He remembered losing himself, changing, rising higher and higher until all that remained was power and intent. No love, no leniency. Viktor had been gone, then. He had become a machine of destruction once, and he could do it again.

But even then, Jayce had been there. Following. Believing.

He would not leave me. I know he wouldn’t. I have tried to be rid of him, and never succeeded.

“And what has his dedication gained him? He can be made to forget this as well, if he is returned to us. All of it. The darkness. His hopeless yearning. You.”

Viktor’s soul trembled, the Voidwarden’s many hands sinking in deeper, seeking out every source of pain. It knew them as well as he did, even if it could not feel their sway. Perhaps it could see more clearly because of it.

“You are the origins of each other’s misery. Imagine the life he could live without you. Imagine what peace you would feel if left again to comfortable stasis, with nothing more to regret. You have almost fallen three times now, and every instance was at his hands.”

The idea was as disgusting as it was tempting.

He is a part of me. I could not truly free him from my influence. Not for long.

“Have you tried?” the Voidwarden whispered. “The soul is a malleable thing.”

The idea of splitting their spirits settled in Viktor’s mind for the first time. Was it possible? Souls could be altered, he knew. His own had undergone a transformation. But to divide them, once joined–could it actually be done? Could Jayce be set free?

What would it feel like to be alone after such a bond? Would forgetting remove the absence? Or would they spend the rest of their disparate existences wondering what was missing? 

The Jayce he knew now would hate him for it.

I swore I wouldn’t. He would never agree.

“And if he is lost to us forever? If his absence would break you? Would you forget him then?”

To even contemplate it was to begin another collapse. Jayce wasn’t lost to him yet. There was still hope, he knew. The outcome was so grievous, though, that even the possibility stuck in the mind like a barbed arrow buried in flesh and bone. What would he do if the worst came to pass? Whether it came now or later, Jayce’s life would forever be haunted by the pursuit of devastation and death.

That was the curse that Viktor had bestowed upon him. This chaos, this torment, it was all rooted in him. From Zaun to Piltover, his legacy was fertile soil for tragedy.

He could feel the Voidwarden’s fingerprints all over him, calmly assessing the wreckage. He was repulsed by its touch, by the image of the future it represented. Despite his weakness, he forced it away.

Go. Your ideas disturb me.

He felt a sigh from it then, something knowing, almost compassionate. Carefully, it withdrew. Viktor’s spirit shivered with its absence, with the memory of it. Around him, he could still feel the precipice waiting, the wind howling from its depths. He would not succumb yet. He couldn’t.

“Our selfishness will be our undoing.”

Its presence faded. He was left alone again, in suffering. And yet, somewhere at the center of it, there remained a small flame, a votive candle of faith. Jayce had returned to him before, through trial and tribulation. How could Viktor surrender so callously, in the face of that devotion?

The darkness gnawed. The partitions of the system rattled and shook. Yet, Viktor endured, holding that maelstrom of grief inside. Eventually, someone would return. He would try again, until all avenues were exhausted.

It was hour seven on the timer when his prayers were answered. He recognized the gait of hurried footsteps. A brace. A limp.

“Viktor!”

That familiar voice, that name, cut through it all. Viktor lifted his head, and for a moment, there was light.

“Jayce,” he whispered.

Notes:

You know you're in trouble when you start having arguments with yourself.

Today I have some art to link:

TCAG Viktor Flipping Pancakes by Wremms. I was joking on Tumblr about how I wanted to write TCAG domestic fluff because I felt like JayVik deserved it, and it turned into this.

Jayvik Jail Cell Spooning by me. I wanted to do some quick To Chain a God sketches but ended up going way further with this one than I expected. This is from the end of Chapter 11.

Anyway, thank you, as always, for reading! We just hit 500 kudos which is hype. All of your comments have been so very appreciated, big or small. It really makes my day to hear from you. <3

Chapter 18

“Jayce,” Viktor whispered, his voice staticky and frail, like a malfunctioning radio. Jayce’s remorse was overwhelming.

He had never seen this form of Viktor look so weak. In all the times they’d interacted, the way he moved had been so composed, otherworldly in its grace. Even in his anger, in his most emotionally debilitated moments, there had been a certain confidence in his actions. Viktor’s body held a strength that he had learned to wield, learned to control above all else.

Now, though, Viktor's body hung heavily, as if he lacked the power necessary to support its weight. Every so often, it would shudder with pulses of uncontrolled magic, wasted energy that caused the runic patterns of his bonds to flare as they consumed and strengthened in response. If an inorganic being could be ill, then this was the look of it. He’d lost his ability to regulate, and the cage was punishing him for it.

Whatever Jayce had done to him, the effects weren’t just metaphorical. What did it mean to have a wounded soul? How could it be repaired?

“I’m sorry,” Jayce found himself babbling on instinct. Something terrible had happened between them, and he needed to fix it. “I wanted to come sooner, but I…” He choked on the words. No, that was not for the ears of the Wardens that were following him. Instead, he moved to one of the prison’s pillars, fishing out the key he kept chained around his neck. “It’s okay now. I’m coming in.”

“Do not open that gate, Councilor Talis,” someone snapped from behind him. It was one of the Wardens, finally becoming brave enough to approach. “The Herald has been trying to escape his cell all day, and we’re not going to let you make it easier for him.”

Jayce froze, the key half inserted. Slowly, he turned to look at them.

“He needs my help,” he said, his stance hardening. “ Now. Can’t you see there’s something wrong with him?”

“Oh, there’s something wrong with him, alright. You should have heard him screaming. The bastard’s finally lost his mind.” They gestured at Viktor with their gun, callous and dismissive. “Hell of an act he put on there, pretending to be sane.”

“An act?” Jayce spat. “Why? Why would he let you put him in there, just to break out later? If he had wanted to be free, he could have escaped you on day one.” He was sick of hearing people assume the worst of Viktor after everything he had willingly given up. To them, no amount of penance would ever be enough. “Now, do you want me to fix the cage or not?”

“Councilor,” the Warden said tersely, leveling their gun at Jayce’s chest. “Respectfully. Back the fuck away.”

“ Jayce! ” Viktor cried. It was a jagged sound, formed around broken edges. The magic running through his prison surged again, more violently than before, with enough force to send a small shockwave through the room. He lunged forward, caught on his chains, straining to get as far as he could reach. The hexclaw lifted in stuttering movements, clicking and snapping. The Warden whirled around, aiming the gun at him instead. As if it would matter.

The prison got to Viktor first. Its restrictive magic clenched around him, the kickback enough to force his collapse, leaving him jolting and heaving. It was like his body was trying to breathe, to gasp for air, but without lungs. It was awkward, unnatural, an inhuman mimicry of basic need.

“Jayce,” Viktor said again, his resonating voice reduced to a whine. He repeated the name mindlessly.  “Jayce.” 

Jayce had seen this all before. He’d seen Viktor writhe this pitifully, plead this helplessly, but only ever as his heart. To see it here, to see that spirit of devastation inhabit the Machine Herald’s form, was surreal in its incongruence. What had happened to him? What had Jayce done?

Jayce had inflicted these wounds, Jayce had built this prison. He’d designed this function in sketches, blueprints, and strings of runes. He’d never expected to see it activated. He’d imagined it remaining an idle threat, all while Viktor quietly endured.

Slowly, Jayce lifted his hands in surrender to the Warden, as their comrades filtered in to join the conflict. He was outnumbered and outgunned. Any access to Viktor would be entirely at their mercy.

“Look,” Jayce said carefully. “You want him to stop? Let me tend to him. That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” The Wardens glanced at each, measuring the truth in his words. “Lock the barrier after me, for all I care. I’m just here to get him stable again.”

The Enforcers were clearly spooked by Viktor’s display, no matter how it had ended. They conferred with each other, briefly and impatiently, before finally making a decision.

“Fine,” the Warden with the rifle said. They lowered its barrel, now only lazily pointing at Jayce’s feet. “Leave the key in the slot when you enter.”

With some relief, Jayce did as he was asked. He lowered the forward barrier, and left the key in the pillar as he crossed the threshold. The second he was within the dias’s circle, the Warden hurried to reactivate the shielding. He felt the vibrations of the containment circle reigniting, supercharged from Viktor’s rebellion. They’d be stuck in there together until the Enforcers let him out.

From the looks in the Enforcers’ eyes, he could tell they half expected Viktor to attack him, to claim him like a sacrifice at his altar. That was the last thing Jayce was worried about.

Instead, his attention hung on the crumpled form of Viktor. His limbs stuttered when he moved, as if malfunctioning. As Jayce approached, Viktor lifted his head, his eye hazy and unfocused. He moaned faintly, a soft metallic grind, a release of tension that he had been holding within.

Jayce knelt before him carefully, worried that he would startle him by moving too quickly. Viktor had to crawl backwards, so that his hands were no longer wrenched behind him by the chains. Once he had, though, he reached out fearfully, pawing at Jayce’s chest and shoulders with his shaking fingers. It was as if he believed that Jayce might disappear if not anchored down.

“You are here,” Viktor murmured, slowly calming. He lifted Jayce’s face between his hands, leaning in with a startling hunger. He rested the cool surface of his brow against Jayce’s forehead, pushing like he wanted to nuzzle him, to kiss him, but was cruelly limited by his form. It was too intimate. Too real.

Jayce shivered, knowing that the Wardens were watching. Even so, Jayce couldn’t bear to turn him away. How could he, when Viktor acted like this?

Soon, Viktor had enveloped Jayce in his arms, pulling him in close, his heavy chains draped across Jayce’s back. Slowly, Viktor rocked him back and forth, cradling him like the most precious thing in the world. After months of such measured movements, such inhuman stillness, it was maddening to experience. It was overwhelming sweetness tinged with poison.

Jayce knew this was only happening because he had broken Viktor. He’d reached inside and torn out whatever essential piece had kept the machine running. Now the engine shuddered and choked, all while Viktor welcomed him like a gift. He didn’t deserve it.

“I’m so sorry, Viktor,” Jayce whispered into the space between them, tears clouding his eyes. “I… I really hurt you.”

By letting himself be weaponized, by taking so long to arrive and limit the damage, by ever allowing Viktor to do this to himself in the first place. Viktor had been so strong for so long, and all of it had fallen apart because of Jayce. After this, the Wardens would never trust Viktor again. After this, he wouldn’t be seen as only a criminal, but as a lunatic and liability. No one else would understand what had been done to Viktor, what suffering he had been put through. Or worse, they just wouldn't care.

“All I wanted was your return. All I prayed for.” Viktor's voice was low and gentle, quivering with need. “And here you are, safe in my arms.”

Jayce began crying in earnest, lost in Viktor's embrace. He couldn’t do this. He had to keep up that shield of professional distance, to keep them both safe. But he couldn’t. Not while Viktor needed him so badly. Not when he needed Viktor.

He’d spent all day thinking that Viktor would reject him for what he'd done. Looking back, he didn’t know why. They had both been made into monsters, hadn't they? They were trapped in that same prison, together.

The only difference was that Jayce could still pass for human.

Jayce curled his arms around Viktor's waist, fingers dragging across his back, feeling the edges of hard metallic implants, taking in it's inhumanly narrow shape. This close, he could sense the thrum of Viktor’s straining magic against his skin, like a static charge. He wished so urgently that they could just be alone. There were so many things he wanted to say, but all of them were secrets.

Secrets like: I love you, Viktor.  

Secrets that were not between the two of them, but instead ones kept from the rest of the world. They knew they loved each other, they'd felt it, they lived it, but were deprived of the dignity of saying it out loud, of caring too recklessly. Maybe it didn't matter anymore. Maybe this was the breaking point. 

Neither of them were wanted in Piltover. The city was trying to eject them, like a foreign body from a wound.

Someone had tried to frame him, Jayce now understood. That drug test could not have been a coincidence. Someone had known he would be drugged and anticipated where he would go next. If it had been regular Shimmer, if he hadn't been delayed by his altered appearance, if Ekko hadn’t stopped him, it would have worked.

There were people that wanted him off of the Council, and they were willing to bend the system to do it. Either they had been watching and waiting to capitalize off of his misfortune or, more dangerously, they had somehow orchestrated it.

He remembered what Ekko had said: that Ceve had wanted to hand him over to the Enforcers. It would have been the simplest way to catch him with Shimmer in his system, to send him straight to Stillwater. But when Flo had put a stop to it, the culprit had adapted.

He’d seen Ceve as a charlatan and an immoral nuisance, but was it worse than that? Had she willfully conspired against him? What possible reason could she have for doing so, if her goal was to free Viktor from prison?

It was all too much. There were too many threats from too many angles, and Jayce hadn’t even addressed the worst of them yet: the ravenous shadow that haunted the tunnels of Zaun. Before, there had been doubt, but now Jayce knew. Those murderous creatures were tied to that otherworldly void, and when they had inhabited his mind, what he had craved most was to devour Viktor whole.

It was no longer a coincidence, no longer a matter of misfortune or poor timing. Something horrifying was hunting Viktor, and Jayce no longer knew how to save him from it. 

Jayce leaned back, rubbing at his eyes. He met Viktor’s stare, letting himself sink into that melancholy golden gaze. He lifted his hand to stroke the back of Viktor’s neck while the other trailed down his chest, trying to sooth the nervous energy he could still feel coursing through his partner’s body. Viktor was still hurting so badly, even though he had been somewhat calmed by the relief of their reunion.

Viktor still didn't know. Jayce hadn’t been able to tell him about the monster he’d discovered, about the demands the darkness had made on his possessed mind. Jayce hadn’t been able to explain how he’d felt so many other creatures like it, skulking in shadows, watching hatefully as they waited for their moment to feast.

Viktor shuddered again, leaning into Jayce’s touch, pleading for comfort. The vulnerability of it stole Jayce’s breath. How could he tell Viktor the truth without shattering what strength he had left?

The truth that the physical plane was no longer safe. The truth that the void’s monsters were tormenting Viktor's home. The truth that forgetting would no longer protect him.

Jayce rose to his knees, lifting himself high enough that he could hold Viktor’s head to his chest, to cradle him in turn. Viktor only clung more urgently, as if losing his grip now would leave him to fall forever. He made a terrible sound, something mechanical and mournful all at once.

Jayce could feel Viktor's magic as it rippled outward, swallowed and viciously turned against him. The chaotic flow of energy prickled Jayce's skin and soul alike, and for a moment he remembered how it had felt on the edge of infinity, when the Arcane almost tore them both apart. He should have been afraid as the lights flickered and flashed, as the pressure thickened, but he wasn't.

“I’m still here, Viktor,” Jayce whispered. “And I’ll stay for as long as you need.”

 

---

 

Viktor remembered feeling like this.

They were scattered recollections, reaching back weeks and months. He was in a different place, in those memories, operating by different rules. His mind was swathed in a constant fog of isolation, too disorientated to ever fully understand the shape of his existence, or the suffering forever bound to it like chains.

All he knew was the monster he had become, and the actions that had led up to it, forever replaying in his mind. There was no escape from it, no solution, no way to adapt or progress. It was a prison without doors or windows, a grave he was never meant to rise from. It was the most he could do to hold onto any sense of identity at all, to distantly remember that, once, there had been more to him than this punishment.

It was a hell of his own creation, though he could not fully recognize it as such. He only knew that it was the role he had been assigned: to bear the weight of Viktor’s sins so that the rest of him could be free to act. He was a critical memory, locked away and left in miserable stasis to be catalogued but never touched. An example to be observed with pity and disgust.

He’d been his own jailer, then, and he’d accepted his role as sacrifice, knowing no other way.  No matter how much he struggled or screamed, he’d remained trapped in that futile half-life, unable to remember what it was like to dream.

Though, time and time again, Jayce had come to remind him. 

Each time, Jayce’s comfort would slip between his fingers, and each time Jayce would return to try again. It was enough that even Viktor’s decaying mind had started to anticipate his arrival, to thirst for it like precious water in endless wasteland. 

Until the day that face of salvation had become his destroyer. 

Since then, he was something else, a part of a greater whole. He lived within this stronger version of himself like a parasite, surviving at its expense. They were two consciousnesses at war, conjoined but not merged, yet meaningless without each other.

The pain was so maddening, the weakness so consuming, that at times he felt as if he would simply wither and disappear. But sewn into his excruciation was the lucidity he’d been missing for so long.

For the first time since his inception, Viktor’s Heart remembered what it was to be an actor in his own fate. He remembered what it meant to exist in a world outside of eternal isolation. 

And as he watched Jayce sleep at his side, he knew he could never truly go back.

 

---

 

Viktor felt as if he’d been possessed by his own ghost. It was both his other half and a foreign invader, an essential component and a vengeful wraith. He’d kept it trapped for so long. Now, it devoured him from the inside out, rewriting everything about the way he had come to see himself.

The feelings were only truly beginning to settle now, with Jayce at his side. 

When Jayce’s life had been in danger, that had been all any part of him could think about. He hadn’t been able to fully examine the nature of his disparate selves, nor come to terms with the way his act of self preservation had changed him. He had taken the Heart into himself, and now he thought with two consciousnesses at once.

He was his own victim, his own prisoner. He remembered his months of persecution. Had it been worth it, for such fleeting peace of mind? 

Now, the wounds were so deep, so rotten, that he felt like he would die.

Viktor had laid out an arm so that Jayce would rest his head against his bicep. As his partner dozed, Viktor could remember the feeling of his hand around Jayce's throat, squeezing until all movement stopped. He remembered standing at the apex of the Hexgates, summoning the anomaly’s power, and using it to end the world. 

They were memories he had gone over hundreds of times, but never with as much clarity, never with such sharp emotional fangs. He was being eaten alive by the ghosts of his failures.

And Jayce was still there.

Jayce had kept his word; he had committed himself to staying for as long as Viktor needed. Some part of Viktor never wanted to let him go again, to hold him ensnared in that prison, forever entwined. If Jayce never left, Viktor would never have to face the idea of losing him. 

But that was no way for a human to live. 

For a long time, the Wardens had watched their interactions, their eyes dark with judgment and spite. It had limited their conversation to disjointed whispers, the weight of things unsaid bearing down on them, secrets for only the two of them. And so, Viktor had bid Jayce to rest, in the hopes that their supervisors would eventually grow bored of their inaction. 

And they had. After a few hours of nothing but quietly soaking in each other's presence, the last of the Wardens had departed. Jayce had done what they'd wanted, hadn't he? His presence had soothed the savage Machine Herald's broken mind. 

And now, Viktor was afraid to wake him. He was afraid to know the truth. The precipice was still so close, beckoning him to the edge, calling for him to see what it had done to his partner and finally succumb to its inevitability.

As his mind settled on the lurking void for even a moment, he could feel the tremor it sent through his soul, the inner dark that it threatened to awaken. He still hadn't let it go, even as he could feel the Voidwarden’s reproachful gaze.

Gingerly, he lifted his free hand, carefully tracing the shape of Jayce's brow. He could feel the spirit within, the scars of its infection. In both realms, Jayce was at rest. Viktor considered waking his soul, to talk in that place that belonged to them alone. Yet, he hesitated, in fear of a sanctuary spoiled. 

In their most intimate of places, the shadow still lingered.

Even in sleep, Jayce's mind suffered from the nightmare it had endured. The open wound of Viktor's soul still yawned. To meet with Jayce there would be to put the consequences of his possession on display. To even look at Viktor’s sundered spirit would be a reminder. Jayce would never forget what he had been made to do. Not without help. 

The marks that Viktor had left on him shimmered more brightly, reacting to the Machine Herald's power. Viktor could reach in and remove that pain. He could remove every part of Jayce that hurt, leaving nothing but blissful perfection and inner harmony. For a moment he could picture the two of them, the sharp edges of their flaws and torments shorn away.  They could be together again, in endless peace, just like he’d imagined it. 

His magic stirred hungrily. 

It was enough to activate his shackle, to have it bite down with cold, and to alert him to what he was attempting. He drew back suddenly, disturbing Jayce’s rest as he clutched at his treacherous hand, keeping it restrained, as if it would act outside of his will.

He thought of hundreds of innocent souls, bound to him. He thought of the way their bodies had been stolen, transformed into shining white and gold, made into mere instruments of his will. Personhood erased, memories rendered meaningless. He could feel the way he still wanted to make Jayce like them, to trap him in stasis, in a way that could never be lost.

With a soft yelp, Jayce sat up, not understanding the cause of Viktor’s distress. Somewhere in the depths of his consciousness, Viktor heard the Voidwarden scoff. 

“No,” Viktor murmured, his hand shaking. “No. No.”

“Viktor, what’s wrong?” Jayce asked, reaching for him, any restfulness stolen from him by Viktor’s sudden, fearful reaction. Viktor couldn’t stand it. There was no justice in this.

Jayce shouldn’t have been forced to bear any more burdens. Viktor should have been able to keep his emotions inside, to behave rationally. And yet, since the heart had come to inhabit him, every zephyr of feeling arrived like a brutal storm, hurling him off balance and drowning him in regret. He had forgotten what it was like to feel so fully, and now, he was helplessly adrift at his heart’s whims. 

“You’ve suffered so much,” Viktor choked, clutching his hands to his chest, willing himself to be still, to stop thinking, stop feeling. “From what I’ve asked of you. From what the others have done. I can feel it within you, Jayce. This penance was never meant to be yours. I want so desperately to heal you of it. To take it all away.”

“Viktor…” Jayce began, trying to be calming, even as dreadful understanding crossed his face.

“No!” Viktor’s cry was strangled. He didn’t want to draw back the Wardens. He didn’t want them to see this. “This was not your burden. But… it still found you. Jayce. How did it find you? What has it done?”

Jayce swallowed, taking a shuddering breath. Even asking the question hurt him. Viktor was afraid to know what pain had led them both here–what scars Jayce had been awarded with for heeding Viktor’s pleas.

Gently, Jayce reached out, taking Viktor’s hands in his. Feeling impossibly fragile, Viktor allowed it as Jayce guided them to the space between them, their fingers entwined.

“It… It was Shimmer, ” Jayce said, keeping his voice low. He looked to ensure the absence of the Wardens, but he still had to be careful. “I’d been helping with the cleanup, and a bunch of the new commune members ganged up on me. They took me back with them, and I met this woman trying to act like their leader. She forced me to take it and… I don’t know what happened. I just… that place… the one that found us in the Arcane… the one you’ve been trying to protect me from…”

Shimmer, Viktor thought. He felt the knowledge crawling in his skin, scratching at the inside of his chassis. The truth he didn’t want to face. His greatest mistake. His inevitable fate.

Jayce continued, and Viktor’s perception of reality frayed around the edges.

“I could feel it. It just… took me over. I forgot everything, who I was… what I was. All I could think about was hurting you. And it… it used our connection to do it.”  Jayce met his gaze, his eyes haunted by the poison the Void had left behind. His grip on Viktor’s hands tightened with need. “Please… what is it, Viktor? What does it want from you? I know remembering it is dangerous, but I can’t do this anymore. I need to… I need to understand.”

To understand. 

To understand was to be lost.

Viktor’s thoughts were called back to the Arcane, to their short eternity of freedom. The universe had been at their fingertips, the rules of creation, the origins of life. The Arcane was at the center of it all, the heartbeat of their world, unknowable in its wonder and capricious in the devastation it could unleash. Viktor had felt that he understood, then. He had seen the reality in all of its complexity and embraced the beautiful futility in trying to tame it.

But that wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be, because for every action there is an opposite reaction. For every light, there was darkness. 

And the dark had found him at last, drawn in by the corruption at his core, welcomed by the sin of his creation. He didn’t deserve paradise, because even it had been infected by his touch.

Viktor stood at the precipice and, for the first time, looked down into its abyssal depths. 

“It hates,” Viktor whispered. “It watches our world from the shadows and feels only scorn. For it, to know life is to know misery. A burden it refuses to bear any longer. It will take us all into the depths of the unreal, into infinite absence. There will be no memory, no ghost. It will swallow us whole.”

To Jayce, this would mean nothing. Words were only words, and could never convey his full meaning. But he had felt it, at the time of their fall. For an age, he had been lost within that abyss, soaked in the knowledge of what it really meant for there to be nothing, forever.

It had crawled inside of him, found his matching seed of oblivion, and now it would never leave. No matter how many times he divided himself, no matter how many walls he constructed, the truth would always be there at his core. He couldn’t escape.

Couldn't escape. Couldn’t. Couldn’t. No escape. Nothing. Nothing. Never again. 

He could feel as the first fragments of his perspective shifted and gave way. He held himself, clawing at his pieces, as if he could stop the inevitable landslide from arriving. 

“I know its truth, Jayce. I know it. I know it.”

It was finally happening. He was losing. Surrendering. Fading away. In the end, there would be nothing left of what he was.

And deep down, he was relieved.

“ You miserable fool . ”

The Voidwarden’s condemning voice echoed through Viktor’s inner world. He felt its presence arrive in full, and he was unable to move, unable to escape the chasm that was swallowing him. Before he could act, the Voidwarden struck.

An unknowable number of its hands fell upon him, locking his limbs in place, penetrating his spirit, and blocking his senses. He tried to scream, but he had been made mute and blind, dragged away from his body, deeper and deeper…

Until all he knew was silent tranquility.

 

---

 

As Viktor's body collapsed in front of him, Jayce already knew that he had messed up badly. What did he think was going to happen? Just touching something associated with those abyssal monsters had been enough to shut Viktor down before. 

“Fuck,” Jayce breathed. 

The sound of Viktor’s haunted words, the sound of his entire being on the brink of collapse, was still echoing in his ears. Jayce had pushed him too far, and now his only comfort was in knowing that Viktor had systems that were supposed to take care of this sort of thing. Surely that was what was happening now. Surely Jayce hadn’t broken him forever with such a reckless, thoughtless question.

Even knowing that Viktor may have just been in the process of cleansing himself, Jayce couldn’t keep himself from frantically shaking his partner’s shoulder, begging him to wake up. The light behind his eye had gone dim, just like before. How long had it taken for him to wake up, the first time?

Jayce didn’t actually know, because he had joined him in the astral realm and gotten himself infected by doing so. If he tried to find him there now, would he risk doing the same again?

Jayce waited, and waited, and waited, and eventually decided that it didn’t matter. This, all of this, was Jayce’s fault. If being harmed by the void was what it took to wake Viktor up again, he’d do it.

Curling against Viktor’s empty body, Jayce pushed in close, until their forehead could touch. Thinking of nothing else but Viktor and his need to find him, he set his soul free.

This time, he did not get lost on the way.

As he arrived in the space between souls, he found the stars had faded once more. There was only one true light ahead, and it was one he recognized: an aurora of scarlet, aqua, and gold, eclipsed like the sun.

Viktor lay before him, ensnared in a web of grasping, shadowy hands and phantasmal chains. He was limp, as if sleeping, and at his chest another light shone within, in the shifting colours of Viktor’s heart. The Heart was curled in sleep as well, a rare look of peace on his tortured face. He still bore the wounds that Jayce had given him, the fabric of his soul torn and fraying.

“Viktor!” Jayce cried. Multiple hands clutched at Viktor’s mask, blocking his sight and reaching into the shattered gap that still marred it. Would Viktor even be able to hear him?

He tried to get closer, but before he could, several more hands rose from the darkness of space, grabbing his shoulders and holding him back. From behind Viktor’s bound form, another figure emerged.

They were a mirror of Viktor’s Machine Herald form, but cast in cloudy shades of purple and black. Instead of golden filigree, it was decorated in Arcane patterns, arrangements of circular holes that revealed a hollow and darkened interior. With dread, Jayce recognized what part of Viktor it must be.

“You play a dangerous game, coming here,” it said, passing a hand over Viktor’s wounded chest, pausing over the Heart within it.  Both other aspects of Viktor remained motionless, locked in stasis. 

“You,” Jayce growled. “You’re the one that tried to…” Only hours ago, this same aspect in a different shape had tried to do something to his mind–something final. Now it had Viktor in its grip. “What are you doing to him?”

“I am tending to the consequences of your mistakes, once again,” it said, unmoved. “You have made a habit of this. Of luring us to our ruin.”

“I didn’t…” Jayce choked. Technically, he had given Viktor the last push off of this particular cliff, but he hadn’t know. He hadn’t meant for it to turn out like this. “I was trying to warn him. I… My ignorance got him hurt once already, and I thought that if I knew the truth… I could keep it from happening again.”

“The truth is not meant for your ears,” Viktor’s shadow said. “Nor his, in this reduced form. He refused my aid, to the point that ‘the truth’ almost consumed him. He, too, hoped that his knowledge would protect you. He was wrong.”

Anger stirred in Jayce’s chest. 

“Oh yeah? What about you? Why haven’t you succumbed, if remembering is so damning?”

The shadow tilted its head, its lone, dark eye exuding judgement.

“I lack extraneous features,” it said.  “Such as guilt. Or fear. Or this perverse attachment to you .”

Jayce’s anger evolved into outrage. His offense was not on his own behalf, though–rather, that the beauty of what he and Viktor had shared in the Arcane could ever be called something so cruel, so dismissive. Despite his pains, he treasured that closeness to Viktor. 

“Perverse?” Jayce snapped. “Is that why you wanted to get rid of me? To give me my ‘deserved end’?”

“I only meant to ease both of your burdens.” The hands grasping Jayce tightened, as if to remind him of its authority. “The Core would not have allowed it, but now, he has rendered himself useless to us all.” The shadow’s hand slid beneath the Heart’s sleeping body, scooping him into its palm. “There is more at stake than your doomed love. You are a distraction from his duty, just like his human heart.”

The shadow’s eye was appraising, and its unfeeling verdict was not kind. Dread seized Jayce’s spirit, as he could already sense what was coming.

“No!” he cried. “Leave them alone!” He wrenched against the hands holding him back, and by some miracle, broke free. More emerged from the emptiness, reaching with mechanical precision, but he found himself soaring past them, unfettered by the aspect’s attempts at control.

He fell across the Heart’s sleeping spirit, shielding it with his own body. He closed his eyes, instinctively flinching, preparing for the axe to drop.

But instead, the shadow only stared at him. Eventually, Jayce caught his breath.

“Viktor’s heart, his humanity , was what pulled him back from the edge,” he snarled. “Without it, there would have been nothing stopping him–nothing to stop you from making the biggest mistake of your existence. Viktor… the ‘Core’… he already knows that. Did you forget?”

The shadow continued to stare. For a moment, Jayce was bolstered. Maybe there was some small chance that even this version of Viktor could understand.

“Or do you still want your Glorious Evolution? To cut out everything that causes you trouble, no matter how much of an empty husk it leaves behind?”

More silence followed. Jayce’s confidence wavered. Carefully, he lifted the Heart into his arms, nestling it close to his chest. He swallowed.

“Look,” he said.  “If you're going to do it, just… take me, too. Do what you have to. But I'm not leaving him again. Not unless you force me.”

Jayce closed his eyes, resting his brow against Viktor’s, and prayed. Whatever happened now, he had done all he could. That had to mean something.

Until, finally, the shadow spoke:

“You are a pest, buzzing in my ear.”

Slowly, the shadow’s hand withdrew from the Heart. Despite its unimpressed tone, Jayce could sense its reluctance. Suddenly, Jayce was able to breathe again.

“Then some things really never change,” he said. 

Viktor’s shadow tilted its head at him. With a strange tenderness, it turned its attention to the Core, resting a hand on his brow.

“This cannot be allowed to happen again,” it said. “The damage done by the Void has made the entire system vulnerable to its corruption. The Core has taken the Heart into itself, and is not equipped to deal with the strain of both assaults at once. I have done what I can to suppress this most recent episode, but if it is to be a lasting change, the Core must rebuild itself.”

There was something strangely collaborative about its tone. Was Viktor’s shadow actually trying to cooperate with him now?

“Do not raise the issue of the Void with him again,” it went on. “The wounds it leaves on the mind cannot be healed… only forgotten. I will leave behind what context I can for your ordeal, but the Core must regain equilibrium before he can ward off its advances. ”

“It’s not that simple anymore,” Jayce said. “We… may not have time. That’s what I was trying to tell him. So, now, I’m going to tell you.” He had to believe that this aspect of Viktor was strong enough to handle the information. If the surface of Viktor’s mind couldn’t know, then some part of him still had to. “The… The ‘Void’. It isn’t just a cosmological force. There are creatures invading Zaun, and I know they’re connected to it. I felt it… from the inside.”

The shadow’s attention snapped to him with urgency. Jayce could already tell, that was not a good sign.

“Physical manifestations…?” it said, distantly, wonderingly. Its startled reaction confirmed Jayce’s suspicions. Viktor hadn’t known. Whatever monsters were haunting Zaun, they were new. Viktor’s shadow fell silent, considering, before eventually deciding: “Show me. Bring the creatures to the forefront of your mind.”

Jayce did. He thought of dark carapaces, violet acid, and clawed tendrils. Carefully, the shadow brought a finger to his forehead.

Then, it spasmed, the information going through it like an electric shock. It clutched its head, bending forward, before gradually regaining its composure. It looked to him with purpose.

“You must find out more,” it said. “But do not report it to the Core… report it to me.”

“How would I find you?” Jayce asked, furrowing his brow. He’d never had much luck getting the Viktor he wanted.

“Come to this place and speak my designation. I am called the Voidwarden. I will find you, no matter where you are.” The ‘Voidwarden’ seemed prepared to leave on that note, but thought of one last warning to give. “Learn what you can, but be cautious in your investigations. No information is worth what it would cost the system to lose you again.”

Remorse stirred in Jayce's chest.

“Understood,” he said. 

As the Voidwarden faded into the black, as its restraining hands finally began to set Viktor free, Jayce found himself staring at the sleeping face of the Heart. He had so much to heal from. If Jayce had to spend every day and night nursing him back to health, he would. Now that he was rejoined with the Core, for the first time, there was a chance of it sticking. 

Gently, Jayce pressed a kiss against the Heart’s forehead. The Heart’s eyes fluttered open just slightly, weighed down by exhaustion and confusion.

“Jayce?” the Heart murmured. Jayce smiled, brushing back the Heart’s starlit hair.

“See you soon,” he said.

And then he woke up.

Notes:

Okay, so... I meant for this to be more chill, but... cognitohazards... they'll get ya. This could have potentially ended on another nasty cliffhanger but I felt bad for you guys so I made myself keep writing until I could end on a nice note, LOL.

On the subject of this chapter, though, I have more fanart! Holy shit! And it's of the guy.

The Voidwarden by Zephyrsprouts. I loved this interpretation so much that the creepy arcane textures have permanently inhabited my mind. Thank you so very much!

And thank you to everyone leaving kudos and comments! They really make my day.

Chapter 19

Viktor rose from unconsciousness languidly, as if he were simply waking from a strange dream. Jayce could tell he had returned from the way his eye brightened and focused, settling on Jayce’s face, paying no heed to the prison around them. He hummed in sleepy acknowledgement, and Jayce felt his heart melt.

Briefly, Jayce imagined the same scene unfolding, not from the stone floor of a cage, but among the blankets and pillows of a comfortable bed. In that idyllic world, light would stream in through the window, revealing the lazy first moments of a new morning. At first, he envisioned that Viktor as a human, his slight smile foggy with restfulness, his brown hair messy with sleep and curled around his ears. 

Just as easily, though, Jayce realized could see Viktor there as he was now. Gleaming metal that sparkled in the sunrise, the damage to his face flawlessly repaired, his eyes twin suns of molten light, watching Jayce with contentment. As they slowly woke, side by side, Jayce would read the love in his alien expression, a secret language that only he knew.

Jayce knew then that either outcome would be perfect to him–and his heart broke knowing that both seemed equally implausible. 

Viktor’s damaged face felt somehow insulting in contrast to Jayce’s gentle fantasy, and Jayce found himself reaching for it, tracing his fingers along its broken edges as if he could heal it with his own two hands. Viktor had been bearing that wound for so long now, with no chance to recover from it. Places like Stillwater weren’t meant to heal, of course. They were meant to trap their prisoners in suffering, to make an example of their pain.

Viktor made a soft, pleased sound at the touch, and it startled Jayce so much that he almost pulled away. Instead, he only paused, watching Viktor in awe. It felt like the first time that any part of Viktor had been pleased about anything.

“Thank you, Jayce,” Viktor murmured, the strangeness of the situation mounting. “For… caring for me.”

It felt like the sort of thing someone would say while cozy and warm, the words loosened by a few drinks. For Viktor in particular, that was true. He’d always held so much back, even as a human. In particular, he had always been so careful to avoid being vulnerable, unwilling to imply that he wanted or needed help.

Jayce knew that, despite everything, he had to be a positive presence in Viktor’s life. Jayce had tried to take care of him so desperately that sometimes he felt like it would break him. But he wasn’t sure when he’d last heard words like that.

Viktor had thanked him before, plenty of times. He was generally a polite man, to those he respected. But to thank him specifically for caring, after months of doing everything he could to convince Jayce that he didn’t want his attention…

It felt like, just for a moment, Jayce was finally making some progess pushing that boulder up a hill. Even if he was also growing increasingly convinced that Viktor was on the Machine Herald equivalent of tranquilizers.

Sleepy was not something he’d ever witnessed this form of Viktor being. He was generally either completely awake or completely absent. Now, though, he moved like he was tired, like he wasn’t quite ready to get up. Was this a result of his bonds sapping at this strength all day? Or had the Voidwarden done something to his mind, in the hope that it would stave off madness?

Maybe it was some combination of both. Either way, Jayce couldn’t help but feel some relief to find that Viktor was no longer jolting like broken machinery, even if the alternative was this odd sluggishness.

“It’s what I’m here for,” Jayce finally replied. There was a bitter truth to that, even if Jayce kept it from his voice. If that version of Viktor from the future was right, in all possibilities Jayce was the only one that could bring Viktor back from the dark, time and time again. In theory, there was a heavy weight of responsibility to that.

But mostly, he just wanted very badly for it to still be true. 

He could have been resentful about the ties that bound them across all time and space, but instead he revelled in them. If Jayce could keep believing that this was part of his destiny, if this was within the scope of Viktor’s own prophecy, then it was a bit easier to imagine an outcome where he succeeded. 

“No,” Viktor said, as if there was something Jayce wasn’t seeing. “It is more than that. You have been with me, all this time… while my mind and memory have failed me. I thought I understood this, but I did not. I did not know what it truly meant… to be so loved by you.”

A slow realization was taking hold. There was a presence within Viktor that hadn’t been there before–at least, never so close to the surface. Jayce’s eyes widened in awe as he recognized the soul behind Viktor’s eye.

“Do you remember?” Jayce asked. “Are you really… is that part of you really talking?”

Jayce had spent dozens of nights whispering to Viktor’s heart, trying to offer him some small amount of peace. Never once had that aspect of Viktor been allowed to speak outside of dreams. The Viktor he met with in Stillwater had been terrified of allowing it any semblance of control.

“Yes.” Viktor’s musings were soft and dreamy. “In… parts. I am both things at once, I think. I… resent these feelings, but yet… I am them.” Viktor touched his own face, gingerly, as if he had been expecting to find something else beneath his fingers. “But.. I feel strange, now. Like the pain should be more acute.”

Jayce wondered if he should explain his theory about the Voidwarden being involved, but decided against it. Viktor had been in the throes of a complete mental breakdown before. He deserved some rest, even if he didn’t understand the cause.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Jayce said. “Please… let yourself relax. Just for tonight.”

Viktor hummed again, slowly considering. His attention returned to Jayce, his hand moving to rest on his chest. Jayce shivered, as his partner's fingers trailed thoughtfully down his sternum.

“I locked myself away out of fear.” Viktor shifted closer, as if he wanted to press an ear to Jayce’s ribs, to hear the heartbeat within. “Fear that I could not bear the weight of my emotions. That to experience them with a lucid mind would destroy me. And yet… You, too, have suffered, Jayce. In so many ways. And so much of it, at my hands.”

Jayce tensed, stunned by the light suddenly being cast upon him. He knew that none of his pain had escaped Viktor’s notice, but to talk about it like this was another matter.

“You cannot cut out your heart, as I did,” Viktor whispered. Jayce wondered if he could feel the way that it now pounded in his ribs. “You have felt its cries, undiminished, for so long now.” Despite the fog he was in, Viktor’s voice strained. “How… How have you not broken?”

Jayce was far from unbreakable. He’d tried to take his own life when he was younger, after all. Yet, that had been because he’d felt that he was unneeded and unwanted, with nothing left to give the world. From the moment Viktor had joined his life, offering a renewed call of purpose and love, the idea had never occurred to him again. 

Viktor had needed him, as a partner and a friend, and Jayce, above all else, needed to be needed. Devotion was a yoke that drew him forward, inexorably, no matter how many pieces he found himself shattering into. No matter what shapes he reformed as.

“I… sometimes I think I have,” Jayce said, shivering at the thought. “That I am broken. After what I did to you… after all the things I’m responsible for… it makes me feel like I’m never going to recognize myself again. That the pieces will never fit together the ways I want them to.” He clasped his hand over Viktor’s, holding it to his chest, as if to prove to him that he was still alive despite that. “But I just… keep moving. I keep doing whatever thing comes next.”

Jayce knew that their situations weren’t exactly comparable. Jayce’s transformation was far less literal, and Viktor had, for better or for worse, put himself in a situation where he was utterly deprived of the purpose that Jayce needed to survive. But Viktor himself was why he would never stop fighting. 

“And what will you do now, Jayce?” Viktor asked, painfully earnest, like he was lost in the dark and needed help finding his way out. Like Jayce’s voice was the only point of reference he had left.

Jayce sighed. He hadn’t really considered his next move yet, but it was as good a time as any to decide.

“I’m… going to find out more about what’s going on in the undercity,” he said. “So that I can help the people in your commune. So that I can keep them from being manipulated. They…” He choked out a hysterical laugh. “They really fucked me up. But. They were just people. I know they were just trying to save themselves the only way they knew how.”

Ceve was another matter entirely, but Jayce wasn’t sure he wanted to get into the grim reality of her influence on the rest of the commune, not when he knew that Viktor would feel responsible. Jayce could tell that he already did, from the way Viktor reached for him, pulling him close, as if he might lose him again.

“My commune,” Viktor breathed, as if he couldn’t quite grasp the fullness of what it represented. “Why was my commune so cruel to you? Why have they become like this?” His fingers threaded through Jayce’s hair, tucking Jayce’s head to his chest, an air of possessiveness in the gesture. “I… I would not let them be. I would not allow it.”

Jayce knew that was the truth, in a far more literal way than could be comfortable. Viktor never would have permitted that kind of chaos in his utopia. His original followers had been shaped in such a way that harmony was their priority, with Viktor at their center, all-knowing and benevolent. The new commune was reborn as its opposite, driven by individual ambitions and led by charlatans and revolutionaries. 

It was an environment that craved more than internal peace. What it demanded was external change.

“I think there’s something off about all of this,” Jayce said into Viktor’s chest. “I think that someone is trying to manipulate the commune. Trying to manipulate us. ” There was so much he wanted to say, but he was trying to mind the Voidwarden’s warning. How much could he explain without drawing Viktor back into torment? “Someone knew about what happened to me in the commune. They knew I’d been drugged, and… they set it up so they could catch me on my way back to you.”

Viktor’s grip grew tighter, his metallic body stiffening around Jayce’s like a defensive wall. 

“How?”

“At the entrance to Stillwater… they made me do a drug test. They’ve never done that before.” Even through the fog, Jayce could feel the tension in Viktor grow as he understood the implications. “I think they wanted to catch me with it in my system. To… cause a scandal, and get me off the Council, like they wanted from the start.”

“It’s corrupt,” Viktor said, suddenly. There was force behind the declaration, like pressure released after a long period of building. “All of it. The authorities of this place… this prison… they care for nothing but their own pride. Their own greed. I have seen so much, Jayce. So many memories. So many lives destroyed. Tragedies trapped in these walls like amber.”

Viktor had mentioned it before, that his visions centered on Stillwater, that they were so plentiful and persistent that he needed an entire other version of himself to manage them. The injustice must have been easier to ignore when Viktor was still able to silence the anger in his heart. Now, Jayce could hear the frustration burning like embers within him as he spoke.

“For every true threat contained, there is another innocent manipulated and bound by circumstance, thrown away like waste. This city discards people, Jayce. Like they are nothing. And now they are trying to do the same to you.” Viktor’s voice cracked, a subtle distortion in sound. If he were human, there would have been tears. “Why can they not see it? How much good you have to offer? Why do they not care? ”

“I don’t know,” Jayce said softly. He wanted to console Viktor, to tell him that it wasn’t true, but it was. He’d seen it himself. The Council didn’t see the value in the undercity, in Jayce, or in Viktor himself. And soon, he would have to defend their worth before them.

There would be trouble, now that Viktor had shown any inclination towards rebellion, no matter the reason. They wouldn’t approve of the way Jayce had elected to calm him, either. And even with those monsters on the loose, he could already anticipate the urgency of the matter being dismissed, as long as it only endangered the fissures.

What a pair they were. A Councilor and a god, and neither of them able to accomplish what they needed to.

“They don’t see the good in you, either,” Jayce said. “But they’re wrong.” He could feel it as Viktor prepared to speak, prepared to deny him, and so he cut him off. “And before you say anything, you’re wrong too.”

Viktor fell silent, his chin tucked over Jayce’s head, staring into the dark corners of the cell. 

“You’re… amazing, Viktor. You care about people so much. That’s always what it’s been about, in everything you’ve tried to accomplish. And… I know it hurts right now, but… it’s one of the best parts of you. Even when it gets you into trouble.” Jayce choked out half a laugh. “A lot of trouble.”

Viktor's reply was small and tender and so beautifully fragile:

“I love you, Jayce.” 

Jayce swallowed roughly. They were the words he already knew, but no longer a secret.

“I love you, too,” he replied, resting against Viktor’s chest. “Always have, always will.”

Jayce didn’t know what time it was, or how long it would be before the Wardens eventually returned. What he did know was that, in that moment, he never wanted to leave.

 

---

 

It was some hours later when physical reality started putting that desire to the test. As he drifted in and out of hazy sleep, Jayce’s body remembered that it hadn’t eaten since the previous morning. When his stomach started growling, Viktor noticed too.

Viktor’s hand fell across Jayce’s belly at the sound, his eye sharpening with attention.

“Jayce,” Viktor said. Jayce pretended to still be asleep. The hexclaw peeked around Viktor’s side to poke at Jayce’s shoulder, softly whirring. “Jayce, you are starving.”

Jayce pried open an eye. His head felt gritty and dry inside, aching like the cracks in hot dirt. “How can you tell?”

“You have been growing weaker. Your body is running out of energy, and of fluids. I can see it in the tension of your skin. Your lips are chapped.”

“Your lips were always chapped.”

Jayce tried to imagine how Viktor would have reacted back in the lab, if Jayce had gone on about the tension of his skin. It would always be strange being on the other side of that, when Viktor had taken care of himself so poorly.

“Jayce.” Viktor was scolding him now.

“I’ve had worse. I spent weeks in that future pit, eating nothing but raw salamanders and drinking stagnant water. A bit of dehydration isn't going to kill me.”

Jayce had fallen into a rhythm, finding the bickering somehow comforting. When Viktor didn’t immediately reply, though, he found himself regretting being so flippant about his experiences. It was the look in Viktor’s eye; he didn’t even know how it could be called a ‘look’. His expression was the same as ever. And yet, Jayce could see the pain within it: the sorrow, the hesitance.

“I don’t want to be the pit you struggle in,” Viktor said quietly, and they both knew there was more to it than the question of when Jayce would get his next meal. Jayce sighed, finding Viktor’s hand and squeezing it.

“And I don't want to leave you,” he said. “I don't know when I'll be able to come back.”

He’d pushed his luck with all of this, even if he hadn’t been caught with Shimmer or broken any laws. He could see them restricting his access in the name of his own safety, if nothing else. If it weren’t for their ability to communicate by other means, he would have been completely terrified. Even with that, he didn’t want to lose these moments. 

There was so much time ahead of them, and he couldn’t bear the idea of Viktor being left like this. Something had to change.

“But you cannot stay here forever,” Viktor said, and it was a truth they both knew. If the Council ever did lock Jayce up, it wouldn't be with Viktor. “I… am grateful for you. For what you have done. But… you must remain free. You must care for yourself, too.” Viktor leaned closer, pressing their brows together in his attempt at a kiss. “Please. Call for the Wardens.”

Jayce swallowed. In pained resignation, he pressed a kiss to the smooth slope of Viktor’s face.

“Five more minutes?” he asked.

As it turned out, they didn’t even get that much. By some congruence in fate, around minute three, the sound of footsteps approached. As usual, Viktor heard the incoming presence before Jayce did, disentangling their bodies and pulling back before they could be seen in such a scandalous state. In some last ditch effort at finding humour in the scenario, Jayce imagined the motion as if Viktor were pulling a blanket over himself for modesty–as if there was ever a time that he wasn’t naked these days.

Instead, Jayce sat up wearily, surrendering himself to whatever uncomfortable interaction with the Wardens he was about to have. When the gates of the cell opened, he and Viktor were sitting a few feet apart.

“Jayce!” Caitlyn called, her voice stunning him out of his deflated posture.

“Cait?”

She arrived, flanked by a group of Enforcers and Wardens. It must have been very early in the morning, and Caitlyn wore the terse expression of someone who was having a terrible start to their work day.

“He's been in here all night,” one of the Wardens said, as if it were some delinquent action Jayce had been performing, rather than something he’d been pushed into. No one had shown up to let him out, after all.

“I couldn't exactly leave,” Jayce drawled, exhausted. “You wanted the barrier closed, and took my key.”

For now, Caitlyn ignored that. She looked to Viktor, who seemed stunned at receiving her attention.

“Viktor. Did you call for me yesterday?” Her tone was impatient. For a moment, Viktor was silent, before eventually finding his response.

“Yes.”

Viktor seemed to wonder if she would be angry with him, but as it turned out, that aggravation was being directed entirely at the Wardens she’d arrived with. She turned to them with a pointed glare.

“Then why am I only finding out through rumours that the Herald had requested my presence?” she demanded.

“He was throwing a fit,” the Warden said, scowling. “Are we supposed to bend to any random demand prisoners make these days? It was obviously some scheme on his part.”

Caitlyn did not seem convinced. Her expression spoke of a long history of poor cooperation from the Stillwater staff. 

“I am the Sheriff of Piltover. It was my proposal to accept or deny.” Her words were crisp. She held out a hand. “Now give me the key.”

Reluctantly, the Warden pulled out the rune-inscribed tablet piece that Jayce usually wore around his neck. Caitlyn took it from them, and strode over to the pillar, slotting it into place and deactivating the forward barrier.

“Councilor, it’s time you returned home,” Caitlyn said.

Jayce met Viktor’s eye one last time, who solemnly nodded in approval.

“I thank you for your assistance, Councilor Talis,” he said. Regretfully, Jayce complied. As the barrier was reactivated behind him, he felt like a piece of his own heart had been shorn away. 

“If a situation like this unfolds again I expect to be informed immediately,” Caitlyn said to the assembled prison staff. 

“Of course, Sheriff,” they said, a lie behind their eyes.

Caitlyn and Jayce ascended through Stillwater in silence. Back on his feet, Jayce was more strongly feeling the weight of his exhaustion and lack of calories, the entire duration passing in a haze as he tried to keep himself from swaying. As they left through Stillwater’s front gates, the cold splash of saltwater air drew him back to the world around him.

Caitlyn continued on a path down towards the shore. Jayce followed, unsure of what to say or how to interpret her mood. Once they were close enough to the water that it could nearly lap at their feet, it was her that spoke first.

“What were you doing down there, Jayce?” she asked. She was no longer angry, just tired and worried. 

“I think you already know,” Jayce said, staring at the water. “He was having a breakdown. He needed someone’s help, and I'm the only one who will touch him.”

Caitlyn flinched at that, though Jayce wasn’t sure why.

“What caused it? He’s been nothing but calm and compliant for months. Why did this happen now?”

Jayce sighed. “It’s… complicated. He knew I’d gone to the undercity, and he thought that I was in danger. He tried to tell the Wardens and they wouldn’t listen to him, so… he panicked.”

“ Were you in danger?” she asked, catching his eye. He hesitated.

“...As it turns out, yeah, I was. He can… He can sense that sort of thing, I guess. Something about… the connection we had with each other in the Arcane.” That was as much as he could say about it, even to Caitlyn. Her brow creased.

“What happened to you?” 

“I got mixed up with the wrong kinds of people when I was moving around the fissures,” he said, simply. He couldn’t tell her about the Shimmer. Not if her knowledge of that could put her in danger. Not until he’d had more time to think. “But… Ekko helped me get away from them. I’m… fine now.”

This time, Caitlyn was the one to break eye contact. She looked out at the horizon, the sun still lingering just below its edge. The ocean was cast in shades of pale peach and gold, its shifting shades reminding him of the Heart’s cosmic light.

“The Council won't like this,” she said softly. “They'll see you offering him comfort as capitulating to a terrorist.”

Despite her sympathetic tone, Jayce found himself hardening his stance, his teeth gritting resolutely.

“He's still a person, Cait,” he snapped. “Or did you forget that?”

“I know what he is,” she retorted, hardening herself in turn. “I remember what you told me. And I… remember him .” She crossed her arms, pinching the bridge of her nose. “But this is delicate. They thought that he was threatening them with violence . That if he wasn’t given what he wanted, he would break free and bring the entire prison down on their heads. Regardless of his reasons, he was trying to escape his cell for hours. You must know what that looks like.”

“ I know .” It erupted out of him in a burst of frustration. It was enough to give Caitlyn pause. He immediately regretted his tone. He lifted his hand to his face, covering his eyes. “I… I know.”

The second time he said it, it came out weakly, almost mournfully. So many things were already going wrong, so many terrible things that he was powerless to stop. He didn’t have to be reminded. He couldn’t bear to be. Not yet.

And, mercifully, it seemed like Caitlyn understood. She looked back out at the water, allowing him a moment to steady himself.

“I'm sorry I couldn't get here to help you sooner,” she eventually offered. “The undercity is still in chaos. As if the earthquake wasn't enough, there have been… incidents. It’s had me running all over the place, looking for answers.”

“Violence?” Jayce’s skin prickled.

“It’s like there’s something in the water. Or… something in the Shimmer. ” That word stopped Jayce cold, his heartbeat stuttering in his chest. “We’ve always known that Shimmer can send its users into a frenzy, but only with large, unrefined doses. But now… it’s as if even simple, recreational use is capable of causing such extreme reactions. Not in every case… but over the last day there have been several reports of similar violent incidents.”

Caitlyn was thinking deeply, revisiting the case in her mind, cataloguing all the evidence she’d found again even as she spoke. For Jayce, though, her case was an invitation straight back into his worst nightmares.

He felt like he was going to throw up. He felt like he was going to pass out. Most of all, he felt that he needed to say something. A line had just been crossed that they couldn’t come back from.

“I… think I might know something about that.”

Jayce had never been so glad to see the sun rise.

Notes:

Back to more regular sized chapters. I thought they deserved a little bit of niceness after the previous update... because now, Jayce has to talk to the Council.

Thank you all for the lovely comments! I appreciate hearing from you all so very much. <3

Chapter 20

Jayce told Caitlyn the truth. He didn’t think there was any other way.

He’d thought about telling her before, but had kept convincing himself out of it. It was too nebulous, too weird, too anecdotal. All that sharing his experience with Shimmer would do was let her know that he’d ingested illegal substances, and what if that got her in trouble later? He didn’t want her to have to choose between him and her career.

Looking back, though, his reasoning didn’t really hold up. He hadn’t done a crime, a crime had been done against him. She already knew about his connection to Viktor, about the strange things that entailed. Most importantly, her and Vi were actively investigating the creature he knew something about, no matter how abstract the connection was.

He guessed that, even after all this time, he still saw her as too young to burden, as someone he needed to protect. She wasn’t Caitlyn Kiramman, Sheriff of Piltover, former general. To him, she was Sprout. But, as much as he wished that life would let her be Sprout again, that was another transformation that couldn't be taken back.

Was he really doing her any favours by trying to shelter her, just like her mother had?

And so, he talked and she listened. When he finished, he could see the gears turning in her head, processing this newfound flood of information. She was less skeptical than even Ekko had been–though, he supposed she had the benefit of having already witnessed this as a repeated phenomenon.

But the implications were far more dire than a simple case of adverse drug reactions.

“We still have the body,” she said, tapping her lip with her thumb as she thought. “Of the creature, and of its… victim.” The image of Old Buck’s swollen and ruptured corpse flashed back into Jayce’s mind and he had to hold himself back from gagging. “Just like before, testing has shown qualities similar to a body under the effect of a Shimmer injection. As if an animal had been exposed to it and mutated. When Vi brought in those initial samples, it was written off as undercity chemical experimentation. We were told to focus on arresting a culprit.”

“But there is no culprit,” Jayce confirmed somberly. “These monsters aren’t being made in the undercity, they’re coming from somewhere else.”

“...Your testimony will never hold up.” The sad truth of the matter was clicking in her head. The reason he hadn’t brought it up until now. “The Council would never see it as anything but delusions brought on by the use of an illegal drug. And any mention of Viktor’s connection to it…”

He nodded grimly. He hadn’t actually told her about how it still infected Viktor’s mind, about the way it was trying to break him from within. He couldn’t risk making her believe that Viktor was more of a threat than he already was. Yet, even with the small amount he'd explained, she knew; Viktor would never be considered a reliable witness.

“It’s in their political best interest to undermine me,” Jayce said. “Ferros, Tariost, Holloran, and Torek almost always vote in a block. Before I returned to the Council, it would have been impossible to push anything through without their approval. Now that there are eight of us, it’s possible to force stalemates in both directions. But only if Shoola and Bolbok are willing to risk the consequences of siding with me.”

Sevika and him had already fallen into a pattern of supporting each other’s proposals. Neither of them had much choice in the matter, as the least respected members of the Council. 

“Shoola has a good heart,” he went on, desperately trying to find a solution, “and Bolbok’s family are more cautious than they are greedy, but… even with that, we need to do more than just stall the other side’s plans. We need something we can offer them in exchange…”

Mel’s lessons had not gone unheeded. To grease the wheels of Piltovan politics, sacrifices had to be made. And with that thought, the terrible reality occurred to him.

The Hexgates.

His vision went fuzzy around the edges, his hearing strangely muted, a sharp ringing in his ears. The Hexgates were the prize he was currently withholding. He had his endorsements to offer, his influence and expertise as the Defender of Tomorrow. He may have been a burden to the Council, but what about the common people? If he supported Ferros’s research, it was unlikely that anyone would ever question it again.

And how much would that surrender earn him?

Could it buy support for the undercity? Could it buy trust for his research into the Void?

Could it buy leniency for Viktor? 

And all at what cost?

Without fully realizing it, he found himself swaying. Caitlyn was at his side in a flash, dragging him back to stability. It was only only as he met her startled gaze that he realized just how far he’d disconnected from reality for a moment. He felt like he was going to be sick.

“That’s enough for now,” she said. “I’m taking you home so you can rest. We can’t have you facing the Council like this.”

Some part of him felt like he should disagree on principle–that there was more he could do, more he should do, and now. But she was right. He could feel himself wasting away with stress, hunger, and exhaustion.

With her hand on his shoulder, Caitlyn guided him towards the ferry.

 

---

 

When Jayce returned to his mother’s house, he had hoped she would still be sleeping. It was just after dawn, and so there was a chance she wouldn’t notice his absence, even if she was an early riser. From the moment he saw that the lights were still on inside, though, he knew that he’d made a terrible mistake.

He let himself in, his muscles tight, afraid of the moment she would notice him. She wasn’t preoccupied in another room like she had been the night before, enabling him to sneak out. No, this time she was sitting awake, waiting for him. As their eyes met, he could see the frantic, barely concealed worry behind hers. 

He didn’t know when, but she had noticed he was gone. 

“Jayce!” Before he could think of what to say, she was on her feet and rushing over to him. He should have told her that he was leaving, but he was afraid that she would try to stop him, that she wouldn’t understand. “What happened? I came to check on you and you were gone. You didn’t even touch your food!”

“Mom, I’m sorry,” he managed, trying to keep himself steady. “I didn’t expect to be out so long. I just… I didn’t want to worry you.”

" This worries me,” she said desperately, pulling him closer by the shoulders, as if to keep him from disappearing again. “Yesterday, you came home and you’d been…” She sputtered, gesturing urgently, as if she didn’t want to say the words. Eventually, they came spilling out anyway. “Attacked! Drugged! But before you could explain, you disappeared again, all night, and I thought that maybe you had been…” 

She trailed off, but the implication was clear. She was afraid that he’d been taken by some unknowable force, leaving her to wonder if he was truly gone for a third time. Maybe it would be magic, maybe criminals, maybe some political machinations she had never been told about–all she would know was that she’d been powerless to stop it.

It was a nightmare. He knew it was a nightmare. He kept screwing this up. He kept being handed impossible decisions. Once again, he was letting his loved ones down.

He wanted to apologize again, but he knew it would be meaningless. If all he ever had to offer was apologies, then what did it even matter…?

“Please, sweetheart,” his mother urged. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s Viktor,” he said, the words forming before he even knew what he was saying. 

They’d avoided talking about Viktor. She only knew that he worked long hours for the Council and in the lab, never being told the details of what for, or how many evenings he’d spent in Viktor’s cell. He’d been too ashamed to tell her the nature of his constant preoccupation, afraid that she would resent it as much as she would deserve too. Maybe she had assumed. It would be hard not to. Yet, it had remained an unspoken wall between them. 

“Viktor?” she repeated, not with confusion, but with several weeks worth of mysteries clicking into place. 

“I had to go see him,” he said. “He… He's not well.”

He found himself being transported back to a similar night years prior, when he had told his mother much the same thing. Viktor wasn't well. He was dying, and Jayce didn't know if he could stop it. 

She had been devastated by the news, even if Jayce had been unwilling to surrender to the inevitability of it. Viktor had been in his life for so long, he was practically part of the family. She had come to associate Viktor with Jayce’s happiness in life, and she was completely right to do so. 

Though now, it wasn't death that threatened to pull them apart. It was something much more cruel. 

His mother led him to the kitchen. She said that she was going to make him something to eat, and that while she did, he was to tell her the whole story. He didn't think he could do that, not yet. But he could at least tell some of it.

He told her about the project to bind Viktor, and its ultimate success. He told her about Viktor’s remorse and his equally potent despair. He told her about the lonely prison they would meet in, and the long hours Viktor spent in total isolation.

“We put him in chains, and now all he does is sit down there alone, hating himself. He doesn't have anyone else. He thought that he could endure it forever, that no amount of suffering would make up for what he did, but… he’s more human than he thought he was. Everything he’s been through is taking its toll, but to everyone else he’s just a criminal, a burden that they want out of sight and out of mind. I need to help him, but I don’t know how…!”

“You still care for him,” she said, joining him at the table, pushing over a plate of freshly cooked breakfast. Her brow was furrowed with an excruciating amount of empathy. Seeing it made his gut twist, something deep and entrenched telling him that if she really knew the truth she would be disgusted. The truth of just how far he was willing to go.

He realized now that he would choose Viktor over Piltover, over his legacy, and over justice. All because of one simple reality.

“I don’t just care for him,” he found himself pleading, praying that she would understand. “I… I love him. I love him so much.”

He couldn’t even say it without the tears building in his eyes. He’d just exchanged those words with Viktor, inscribing them upon the stones of fate. Yet, how could that destiny end in anything but tragedy?

His mother had fallen silent, considering her words. When she finally spoke, it was a melancholy kinship.

“I thought that he had killed you, at first.” The recollection was a distant one, drawing her back into a time of tragedy and strife that he hadn’t witnessed. It sent pangs of agony through his chest, knowing he had left her that way for so long. “I couldn’t make sense of it. They just told me that you were gone… no body. Nothing to bury. Some part of me hoped, prayed, that it wasn’t true. That what they said about him wasn’t true. That, maybe, he had given you mercy.” Finally, she smiled, achingly bittersweet. She reached across the table to squeeze his hand.  “And my prayers were answered.”

Viktor hadn’t killed him. They had been alive together, all that time. They would have stayed that way, if they were allowed to. Contrasted to the reality she had faced, he didn’t know what to say.

“Viktor…” she said to his silence, searching for the truth in his eyes. “He loves you back?”

“He does.”

There was no hesitation. He'd felt it from Viktor in a thousand ways. Even during their worst moments, when they were furthest apart, it was still there. Now, it seemed to be all Viktor was living for.

With his confirmation, Jayce could see her heart break, as if he had been sentenced to the cruelest punishment possible. Before he fully realized what was happening, she had come to his side of the table to embrace him. 

“Oh, my Jayce,” she murmured plaintively. “Why have the gods given you such a fate?”

She had realized the tragedy of their love for what it was. Two souls, entwined, but held apart until the strain threatened to break them. 

Jayce knew the reason for this part of his destiny, at least, though he didn’t feel it was time to tell his mother that Viktor was involved in it from beginning to end. He’d save that one for later–for happier days, ideally, when this could all be looked upon from the perspective of an eventual resolution.

She wouldn’t let him leave the table until he had eaten, and so he did–first hesitantly, as his stomach turned, and then more eagerly as his body slowly allowed itself to recognize its hunger. Before he could do anything else, his mother sent him straight to bed, saying that she would wake him up so that he could head to city hall in the afternoon, after having lunch.

“You don’t need to go any sooner than that,” she said, and on that matter, her word was law.

As Jayce slipped beneath the covers, he didn’t have the strength to explore the astral realm, or to fight his way through any psychic obstructions. Instead, he just passed into the haze of regular sleep, flitting between half formed dreams and disconnected thoughts. Even then, they centered around Viktor–flashes of his face, old and new, all tinged with anxieties about losing him down a path Jayce couldn’t follow. It was an endless search for missing pieces that left him restless.

He yearned for his partner’s presence, even in his unwaking mind, and it was with that wish that he felt the subtle lucidity of the spirit world touch him. Someone was there with him. 

Viktor’s arrival was quiet and gentle, with the carefulness of someone slipping into bed with their partner that was already asleep. There was no intent to disturb or draw attention, just the warm embrace of Viktor’s soul settling against his. Jayce’s consciousness shifted, inclined to focus on Viktor, already bubbling with concerns about his wound, or his emotional state after being left alone.

“Rest, Jayce,” Viktor whispered to him, so indistinct that part of Jayce questioned whether or not it was real. “I need nothing from you but your presence.”

Jayce couldn’t tell what form Viktor was in, then, whether he was in the arms of the human Heart or basking in the cosmic light of a god. It didn’t matter. With Viktor’s permission, he felt himself let go, tethered by nothing but Viktor’s embrace. His mind departed not into a howling absence, but instead into a state of formless peace. At last, his racing thoughts calmed, and there was nothing to distract him from sinking into a deep and dreamless sleep.

When Jayce’s mother finally called to wake him, as he slowly rose to the afternoon sun, he rolled over in bed, expecting with all certainty to find Viktor there with him.

He wasn’t.

 

---

 

Jayce returned to the Council room with the comfort of someone settling into a chair made entirely of nails. With any luck, he would be able to remain steady enough that he could keep himself from being impaled. 

As the other Councilors arrived, he couldn’t help but read the most ominous meanings to their expressions. Scorn and disgust from Ferros’s voting block, pity from Shoola, disappointment from Sevika. He didn’t know how much any of them even knew of the situation, but he could only assume the worst. His only comfort was that Caitlyn had also been called to attend, both to report her recent findings and, most likely, to be interrogated.

The two of them had spoken a bit more before arriving, hoping to consolidate their efforts, and to decide what should and shouldn’t be said. He caught her eye before the assembly was called to order, and she smiled faintly, a gesture for just the two of them. It was exactly the balm he needed, and he felt some of the tension in his shoulders loosen. They could do this, he reminded himself. He wasn’t alone here, even if he felt like he was.

Though, Jayce could tell it would be a rocky start when Councilor Ferros cut straight past any formalities to target Viktor.

“To tackle the matters of greatest severity first,” Ferros said, “it has been reported by several witnesses that the Herald attempted to escape imprisonment yesterday, going as far to threaten prison staff and make repeated demands. While it seems that he has not yet been successful, this change in his demeanour is of great concern to the entirety of Piltover.”

Ferros allowed that grim news to settle over the table before continuing, with a more skeptical expression.

“I have also been informed that Councilor Talis took it upon himself to respond to these demands by spending the night with the Herald in his cell.” He cast Jayce a pointed look. “Would you care to provide us with some insight into that decision, Councilor?”

Eyebrows were raised all around the table, including those belonging to people that Jayce hoped to keep as allies. It didn’t help that Ferros has phrased it in the least flattering way possible. Jayce tried to keep himself from shaking, though whether the impulse was a result of anxiety or anger, he wasn’t yet sure. 

“He was having a mental health crisis,” Jayce explained, as patiently as he could. “He underwent a significant amount of physical and mental trauma in the time leading up to the invasion, and his remorse for his actions has burdened him greatly since. It seems like those stressors all came to a head at once.”

It was an angle that he had rehearsed with Caitlyn, anticipating that he would be questioned on this eventually. As suspected, for some of the table, his explanation was the opposite of compelling.

“All that does is confirm that he was a madman from the start,” Councilor Tariost said. “Is it now Council policy to personally mollycoddle those that would terrorize us?”

“He’s still a human being–” Jayce began.

“I wouldn't go that far,” Councilor Holloran scoffed. 

“He’s still a human ,” Jayce repeated more forcefully, “and he’s vulnerable to mental distress the same as anyone else. The same goes for every other prisoner in Stillwater–the only difference is that when Viktor is upset, it makes you afraid instead of contemptuous.” Anger was steadily building in his chest. “I saw what the problem was and chose to actually do something about it.”

“By pampering Piltover’s most deadly criminal,” Tariost spat, making no effort to hide her disgust. “It is not a Councilor’s place to–”

“To what?” Jayce snapped back. “Solve problems? I’ve been getting that impression.”

Sevika snorted.

Ferros cast Sevika a look as if to give her a silent warning before refocusing his attention on Jayce.

“While your willingness to take the initiative is commendable,” Ferros said, “the Wardens were… disturbed by the oddly intimate nature of your methods. While I could understand offering verbal reassurance, words like ‘hugging’ and ‘cuddling’ are not what I would expect to see on the Wardens’ reports.”

Jayce’s face grew hot at that, though the humiliation only served to fan the flames of his discontent. He was being set up, he had to recognize that, but it didn’t make it burn any less. 

“He was my best friend, ” Jayce said. “He worked for this Council, worked in this building for seven years. Or has the entirety of Piltover decided to forget that?” Jayce cast an accusing glance around the table, but received no response. “He had no obligation to turn himself over for judgement after his return, but he trusted me enough to make sure it was done. He put his life in our hands. That has to mean something, with regards to his treatment.”

Jayce didn’t dwell on the concept of them ‘cuddling’ because he knew that getting dragged into the semantics of it would only serve to sully his reputation further. He had to stay focused. Was it really such a terrible thing to treat a prisoner with the slightest bit of humanity? Even one that had entered his cage willingly?

Shoola was quiet, but the troubled look on her face told him that she was uncomfortable with the questions being presented. She’d always had a soft spot for the undercity–could that extend to the residents of Stillwater, if she was forced to look in their direction?

“It’s true that the Herald has been very cooperative with our efforts up until now,” Ferros admitted. “But that will mean little if he has decided to endanger our Wardens. We cannot set a precedent of rewarding violent outbursts.”

Jayce could already feel the words forming: that Viktor wasn’t a child, that he wasn’t a dog to be trained. Before he could say anything, though, an unexpected voice took the table. 

“It is our foremost concern to keep the Herald under control,” Bolbok said, her helm whirring with a soft expulsion of gas. “I think that this has become a discussion of pride, not of reason. It is of some Councilors’s opinion that to engage with the Herald is to debase ourselves. However, that outlook does not address the matter at hand: the continued safety of Piltover.”

“Councilor Bolbok is right,” Shoola said carefully. “I can see no benefit to making an enemy of the Herald before he has left us with no choice.”

“Having spoken with him, I can assure you that he means no harm to the Wardens or anyone else,” Jayce said.  “His episode was triggered by the stress of the crisis in the undercity. He thought that the residents were still in danger, and became frustrated in his effort to get answers. Now that things have settled, he is fully aware that future ‘outbursts’ will not be tolerated.”

“How altruistic of him,” Tariost drawled sarcastically.

“You must be aware that your unique relationship with the Herald invites a conflict of interest, Councilor Talis,” Ferros said. “I do not believe you will be willing to take the measures necessary if his disobedience becomes a habit.”

Jayce’s fists clenched.

“What do you suggest?” Bolbok asked.

“Additional restraints,” Ferros said.  “One of Councilor Talis’s priorities during construction was the comfort of the prisoner. When the Herald was compliant with our efforts, I could see little reason to deny him that. However, we must be prepared for that to change.”

Jayce’s heart seized in his chest. No. No. He couldn’t stand to see Viktor be punished further. The thought of it made his gut churn–the image of Viktor being made smaller, weaker, and more trapped than he already was. Not when he knew how badly the bonds could make him suffer when he fought them; not after witnessing his shaking, malfunctioning form first hand.

“His existing restraints held as expected,” Jayce said, barely managing to conceal his distress. “It would be inhumane to restrict his movements more than they already are.”

“Your personal feelings are blinding you,” Ferros said. “Surely you can agree that these additions should at the very least be devised as a precaution, even if they never see use?”

“I agree with Councilor Ferros,” Bolbok said, and just like that Jayce’s hopes of a stalemate slipped away. “These tools should be made available to Stillwater, in the event an emergency arises.”

“A vote, then?” Ferros proposed, and Jayce could see the gleam of victory in his eyes.

And that was that. With Ferros’s voting block, Bolbok alone was able to turn the tides completely. Five against three. Or, at least, it could have been. In the end, it was unanimous, because Jayce knew that if it was going to happen, he needed to stay involved. Even if that meant voting to potentially harm the person he wanted to protect more than anything.

“Fine. You… You’re right,” Jayce said, tasting the bile in his throat as he raised his hand. “But only as a last resort.”

As the spotlight switched on above him, Jayce felt its brightness sear across his head and shoulders, blinding in its condemnation.

Notes:

I drew a cover image for To Chain a God! Please check it out, I spent so long on it, lmao.

This chapter was a strange collection of scenes, but I hope you enjoy it! The Council meeting will be extending into the next chapter.

As always, thank you so much to those that have been commenting! It's a highlight of my week to hear your thoughts on things.

Chapter 21

It was disgusting how easily the Council meeting moved on to other matters. Not a single thought was put towards the ethics of the situation, or into what they could do to help stabilize Viktor’s shattering mind. Even as discussion moved forward, Jayce was still mired in thoughts of the cruelty they could inflict upon Viktor if they only deemed it necessary. Cruelty they would be celebrated for, in the name tyrannical Herald’s punishment.

As he and Rhodri Ferros locked eyes across the table, Jayce felt only hatred. He could see it in the other man’s stare: Ferros knew what he was doing. He wasn’t just reacting out of fear or caution. No, this was all part of the game. 

Viktor was as good as his hostage, and all Jayce could do here was wait to find out what the ransom would be.

Jayce barely noticed as Caitlyn called for an Enforcer to bring in a glass-covered cart, meaning that when he finally broke away from his glaring match with Ferros, the body of the dead Void creature was suddenly before him. There was a chorus of gasps around the table, from all except for Sevika. Instead, she stared it down like an old enemy.

Overhead, the shutters began to close, blocking out the day’s light until only a pillar of artificial luminescence remained. The beast was framed within it.

Jayce hadn’t seen the creature since the day he and Vi found it in the mines. It had been frightening in the dark, made of alien shapes and phosphorescent oozes. Seeing it now, in full brightness, was another type of disturbing. Its mysteries were shorn away in favour of disquieting reality.

It had the insectoid shape that Jayce remembered, with dozens of tendril-like legs and a formless head with nothing but a long, sharp proboscis hanging out of it. Chunks of its dark carapace had been pulled back with hooks, exposing an interior filled with not much besides congealing purple pus and a central organ that had been ruptured by a blow from a pickaxe. Though it made no biological sense, to Jayce it looked as if it had once served the purpose of both stomach and heart.

“I have asked to have the shutters closed, as the creature’s flesh has proven reactive to sunlight,” Caitlyn explained. “When it was first collected, the exterior tissue was much softer and more vulnerable. After some areas were left exposed to natural light, however, they hardened in a manner that made them difficult to cut with traditional tools.”

“And where did you find this… thing again?” Tariost asked, covering her mouth with a handkerchief, as if its miasma might affect her through the glass.

“The undercity,” Caitlyn answered. “Specifically, the mines and fissures. Councilor Sevika reported suspicious deaths occurring in those areas several weeks ago, and I now believe these creatures are the culprits. This one was unearthed during our efforts to rescue a mining team that had been trapped during the recent earthquake.”

Tariost looked loath to believe that Sevika could be right about anything, but let Caitlyn continue.

“The tongue-like weapon at the creature’s front matches the wounds inflicted by the smaller versions we discovered earlier. We believe that this is a more developed instance of that same species. When used against a victim, it leaves a wound similar to that of a blade. Once inserted into the body, the tongue also seems capable of injecting an acidic substance that causes flesh to rapidly decay and form abscesses. There was evidence of this on the bodies of both reported victims.”

“Disturbing findings indeed,” Ferros said. “And your thoughts as to the origins of these beasts?”

Caitlyn hesitated. Jayce already knew that she wouldn’t be able to tell the full truth, but it didn’t stop him from screaming inside. Another apocalypse was bearing down on them, and this time, his words were not enough.

“Though we are not yet certain how they were created, their place of origin does seem to be the mines themselves. With the way these creatures’ flesh reacts to the sun, to find one of this size with an unhardened carapace does seem to suggest that they have been growing within a subterranean environment.”

“Or, that they are simply nocturnal,” Ferros said, considering. “As I recall, those earlier samples shared traits with Shimmer-related mutations. Is that still the case?”

“...Yes, Councilor.” Caitlyn had been trying to guide the discussion in the direction that matched Jayce’s testimony, but the connection was inescapable. “The findings are similar, but not identical.”

“Those undercity madmen are at it again,” Holloran spat, drawing his own conclusions. “Filling their own streets with monsters!”

“There is currently no evidence that they were created by the undercity,” Caitlyn clarified patiently. 

“And who else would it be?” Tariost said. “They were the ones that introduced Shimmer to our city. We’ve all seen what it was used for. This is simply the next in a long line of abominations.”

“That does seem to be the most likely answer,” Ferros agreed. He eyed Caitlyn carefully. “Is there any evidence to the contrary, Sheriff?”

“Traditionally, residents of our city are considered innocent until proven guilty,” Caitlyn said. “But no. Our investigation has been inconclusive.”

“Then it may be time for the Enforcers to be more hands-on in their search,” Ferros said. Immediately, Sevika went rigid in her seat.

“Forget it,” she snarled. “You don’t like the way people down there are acting now? Send in Enforcers to start kicking down doors and see what happens.”

“Is that meant to be a threat , Councilor?” Ferros asked.

Sevika visibly held in her retort. Though she tried to hide it, there was a flinch in her reaction. She leaned back in her chair.

“It’s just the truth,” she said. “Anti-topsider sentiment is at an all time high. Those rioters? They think that the Herald was trying to take all of you out, and a lot of them are starting to believe it was a good idea. You’re not going to solve that by proving them right.”

“That was his clear intent, wasn’t it?” Holloran sniffed, stroking his mustache. “And he failed. ”

“He didn’t fail,” Jayce growled, and suddenly the oppressive attention of the Council was turned back in his direction. It was almost enough to cow him. Almost. “He changed his mind. He took mercy on us. If he had actually wanted to, Piltover would have been wiped off the planet. He never had to give us anything, but now that he’s been put away, it’s like you’re all dead set on recreating the circumstances that caused his assault in the first place.”

The disenfranchised undercity, the Hexgates, the threat of Shimmer from within… if the Council was trying to relive history, they were getting dangerously close. And again, Viktor would be at the center of it all.

For a dangerous moment, Jayce allowed himself to envision a reality where Viktor was free and willing to exercise his power–not in an escapist fantasy where they were somewhere far from the consequences of their actions, but deep within the web of suffering the world had created. Viktor would be without peer, without challenge, able to cut the threads of the city’s entanglement like no one before or after.

It had to be megalomaniacal, the pleasure Jayce took in imagining it, with hatred still burning in his gut. Hatred for Ferros, for Piltover’s hierarchy, for the Void, for the millions of ways that he and Viktor had been boxed in and suppressed, the light growing dimmer, their chains growing heavier. Even at the height of his disillusionment, there had only been compassion in Viktor’s heart, no matter how misguided.

If given the same power, Jayce realized he could be so much worse.

As if imagining the same thing with far less wicked joy, an uneasy silence fell over the table. Even the ever-unflappable Ferros seemed to hesitate, considering the weight of what Jayce had said. As his moment of righteous fury faded, Jayce began to wonder if he’d made a mistake by reminding them.

“Regardless, the focus should be on protecting the undercity’s civilians,” Caitlyn said, pushing ahead despite the conversational brambles Jayce had just set up for her. “We should work with Councilor Sevika and her existing connections to investigate in the manner that causes least interference. I can see no value in repeating past mistakes.”

“They were hardly mistakes, darling,” Tariost said. “Compared to two years ago, the undercity is hardly a threat at all, and that is largely thanks to your efforts. If it weren’t for their delusions about the Herald, their criminal elements would have nothing to rally behind.”

Unsurprisingly, that offered Caitlyn little comfort. Though she was skilled at hiding it, Jayce could see the regret flash through her system. Behind her, Sevika was scowling.

“Do any of you even want my opinion?” Sevika asked. It was a question asked of bone-deep weariness and frustration–whatever Jayce was going through with these people, she had been experiencing it for so much longer. It was a wonder she’d been holding together as well as she had, when the undercity’s new hope had been gradually transformed into an act of repeated humiliation.

“I do,” Jayce said, before anyone else could suggest otherwise.

“I think that if topside can handle this crisis properly, it’ll be an opportunity for you to prove that you actually see us as constituents and not as a labour camp,” she said. “You want them to stop rebelling? Do something to actually earn their trust.”

“As productive as that would be, historically, the undercity has not been all that cooperative, regardless of the Council’s intentions,” Ferros said. “Were they not on the brink of offering the undercity its independence, the night that the previous Council was attacked in cold blood?” He looked around the table for a response. Sevika grimaced. Shoola, flinching, averted her gaze.

Despite all the fresh horrors that Jayce had experienced since, his mind was still drawn back to that night, to Cassandra’s dead body, to Viktor bloody and limp in his arms. He could have hated the undercity for that. But no. Now he knew better. 

“What do you think, Councilor Talis?” 

Jayce was pulled back to the present by Ferros suddenly addressing him. The other Councilor’s look was pointed, his eyebrow slightly raised, as if alluding to a secret between them.

“You were just visiting the undercity, weren’t you?” he asked. “How did you find their hospitality, as an agent of Piltover? Did you find them… cooperative?”

Jayce’s blood ran cold at the question, at that stare. Maybe it was a bluff. Another manipulation. And yet, he couldn't shake it–the idea that Ferros knew something, and he was holding it as yet another bargaining chip.

“I think they were just people,” Jayce said, carefully. “And I think that people do stupid things when they’re scared.“

Gradually, the discussion moved on to other things. As issues of lesser importance were raised, Jayce found his thoughts straying, down to the shadows of the undercity, and to the runic light of Viktor’s cell. Viktor had tried to show him he was doing alright the night before, but was that the truth? With the Heart’s pain still fresh in his chest, how brutally would the isolation gnaw at him?

He was eager to leave and work on more constructive things, and so the moment it seemed that they were close to adjourning, he was more than ready to go. Yet, it seemed he wouldn’t get through the doors without one last shot from Ferros.

“I believe your report on the Hexgates is due soon, isn’t it Councilor Talis?” Ferros said. “Please, do let me know if there is any way my House can assist with the analysis of your data. I look forward to seeing your findings.”

Like all things, there was purpose behind it. Jayce’s fists clenched at his sides.

“...I’ll let you know,” he said. He left without another word, stifling the fury that threatened to tear apart his chest.

 

---

 

Despite how desperately he wanted to head straight to Stillwater, Jayce knew better than to indulge himself. He may not have been officially banned from returning to Viktor’s cell, but the Warden’s patience with him had already been tested. He needed to give it some time to cool off. He needed a good excuse.

And so, he went to the lab.

On his way, he found himself running his thumb over the dud mining explosive he still held in his pocket. After waking that afternoon, he’d gone through his coat and realized it was still there. While the stale biscuit had been thrown out and the Herald pendant had been carefully stashed away in his drawer, he decided to keep the explosive with him. He no longer felt safe travelling unarmed. 

Not that it even worked, but it couldn’t be that hard to repair it. He was running over ideas for how to fix it in his head as he pushed the doors to the lab open, only to realize he was interrupting a conversation.

Hakim was sitting at his work desk, going over one of his prototypes. That much would have been normal to see. Yet, he wasn’t alone. Standing behind him was an elegantly dressed young woman with white hair tied up in a tidy bun and a high, imperious collar on her cloak. Despite her stern appearance, her hand rested against Hakim’s shoulder tenderly, her eyes filled with genuine fondness as he explained some elusive detail of his current project to her. 

Just as quickly, though, that warmth vanished. The moment she saw Jayce entering, she pulled her hand away from Hakim, settling back onto her heels and holding her head high. If Hakim noticed the change, he didn’t show it. Instead, he turned to Jayce and grinned.

“Ah, Councilor Talis! Back to the drawing board?” he asked.

Jayce hesitated. After having a moment to think about it, he was pretty sure he recognized that woman. Though Rhodri and Stevan were the two Ferros he saw most often, he was certain he’d seen her in passing as part of their family. Camille, he guessed her name was. Though, this was the first time he’d seen her in the lab.

“Something like that,” Jayce said. No matter how affable Hakim could be, he couldn’t trust anyone under House Ferros contract. He wouldn’t be able to do any real work until Hakim had gone home for the day, especially if one of Ferros’s brood was still hanging around.

As Jayce took his place at the counter, Hakim went back to explaining whatever he had been explaining–something about his proposed bionic replacements for human organs. Jayce was already familiar with his work, so that was no surprise, though after a few moments Camille hushed him, as kindly as she could.

“We can discuss the rest later, in private,” she said. “For now, I have an appointment with Father.”

With a quiet farewell, she glided out of the room, leaving the two of them to their work. Jayce couldn’t help but feel relieved. After that Council meeting, he hadn’t been looking forward to another afternoon of Ferros surveillance. With Hakim already sucked back into his work, it gave Jayce some freedom to explore what was really on his mind.

He pulled his notebook from his bag and started flipping back towards the front, to his drawings from the very beginning of this ordeal. Notes from when Viktor’s prison was still in development, and the keys to his prospective cage were a matter of debate.

There had been eight keys created, six of which were required to permit a full release of the locking mechanism. One had been given to each Councilor, though where they were stored, Jayce couldn’t say. Jayce had taken to wearing his around his neck at all times, as one of the most precious things he possessed. He doubted the other Councilors were quite so sentimental. 

He was already running over ideas in his head. Could he simply recreate enough keys to deactivate the mechanism himself? No, each key had been created with shards from the same crystal, only able to interact with the cage if enough were brought together to activate their resonance. Would bringing enough force to break the pillars from the outside be enough? Unlikely. If they were even possible to break, with Viktor’s steady supply of Arcane energy still feeding them, that wouldn’t affect the runes on his shackles. At worst, it would render the lock unusable rather than opening it. 

He flipped through his notebook, looking for the pages where he had first devised the keys. As he did, the full weight of this new reality struck him.

He was actually doing it, he realized. He was finding a way to get Viktor out of there, no matter what he or anyone else said. 

As the decision solidified in his mind, he could feel its vindication rise up with him like wind, like sparks, like a sudden storm. He almost laughed as it did, taken by a moment of manic liberation. He didn’t yet know how, but he could do it, couldn’t he? He and Viktor had been the ones to invent Hextech. This had been their playground from the start.

His joy at the concept only started to fade when he realized he couldn’t find his diagrams of the locking mechanism. 

He knew they had to be there somewhere. He remembered designing it, remembered picking out the runes, long before they became official blueprints. Everything started in his notebook before it was solidified elsewhere, but now as his fingers ran through the pages again and again, it was as if his memory was lying to him. 

There was no table of contents, so he couldn’t be absolutely sure where the pages should have been, but he knew from muscle memory that they should have been somewhere. He started looking closer, searching for a gap in the binding. 

Could pages have been removed, by him or someone else? These were his personal notes. The only times they had been left unattended were when the book was tucked away in his room, or the rare times he had fallen asleep in the lab.

Was it possible that someone could have stolen them from him? Or was this a fit of stress-induced paranoia? Was he remembering this all wrong?

“Are you alright, Councilor?” Hakim asked, having noticed Jayce’s frantic searching. Jayce froze, his fingers settled against the spine of the book, right where he had found it: a subtle gap in the binding, as if pages had been removed. He swallowed.

“I’m fine,” Jayce said. “I just… thought I’d lost something.”

And maybe he had. But to whom? And when?

 

---

 

Eventually, the pain returned. It always did. 

Viktor had been surprised by how calm he’d been, while Jayce slept in his arms. His body and mind had felt heavy and suffused with warmth, the kind of relaxation that comes only with complete exhaustion. It had been pleasant, to have his thoughts lose their edges, to focus on only one thing. He’d watched Jayce’s eyelashes as they twitched in slumber, felt the shifting cadences of his breath, and basked in his familiar scents. Not long after, he’d done the same with Jayce’s soul.

His heart and mind had been united in that, able to lose themselves in the entwined spirit of their partner. Their desires were so small, then, so manageable. Or, at least they were, until that obfuscating comfort had been taken away.

Jayce had awakened, as he inevitably would, and departed for places unknown. So quickly, the hole of his absence grew. After having nearly lost him once, Viktor was keenly aware that any separation could be final.

The Heart was terrified. Jayce had been right; there was no way of knowing how long it would be before they were reunited. The Council could forbid it for any number of reasons and, more than that, he couldn’t help but feel that there was an even more dire threat looming. It gnawed at the corners of his mind and lurked in the shadowed corners of his prison. Something was waiting for them, and his instincts remembered, even if his mind didn’t. What could he do to protect Jayce from here?

The Core was humiliated. This was his fault. He should have been able to control himself, to have remained calm in crisis. He had built himself to be beyond the sway of impractical emotion, and yet, a single day had brought all of that to ruin. In his insanity, he had destroyed any possibility of peaceful coexistence, and put an indelible black mark on Jayce’s reputation. The shame spread through his being like a disease, claiming his dignity piece by piece. He couldn’t bear to be so weak, so foolish.

Viktor felt all of these things at once, as tormented by the necessity of his agency as he was by the inescapability of his hurt. The two sides of him were tangled together inextricably, despite the way they clashed and quarrelled. He couldn’t force distance between them, couldn’t dampen himself, couldn’t hide. 

As the ache was growing unbearable, he realized he wasn’t alone.

He went through a sequence of emotions: hope that it would be Jayce, worry that it would be a Warden, and then confusion when he realized it was neither. Instead, he was approached by that white-haired woman: the artificer that had visited him before, hoping to enlist his aid in an ambitious plan to create seamless bionic limbs. 

He’d still been considering the offer when the chaos in the undercity began. Since then, so much had changed. What had brought her back to his cage now?

She adjusted her glasses, smiling demurely. The gesture summoned up an old, familiar pain–a kind that he no longer had the power to avoid. So much about this artificer reminded him of Skye, if only he hadn’t cut her life short.

He couldn’t bring himself to speak first. What would she think of him, now that he had proven himself to be dangerous? Why had the Wardens allowed her to be down here at all?

“Viktor,” she said. “It’s good to see that you’re feeling more yourself.”

Perhaps he was, but not in a way that he particularly enjoyed. 

“I had not expected you to return,” he said, sinking low inside of himself, trying to create distance that was impossible to attain. “I had not thought you would be permitted to.”

“I can be very persuasive when I need to be,” she said, still smiling, as if they were friends. “You are far too important to be discarded so trivially.”

He looked away from her dolefully. Was that what he was? Important?

“The Council isn’t happy, of course,” she went on when he didn’t speak. “They no longer trust that you’ll be cooperative. They’re afraid of what you could become, now that you’ve shown the capacity to be violent. But I disagree. I think that now, more than ever, we can help each other.”

“You still wish to study me.”

He lifted his gaze wearily, his chains feeling heavier, the walls feeling closer. He’d thought he had the liberty to refuse before. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“I want to learn from you,” she said. “You’ve accomplished so much. If you share your knowledge now, you could help all of mankind. You could show the Council that you aren’t dangerous, that you can still be a benefit to all of us. You can show them that Councilor Talis is right. I’m not afraid, Viktor. I’m willing to put it all on the line, for the chance to make this work.”

Would it change anything, to give them what they wanted? Would it help Jayce, for him to be less of a burden to Piltover, and more of an asset? Was it selfish to keep his secrets to himself, when they had been paid for in blood? 

He'd tried not to think of Skye for so long. He couldn't stand it, not after having thought he had her back. Not after her image had been made into an instrument of his own self deception. Now, with the Heart ever present, there was no way to stop it.

More than one person had died to create him, and what had he done with that legacy? Nothing righteous, nothing of worth. They, like so many others, had died without purpose–just as Jayce had broken himself, again and again, to keep Viktor safe. They’d had everything taken, all to create a machine without use.

He should have been more than this, more than this wretched creature that only took.

Slowly, he shifted, his chains clinking and dragging against stone. As his wounded soul throbbed, he rose to his full height, staring down at her appraisingly.  

“You are free to observe and ask what questions you please,” he said. “Though my answers may not satisfy you.”

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes lighting up. In a move that surprised him, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a key–a nearly identical design to the one Jayce used to lower the barrier. She slipped it into the locking mechanism and did just that. 

Only the Councilors were supposed to have those. 

She stepped into the dias fearlessly, crossing its petricite surface until she was just outside the reach of his chains. He didn't move. He could see the calculations in her eyes; his magic was bound and his strength diminished, but that wouldn't keep him from grabbing her, or striking out with his hands. He was still strong enough to harm a human trivially. The flesh was so vulnerable, in nature.

It would have been the perfect opportunity to take a hostage, or to take revenge. As if he wanted either. 

Ultimately, she proved her words true. She wasn't afraid, at least not as much as she should have been. She crossed the invisible line of safety until she was standing immediately before him, close enough to touch. 

“It's remarkable, what you are,” she said. “That a human being could become this.” She reached out, her fingers trailing over the metal and muscle woven across his chest. Though his body wasn't capable of it, the Heart shivered. He hadn't been touched by anyone but Jayce since the days of his commune. 

A vision came to him, submitted by the version of himself that was the Witness, the watcher of the Arcane flow. It took him to another place, to the image of a lab that has once been his own.

“Can you imagine?” she said to an unseen companion, a fresh set of blueprints spread beneath her fingers, depicting a mechanical heart. “The things you could do, with an internal power source like this? Flesh and artifice, perfectly combined. It could fuel any augmentation you could dream of, all in one body.”

He saw a flash of blue-lit runes. A pale crystal, humming with newfound energy.

Then, he was back in his cell, as the woman carefully took his hand, exploring the way the artificial ligaments flexed and intersected. For a moment, Viktor became sharply aware of the Arcane energies that flowed through every synapse of his mechanical body, all fueled by the stabilized rift at his core.

“You never mentioned your name,” he said, biting down on the anxiety now flooding his heart.

She looked up to meet his gaze, eyes shimmering with fascination for every facet of his being. 

“You can call me Milly,” she said.

Notes:

Milly is the character from chapter 11 who was talking to Viktor about augmentations, if it's been too long. The Zaun arc ended up putting a bigger gap between her appearances than I'd intended, lol.

Also, I did some more TCAG related art, this time in the form of Viktor attempting to kiss Jayce without a mouth.

Big thanks to my commenters, as always! It always makes me smile to see what you guys think.

Chapter 22

Jayce started fiddling around with the mining explosive as he tried to make sense of things, the familiar movements soothing his addled mind. Perhaps it wasn’t the best project to take on while stressed, but the danger of it did reflect his mental state quite accurately. Though, in that metaphorical logic, he wasn’t sure whether or not he personally was the bomb.

In a more cautious mood, the loss of his key-related notes may have caused him to hesitate. After all, could he really proceed with such a bold scheme when he was being pursued closely enough for someone to steal from his personal notes? Was it walking into a trap, to create a smoking gun when half of Piltover’s government wanted an excuse to get rid of him?

Maybe. He wasn’t sure. What he was sure of though, was that he didn’t have time to be scared. Viktor didn’t have time.

It was instinct more than logic that made Jayce sure of that. When he had been among the Void’s horde, he had felt the way it hungered for Viktor, the way it craved to devour his power, his life. From speaking to the Voidwarden, it seemed that the ‘system’ had thought that they could wait out the Void’s advances forever. Maybe they could have, if it were only a battle of the mind, with only Viktor's own life at stake. But not now.

Not when those beasts were a physical threat. Not when people were going to start dying in a way that Viktor would contextualize as his fault. Whether by his own lack of action or by the way his power had ostensibly lured the creatures there, Jayce already knew that Viktor would blame himself. Just like he’d blamed himself for every other part of this.

After everything Viktor had already been through, the idea that he’d brought another tide of devastation to the undercity could be what finally broke him. Jayced had sensed the urgency in the Voidwarden’s warning, the insistence that Viktor couldn’t be allowed to remember the abyss. Not when he was already in so much pain. 

In that absence, it fell to Jayce to protect him–and with the Council’s current trajectory, he wasn’t sure for how much longer he’d be allowed to do that, while still playing by Piltover’s rules.

Within the explosive, a misaligned wire clicked into place. As Jayce had suspected, it wasn’t hard to find the problem. Ekko hadn’t designed them to be elusive or volatile. They were simple creations meant to do their job with as little risk to their users as possible. Bombs with minimal collateral damage, safe enough to carry on your person.

Jayce’s mind drifted back to the day he’d spent using them in the mines, back to the bodies and beasts they’d discovered in the end. Ekko’s people, and the entire undercity, would need his help, whether or not the Council approved it. 

Jayce found himself staring at the Void-touched rock that had started it all, still sitting on his desk. Hesitantly, he reached over to pick it up.

The material tingled against his skin, his brain itching in a way it never had before when interacting with it. It was as if he could sense its wrongness on some primal level, an eye into the Void’s malevolent world irrevocably opened within him. It was a feat of willpower not to toss it away from himself, to flee the room in terror. His hands shook as he held it, his brow furrowing with stubborn fury. 

No, he told himself. It wouldn’t control him, not again. If he was going to get into a staring contest with the abyss, this time he decided he would win.

Jayce’s shift in demeanour was enough to gain Hakim’s attention. The artificer watched him stare down the rock for a couple moments before somewhat awkwardly breaking the silence.

“Is it true, Councilor Talis? That they found that creature in the mines?” 

The question forced Jayce back into reality. Shivering, he put the stone down on his desk.

“Yeah. We’ve found three of them so far, and all of them were in the fissures.” Jayce wanted to say more, but he didn’t know how he could convince Hakim the Void existed without risking other problems. Hakim nodded contemplatively.

“I saw the one that Sheriff Kiramman had been examining,” Hakim said. “Such a strange thing.” He hesitated for a moment longer, apprehensive, as if there was something he wanted to say but wasn’t sure he should. “It reminds me of tales from my homelands… of the monsters that live beneath the sands.”

Jayce’s back straightened with interest. He turned around on his stool.

“Monsters?” he asked. Hakim nodded.

“Folk tales and legends mostly. I have never seen such a thing, myself. Yet there are vast swathes of desert in Shurima that no wise traveller will pass through, for fear of what may lurk there. Some say they live within the earth, only rising to the surface to feed. It’s a very well established superstition.” He paused, and then added:  “I never thought much of it, living in the North. Still… when I saw that creature… I could not help but be reminded.”

“Are there any, uh… books about that kind of thing?” Jayce asked, unable to let even such a nebulous thread go. 

Hakim laughed, though there was an edge of uncertainty to it.

“Maybe back in Shurima. I didn't expect such legends would be of any use to me here. But please, Councilor Talis, don’t take my ramblings so seriously.” Hakim smiled, brushing the whole thing off with a gesture. “Even if the sand dwellers were real, it’s not as if they would travel all this way.”

After everything he’d seen, Jayce was not so sure.

 

---

 

Milly was more prepared to begin her investigation than Viktor had been expecting. When he’d agreed, he’d anticipated she would only be able to ask questions, and that for any physical examinations she would need to gain the Council’s approval first. Her having a key already in hand, and the implications that carried, had been a surprise. He’d thought he would have more time.

She'd ended up pushing for more than just an interview. Forced into a snap decision, Viktor opted to proceed.

Now, surgical spreaders tugged at the muscles of his bicep and palm, thin metallic probes inserted into the gaps they created. Milly had no way of meaningfully damaging him, let alone creating incisions, and so this had been the only way to survey the spaces beneath his outermost ‘flesh’. It did not create pain, but there was a wrongness he was still able to detect. His body knew when things were not as they should be, even if it didn’t hurt him.

And yet, Viktor allowed it. Even as her exploring touch made him want to escape his own body, he remained permissive. He could see a game being played, and while he would have had the power to abstain, at least temporarily, he was surrendering himself to the role of a piece on the board.

Milly had an objective beyond scientific altruism and he wanted to know what it was. 

The mechanical heart he’d seen in his visions was more than just regular clockwork. The longer he held the image in his mind, the more he came to understand it. There had been runes indicated in the blueprints, and channels intended for magic to flow along.  It was Hextech, devised by someone that wasn’t Jayce. The power source she’d spoken of could be nothing else but the Arcane.

It wasn’t impossible to imagine that someone else had cracked it, or was at least close to doing so. Jinx had managed to utilize Hextech Gemstones within her own weaponry, and that boy, Ekko, had shaped the Arcane into something that was almost incomprehensible, even to the Machine Herald. Viktor and Jayce had been the start of Hextech, but not the end of it. 

And who else would have been better prepared to bring Hextech to House Ferros than the rising star artificer that Jayce had sometimes spoken of: Hakim Naderi of Shurima. The same hand that had already crafted such ambitious prototypes for lifelike artificial limbs. 

Viktor knew that Milly was associated with House Ferros, too. All of the artificers who had contributed to the construction of his cage were. The only free agent in that equation was Jayce.

And if this was all Viktor could do to ensure that Jayce stayed free, then he’d do it. His body was the one bargaining chip he had to offer. After this, if they wanted his cooperation, it would depend on their treatment of his partner.

But there was more to his decision than that. While extending the first olive branch could have been seen as naive, this interaction gave him something he hadn’t had with her on the other side of the barrier: a window into the Arcane flow. Specifically, to her role within it. 

While his perception had extended to the other residents of Stillwater, Milly had never stayed long enough for him to attune to her. Now, with this physical touch, a gateway had been opened. As she studied him, he was doing the same in return. 

Though, as always, visions of the Arcane were less than precise. 

As Milly's hands fell against his arm, adjusting the probe deeper into his bicep, he was struck with the sight of her kissing a man by lamplight, within the familiar frame of his and Jayce’s lab. Or, at least, what had been their lab. The residuals of her passionate, genuine emotion blended with the Heart’s own desperate yearning, resulting in a feeling of displacement that nearly caused his collapse. 

The walls of that room had once been theirs. For years, he and Jayce had shared space and shared dreams, without having explored what their love could truly be. For his entire life, Viktor had shunned the pursuit of human connection. Why was it only now that he had alienated himself so completely that he finally pleaded for it? Now, when he had no body heat to share, or lips to kiss with?

He must have jolted involuntarily, because Milly paused, looking up to him in question. 

“Did something happen?” she asked. She wasn’t exactly apologetic. It came across more like scientific curiosity. It was all he could to keep his heart’s sorrows from spilling out, calling for tears from eyes incapable of them.

“An unexpected feeling,” he said.

“Could you describe it?” she asked.

He did not elaborate further. 

Though clearly disappointed, eventually she continued with her work. Satisfied with the placement of her probes, she activated the device they were attached to. It began to shift and whirr, typing out a series of readings onto a roll of paper. Tucked between his muscles, the probes tingled.

Her investigation didn’t hurt, but it disrupted . Much like his petricite chains, the probes interfered with the natural flow of his being. Rather than compressing his spirit within a numbing cold, it was a flash of static. He quivered with it, despite his efforts.

It was a device that could sense the presence of the Arcane. It couldn’t match the finesse of his own perception, with this evolved form, but it was reproducible. It translated the presence of magic into understandable science in a way a god’s esoteric knowledge couldn’t. House Ferros had been making progress on their own terms, and it frightened him.

Milly continued to collect readings, inspecting other parts of his body in a similar manner. As she set about creating an opening in his thigh, another vision rushed over him. It was Milly, but among the nobility, at a formal gala. She was dressed nothing like she was now; instead of the practical clothes of an artificer, she wore an expensive looking gown, her hair tied up neatly, her glasses absent. She swayed between the crowd, inconspicuously following a pair of men as they spoke in hushed voices.

As the image faded, it occurred to him. She never seemed to wear glasses anywhere that wasn’t here.

She activated the machine again. He glanced at the data as it printed. The Arcane presence had been much higher in his bicep than in his palm, likely due to the diminishing effect of the petricite. The same turned out to be true for his thigh and foot, and the claw of his third arm. In contrast, his torso was still alight with Arcane energy, conserved at his chest like body heat, though it was projected most strongly from the nodes lining his spine. 

It was a potent enough shift to draw Milly’s attention.

“The readings here are exceptional,” she said. She ran her fingers down his back. “Do these serve a purpose?”

They were ports he had used to interface with his creations. It was what had connected him to the cocoon-like fabricator this godly form had been born within. Yet, he didn’t want to tell her that so plainly. Showing her how to better access the power within his body seemed dangerous.

“It is my spine, not unlike that of a human. It is rich with my equivalent of nerves.”

His answer was technically true. She nodded slowly, her attention shifting as she searched for her next target. 

“Would it harm you to take a reading from your wound?” she asked.

He lifted a hand to his face reflexively, as if shielding it from her. Anxiety, sharp and shaking, clawed its way from the Heart, anticipating pain in the animal way that the Core had forgotten. But perhaps this was one discomfort that was important to remember.

He didn’t know what would happen if he allowed her access to the deepest recesses of his chassis, where his aching soul and the Arcane intertwined. After what he had felt from the machine probing elsewhere, though, it was not something he was willing to experience. Not at her hands. 

“I would not consider that wise,” he said, fighting to maintain the unfeeling affectation of the Machine Herald, to lock his fear inside of his metal shell.

Milly watched him carefully. She’d seen something of interest in his reaction, and now she was filing it away for later.

“I see,” she said. “Well, if you’re ever feeling up to it, it could be educational. Maybe we could even find a way to repair it.”

He nodded stiffly in acknowledgement, the danger of this course becoming more and more apparent. They had let him say no the first time. They had let him say no now. But what power did he truly have in this state, where his only future was month after month, year after year, trapped in this place?

Just how long would their patience last?

 

---

 

When she eventually left, the familiar isolation of Viktor’s prison was a relief. At first, at least. The longer it lingered, the more aggressively humiliation settled in as his new inescapable companion.

Humiliation at what had just happened, humiliation that he’d allowed it so passively, humiliation that despite the risks he’d taken, he’d found no information that could save Jayce from his predicament. All the Arcane had deigned to show him was that she was untrustworthy, which he should have already known. She was as tied up in the intrigue of Piltover as any of them, and he should have expected no less.

What would he do when she returned, like she’d said she would? What more would she want from him the next time they met? What consequences would there be if he refused?

They could keep Jayce from him indefinitely, Viktor realized. They could use his partner like bait, rewarding or punishing his compliance. He’d made himself vulnerable to those tactics when he’d allowed himself to want. By letting Jayce stay in his life, he’d condemned them both to that fate. He could no longer bear the thought of Jayce leaving. What had felt like a necessary and acceptable sacrifice at first had become unthinkable, become tortuous.

He was a fool. He’d made a fool of himself. His heart had been torn open, and now the emotions ruled him: one of the aspects of humanity that he’d most wanted to escape.

The tides of misery flowed in and out, time passing at a crawl. How had he ever survived living like this before?

He’d completely lost track of himself, by the time something finally changed. When Jayce finally did arrive, it was as if the sun had risen for the first time in weeks.

Jayce’s spirit shone brightly as he found his way to their shared realm. There was a brief flash of anticipation as Viktor wondered if it was really him, or if it would be a monster in his skin–but that delusion could not last long, not when confronted with the desperate love in Jayce’s eyes.

“Viktor!” he called out, closing the distance. There was a surge of urgency in his movements as he got closer, his stare settled on the wound still torn across Viktor’s soul. “I came back as soon as I could. Are you… okay?”

Viktor couldn’t even think of an answer. Instead, he swept Jayce into his arms. Though at first Jayce was dwarfed by the vastness of his embrace, Viktor found himself shifting, adjusting his shape until they were evenly matched, until he could sink into Jayce the way he wanted to, until he was almost human.

“Whoa—” Jayce gasped, startled by the transition. “Viktor…” His expression was warm with affection, but dampened by an undercurrent of worry. “You don’t have to change yourself for me, alright?”

“I’m not changing,” Viktor murmured. “I am… all of these things now, am I not?” He buried his face against Jayce’s neck. For just a moment, he wanted to forget all concept of his body, all limitations of the physical form. “A human. A machine. A god.”

The last word was bitter, almost ironic. There was a trace of melancholy in Jayce’s loving gaze, and in the gentle kiss he placed on Viktor’s forehead.

“Whatever you want to be is fine with me,” Jayce said softly. He held Viktor a moment longer before his hand trailed down to his wounded chest, flinching as he saw the way the spirit still throbbed and frayed. “Does… it still hurt?” 

“Yes,” Viktor said. “But less so when you are here.”

Jayce sighed, as if frustrated. 

“Why? I’m… I’m the one that did it to you.”

Viktor’s mind itched, the faint sensation of claws prickling the edges of his memory. Just as quickly it was gone. He couldn’t fully piece together how this had happened, only that it had been at Jayce’s hands, and that he forgave him for it. His thoughts refused to press deeper.

He didn’t want to think deeper. Not when Jayce was there, at last.

“It doesn’t matter,” Viktor said. “I know your heart. As you know mine.”

Jayce held him more tightly, swallowing down his words before he could speak them. It was a while before he spoke again.

“Viktor…” Jayce eventually said, his voice tight. “Things with the Council… didn’t go well. They think you’re dangerous. That you were ‘making demands’. I tried to explain what happened but… half of them are against me, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Viktor shivered.

“One of their people came to me today,” he said. “That artificer woman from before the earthquake. The one who wanted my help on her project.”

Jayce stiffened, as if hearing something terrifying. He pulled back, enough to look Viktor in the eye.

“Why? What did she say?”

“She said she still wished to study me,” Viktor said. “That I could show my cooperation by allowing it. To prove that I was not a threat. And so I did.”

“Viktor!” Suddenly, Jayce’s hands were on his shoulders, locking him in place. Jayce’s look was wild with defensive outrage. “Don’t let those people touch you! After what they’ve said… they’re not our friends. She’s just trying to manipulate you.”

“It was all I could do.” Viktor felt so helpless. All options were wrong. “To show them your trust in me was not unwarranted. To prove that your methods were effective.” His chest ached more viscerally. “I thought that I could learn more of her intentions, but…”

Had it gained him anything of use? All this desperate maneuver seemed to have done was show that Jayce was right to be incredulous. 

Whatever Jayce had been about to say, he bit it back. Soon, there was nothing but sympathy and worry in his eyes.

“When I spoke to the Council,” he said, his voice tight, “Councilor Ferros proposed that you needed more restraints. That you couldn’t be allowed to lash out like that again.” He shook his head. “Whatever it is they want, it can't happen. If House Ferros takes control of your cell, I… don’t know what they’ll do. I won’t be able to stop them.”

What shocked Viktor was how afraid of that outcome he actually was. In the beginning, this had been what he wanted. He’d wanted Jayce to throw away any concerns of his comfort and safety, in the name of ensuring his own helplessness. He’d been knowingly surrendering himself to a lifetime of imprisonment and torment. It was all he could imagine for his future. It was the only thing he felt he deserved.

He wouldn’t have balked at the idea of more restrictions, of discomfort, of loneliness. Even now, he knew on some intellectual level that in the grand scale of karma, he wasn’t owed any better. And yet… somehow he had allowed himself to dream of a different future. At times, the potential of it had almost felt real.

The Heart cried out within him. It knew the suffering that the Core had tried to suppress. It didn’t want that dream to fade and, gradually, the rest of him was realizing the same thing.

But how monstrous was it to fight for that when he deserved all this pain and more?

“I knew they would take you from me,” Viktor said quietly, brokenly. “I… had only hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.”

He had to have dignity, the mechanical part of him said, the part that saw things in terms of numbers, in debts earned and paid. This was the punishment he’d assigned himself, and even that could not possibly equate to the hundreds of lives stolen. To deny it after only a few scarce months… it was evil. Disgusting. Unjust.

“No!” Jayce cried, interrupting his spiral of self-harming thought. He pulled Viktor closer, forcing him to see the determination in his eyes. “It’s not going to happen. I won’t let it.”

“Jayce…” Viktor’s plea was fragile, lacking all force.

“Viktor. I… I know I can’t make you do anything. I can’t make you leave. I can’t… I can’t make you forgive yourself, either.” Jayce pressed their foreheads together, tears building in his eyes. “But I’m getting you out of those chains. I’m going to set you free, and… if you want to stay, the only thing keeping you there will be you.”

Viktor stared back at him, dumbstruck. It was everything he hadn’t dared wish for. His selfish desire, laid before him like an offering. 

How could he live in this world, knowing what he was capable of? How could he ever act, ever exert his will, when everything he’d dreamed of had been proven wrong? He was dangerous. He was cruel. He was a killer and a lunatic. 

And yet.

“Yes,” he breathed.

“Yes?” Jayce repeated, as startled as Viktor himself was.

“I will follow you,” Viktor said, his own tears glimmering with celestial light. “You. My guiding star.” He threw his arms around Jayce again, as if to press their spirits into one. “I cannot trust myself. But I… I believe I can trust you. Please, Jayce. Show me the way.”

“I’ll show you anything,” Jayce said, near incoherent with need. Viktor's response was a reward he had never anticipated. “Anything you want.”

And then, that pressure, that merging, that had seemed metaphorical a moment prior was no longer so. Viktor’s touch sank beneath the veneer of Jayce’s ‘flesh’, setting imaginary synapses alight, and together they realized the truth. Here, there was no limit to them, to their reach, to bodies, to the sensations that formed their worlds. They were two souls, forever connected, spiralling into each other until, from a distance, there was only one.

They were both the warmth given and the warmth received. They were each other’s love, known with certainty. Each brush of their uncaged beings created a new world of light, like cosmic dust birthing the universe from the smallest of sparks.

Layer by layer, the boundaries between souls gave way, until there was nothing but pleasure and starlight. 

Notes:

Well, they're on the same page about that now, at least! Let's see how it turns out for them.

In somewhat less good news, it's now con season, and as I've mentioned on my Tumblr, I'm now officially in crunch time for finishing the Arcane Herald Viktor cosplay I've been working on. It's been quite the ordeal, as I'm sure you can imagine. You've all seen what this guy looks like.

Because of this, for the next few weeks, TCAG updates are going to be shifting to a "when it's done" basis rather than a regular Wednesday update schedule. I still want to keep updates semi regular but I just can't afford to stress myself out having such hard deadlines on top of cosplay stuff. After the con is over I want to go back to weekly updates, though.

If you want updates on when the next chapter will be released or if you want to follow my cosplay progress you can find that over on my Tumblr. Hope y'all are having a good spring so far. Thank you so much for all of your support!

Chapter 23

For a while, all their cosmic oneness wanted was to feel good for a change. To feel comforted, assured, and safe without question. It was something that had become almost impossible in the physical reality they had just freed themselves from, but in an increasingly distant past, it was all there had been. Here, they could taste the vestiges of that limitless reality, settling into their expanded consciousness with fond yet heartbreaking nostalgia.

It was a state of effortless understanding, and it enabled them to attend to all parts of themselves without the restrictions of words or physicality. For every emotional want, their other half would answer, with the ease and specificity of a creature scratching its own itch. It was a transcendent cure for longing, to be like this. 

But there was pain still lingering, an aching gap that had been torn between them, for reasons that currently didn’t matter. With their harmonized touch, it was eased back together, an act of healing and return to rightness that was euphoric to both give and receive. There was no need for fear or hurt between them. Not when this was what they could be and always had been.

And yet, their peace was still cracked and creased by the flaws of the world they were bound to, perfection beyond their reach.

There were still questions, after all. Dangers beyond their control. No matter how high they soared, no matter how much they allowed themselves to forget, they were still chained by the shackles of reality. This moment would end eventually, they knew. That urgency only fueled their spiritual ministrations, imparting upon each other what bliss they could before they were dragged back to the ground.

They knew that time was near when the worry started seeping in, as they gradually remembered everything they had escaped while lost within each other.

As their consciousnesses drifted and mingled, lingering fragments of Jayce wondered what exactly had been done in Viktor’s cell, with agents of Ferros visiting outside of his reach and control. What indignity had they visited upon his other half, coerced in a moment of fear and vulnerability? Unfortunately, the answers were all too easy to find in that swirl of emotion and memory. Their shared soul experienced it as one.

They remembered the machine, the probes, the touch of unfamiliar hands, and the strain of his shackled body as he fought against his own discomfort. It was an intrusion at the insistence of a face they both remembered, but in different ways. In one memory, it was Milly, the artificer assigned to the artificial limb project. In another, it was Camille, the nobly dressed daughter of Rhodri Ferros himself.

Hatred polluted the space between them at the realization, swiftly accompanied by matching shame.

The visions Viktor had received from the Arcane were brought into clarity. It had been no random suitor that Camille had kissed by lamplight in their lab–it was Hakim himself. And the blueprints for the Hextech heart? Written by Hakim’s hand, his style easily recognized by Jayce. There was more being planned than just a better answer to undercity augmentations. Under House Ferros’s guidance, the two of them were pushing Hextech in the same directions that had led to the creation of the Machine Herald.

And in his cowardice, Viktor was allowing it to happen. Both by letting himself be locked away, and by giving Camille access to his body.

The rest of their being rebelled against the thought. Jayce had seen what happened, and he understood. They’d had no way of knowing what situation the other had been put in. Jayce had been at the mercy of the Council, and Viktor at the mercy of Stillwater. They’d made the decisions they needed to keep what glimmers of influence they could, no matter how bitter it tasted.

After all: if Jayce lost his sway, if they remained separated, then there would be no escape.

Hope fluttered its wings once more at the idea of that freedom, gazing beyond the bars of their cage. If that could be achieved, then nothing else mattered. 

Their consciousness flooded with related concerns. Of the stolen notes, of the uncooperative council, of the technical challenges of dismantling the prison. If they could create a device to remove Viktor’s shackles, and if Jayce could bring it to him, then leaving Stillwater would be trivial. It was the truth that all of Piltover had known: uninhibited, the Machine Herald could not be contained.

Ideas raced between their melded minds, flowing with an effortlessness that could never be achieved with words or writing. They poured over combinations of runes, over Arcane flow, over paths to the petricite’s destruction. In the end, it all came back to the keys Jayce had designed–the weakness already built into the system. 

The cage responded to the signature of the particular crystalline resonance that had been built into each key. The more keys brought together, the stronger that resonance would become, until it was powerful enough to be amplified throughout the system and trigger its deactivation.

But what if the resonance of an individual key could be bolstered to the point that it could trigger the process on its own? 

What if, in essence, they simply had to crank it?

Their spirit rippled with amusement, with fondness, with nostalgia for a love etched across a decade of time. So much separated them from that first night of their union, but they carried it with them all the same. For a moment, they could feel their hands entwine, a flash of contact and a meeting of gazes across the storm of their spiralling souls. This was not a story that could be allowed to end.

It was impossible to tell which of them had first sparked the idea, but with its arrival there was a fresh surge of inspiration, theories scrawled into their consciousnesses in equations too fluid and abstract for paper. It was unsolved, untested, but it was something tangible enough to build upon. It was a foundation that felt real, the first step towards a dream achieved.

The mechanism within the cage could be replicated outside of it. All it would need was an untainted power source that could bolster the resonance without altering it. A clean font of magic. They couldn't use a Hex Gemstone. Every crystal had its own unique signature, and the design relied upon the one built into the keys. It would have to be pure. Perhaps even drawn from the Arcane itself. 

The question presented itself: could Viktor's magic power the key while still bound? Would it be pure enough? Or would Viktor’s own Arcane signature overwhelm it? Neither of them knew. 

And there would be no way to test it until the critical moment it succeeded or failed.

Again, the cracks in their sanctuary began to deepen, the threats of the outside world looming. If they failed, they could lose their chance forever. Viktor would remain imprisoned, at the mercy of a corrupt Council–and with his powers suppressed, there would be no way to repel the Void’s inevitable attack.

Fearful images, both memory and phantasm, rose unbidden. Creatures scurried in dark tunnels, hunting for familiar magic. A dark will pressed upon theirs, beckoning them towards the horde. It all happened too quickly to contain. The flashes of forbidden knowledge were met with surprise, then confusion, then dread.

Jayce realized his mistake too late. This was a part of himself that couldn’t be shared. As he wrenched away those secrets, the boundaries between their spirits abruptly returned.

Their union fractured, split through its center like a pane of shattering glass. From one, two were born: Jayce, reeling with worry and regret, and Viktor, his eyes wide with creeping realization. The realm around them flickered and shifted, disturbed by a new, restless energy, charged by an atom split. Nebulas swirled like clouds tossed in apocalyptic winds.

“Viktor!” Jayce cried through the chaos. “Are you okay?” 

Viktor floated before him, wearing the new form he had taken when they first reunited here, a fusion between heart and mind. He bore all the markings of the Machine Herald’s cosmic form, but reshaped into the body of a man: his bisected face had been pushed back together, their halves marked by a shimmering lines, his hair grown wild, head adorned with a five pronged crown, his body lined with the glow of implanted metal and painted with stars. He held out his hands, as if struggling to remember them.

“What… What is this?” Viktor asked, finding that this spiritual body was once again his own. Jayce could see that the full weight of it hadn’t hit him yet. With any luck it wouldn’t have to. “Jayce. These memories… What have you…?”

“It’s alright,” Jayce assured him gently, sweeping Viktor into an embrace, stroking back his tousled hair. Viktor sank into him, confused but compliant. His spirit was already trembling, agitated by an anxiety he didn’t fully understand. “It’s nothing you have to worry about. Just focus on me, okay?”

“Ah,” Viktor said softly, as if realizing what he was being told was true. The tremors began to settle, as he surrendered himself to the trust he had already promised.

It wasn’t long before Jayce felt the Voidwarden pass through them like a ghost, taking those splintered images of darkness with it. Viktor shuddered one more time, and then relaxed completely. He lifted his head to meet Jayce’s gaze, the sclera of his eyes dark, but his irises fiercely gold, just as they were behind the mask. Jayce realized then that he had come to love those eyes, just as well as he loved the human ones he had known for so much longer.

“I feel… better, I think,” Viktor said dreamily, one hand lifting to his chest. Jayce followed its movement and finally noticed: the ragged gap in Viktor’s soul had been pulled closed, until only a thin opening remained. They had done that together, Jayce remembered. In that state of transcendent bliss, Viktor had been healed.

“Good,” Jayce said, nearly quivering with desperate happiness, despite the close call they’d just had. For a moment, he felt like they could actually do this–that if Viktor trusted him, he really could be his shield. “Good.”

Viktor pressed a tender kiss to his lips, and it was all Jayce could have wished for.

 

---

 

Jayce stayed with Viktor for the rest of the night. Or, at least, until the final moments of it. After they parted ways, but before he woke, he lingered in that liminal space. He gazed into the emptiness, and gathered his will.

“Did you hear all of that, Voidwarden?” he asked.

He was unfamiliar with manipulating this plane of existence. Usually, it was Viktor who decided how he came as went. Now, though, Jayce focused his own spiritual strength into calling out the designation he’d been given. Soon, he received his answer.

The Voidwarden emerged, stepping out of the blankness of space like a spectre, the silhouette of its shape gradually congealing into tangibility. It was in its most Machine Herald-like form, a sucking darkness in the place of Viktor’s wound, where its flesh was knit together in a patchwork of Arcane patterns. It regarded Jayce with something almost like disdain.

“Oh, I more than heard it,” it said, the weight of scandalous implication in its tone. “You were not quiet with your affections.” It was only then that Jayce remembered the alternate meanings his question could hold, and the other, more intimate things he'd been up to with Viktor that night. What had their joining felt like to the other parts of the system, Jayce wondered.

“I meant… sorry.” Jayce caught himself, allowing his thoughts to snag on the strange problem he was being presented with. Was this the Voidwarden’s genuine resentment, or just its usual demeanour? “Does us doing that… bother you?”

The Voidwarden stared at him inscrutably, as if doing so would scare Jayce away from this line of questioning. Unfortunately for him, Jayce was growing less and less cowed by his presence. 

“I don't really know how to relate to you, that way,” Jayce admitted. “I'd wonder if you felt excluded but… you don't even seem all that fond of me so I'm not sure what you'd be missing.”

The Voidwarden tilted its head. Eventually, it deigned to reply. 

“‘Relating’ to me is not necessary,” it said. “And I am not all that fond of anyone. That is the nature of my design.”

“But you're still Viktor.” Jayce drifted closer, a move which seemed to surprise it. “Aren’t you? You’re all part of what Viktor is. Or… what he could be. It doesn’t make sense to just pretend that you’re something else.”

The weight of the Voidwarden’s silence was a message of its own. When it finally spoke, it was impatient.

“I have no interest in your relations with the rest of the system, Jayce Talis,” it said. “Only in the problems those interactions cause. What have you called me for?”

Jayce sighed.

“I was trying to ask if you heard what I promised. What… we agreed on.”

He could still barely believe it. Viktor had agreed. After months of his self-condemnation, Jayce had expected his vow to be met with reluctance at best. The mere thought that Viktor was willing to trust him, to follow him out of Stillwater, was enough to make his heart burst.

The Voidwarden was not nearly so impressed. 

“You promised to free us from this place. Yes.” It swept towards him, close enough to stare down at him reproachfully, towering in its size, posed as a judgemental god. “Heedless, I assume, of the dangers we still present. It is not just what we are or what we have been that is the threat. It is what we could become.”

“W-What do you mean?” Jayce stammered, shoving down the instinctive fear the Voidwarden’s presence stirred. He was Viktor, he reminded himself. The most frightening aspect of him, yes, but Viktor all the same. “The Void wants to kill you. I felt it myself. Every second that you stay trapped here, there’s chance it will find another way to–”

Jayce had become dwarfed in its shadow, the force of its presence swallowing his breath. When the Voidwarden spoke, it was without sympathy.

“The Void does not simply kill. It consumes and it evolves . It takes all that would resist its encroach, breaks it down, and remakes it as a part of itself. We, too, have felt it. When we were first pulled from the Arcane, when our mind was yet undivided, we faced the true horrors of its reality. We were touched by its desires and indelibly marked.”

As the words were spoken, their reality twisted, reflecting the nightmare it spoke of. In stutters and flashes, Jayce could see the Voidwarden marred by the growth of alien eyes, leaking violet venom, and crusted with blackened chitin. Just as quickly, the visions were gone, but the truth of them remained.

“In the Void’s grasp, we would not end,” it said. “Instead, we would be inhabited as a vessel, broken and reshaped into a tool in its conquest of worlds. Through us, it would take the Arcane itself, and there would be no escape. No redemption. Only emptiness. Only… Only-”

The Voidwarden bent forward, clutching at its face with a hideous groan. Blackness seeped through fingers like smoke, and for an instant, Jayce could only see the abyss, only see a malformed creature of the Void in Viktor’s shape.

“Viktor!” Jayce gasped, reaching out as if to help, to offer comfort, support, anything. Before he could, though, before he could touch the Voidwarden’s wavering form, it swatted him away. Jayce found himself spinning through space, and by the time he managed to bring himself to a stop, the moment had ended.

The Voidwarden was collecting itself. It straightened its shoulders and lifted its head high, its moment of weakness suppressed.

“I have one duty, and it is to safeguard our soul against corruption,” it said. “To be bound is the smallest of precautions. I would sooner have us destroyed then allow us to become an instrument of this world’s oblivion.”

In the wake of it, Jayce was left gasping. He grimaced, tightening his fists at his sides. Of course, the system would choose to sacrifice itself for the sake of the world.

But it wasn’t that simple anymore.

“It’s getting worse,” Jayce said, quelling the tremor in his voice. “It isn't just us, anymore. People in Zaun, ones that have taken Shimmer… the Void is taking them over. Just like it did with me.”

The Voidwarden was shocked. Jayce had seen it enough times now to recognize the signs. So, before it could steamroll over him again, he continued.

“It’s coming, whether it takes you or not. I get it. I get that… that you’re afraid.” Jayce paused, half expecting backlash to such an assertion, but none came. “That it could force you to become the monster that you were so scared of being. But if this continues, the undercity is going to be on the verge of destruction, whether you participate or not.”

Again, Jayce moved closer, offering comfort, offering a steadying touch. The Voidwarden turned away from it. Jayce continued regardless.

“You have power, and you can use it for good. I know you can. If you let yourself be free, you won’t just be passively resisting. Out there, you can fight it head on!”

Jayce watched the Voidwarden hopefully after saying his piece, waiting for a reaction. He needed to have it on his side, that much he knew. It was an essential part of the system, and the only one strong enough to fight Viktor for control. What would it do, if Viktor’s heart and mind came up against it in a battle of wills?

Jayce was hoping for understanding, but he was also anticipating dismissal–or maybe even anger. He didn’t get any of those things. Instead, the Voidwarden just looked lost.

“Shimmer…”  it said distantly. Its empty gaze wandered into the distance. 

Jayce swallowed. “Yeah. Do you know something about it?”

“It is stained with the essence of the Void,” it said. “From the moment of its creation, it has been a blight upon this realm. A window into darkness.”

“Why, though?” Jayce asked. “What does Shimmer have to do with other dimensions? Why is this reaction only happening now?”

It didn't answer his question. Instead, as it finally turned to face him, its regard was completely blank. 

“Be wary of anyone who has taken it, Jayce. The Void’s influence is growing.”

With that, the Voidwarden slipped away from him.

 

---

 

Jayce woke with a troubled mind. As he moved through his morning routine, he couldn’t shake the lingering feeling of dread. Images of what the Void could do to Viktor if it ever took control were lodged in his mind. Could the Void do that to its other victims too?

Could it have done it to Jayce, if Viktor hadn’t been there to save him?

The image of his own Shimmer-marked eyes and face was burned into his thoughts as he left the house, gruesome fantasies of how much worse it could have been haunting the back of his mind. He needed to make himself useful, he decided. He’d arranged to have lunch with Caitlyn later in the day to share information, but until then, his schedule was clear.

And so, he headed for the Academy library.

There were a number of things he could look into. While he had lost his personal notes, it was likely that the original blueprints had been stowed away under heavy restriction. He needed to see if he could get ahold of them. In a twist of fortune, it was possible that he could justify taking out the work he’d done related to the cage under the premise of working on the additional restraints that Ferros had demanded. In that context, he hoped he could avoid raising suspicion.

For now, though, there was a more pressing urge. He couldn’t stop thinking about the Void, and what Hakim had told him the day before. He started searching for books pertaining to Shuriman history, and to the mysterious monsters of the desert sand.

History wasn’t exactly the Academy’s focus, but he did find a few things. Flipping through an armful of well-worn tomes, he kept running into the same themes. Much of Shuriman’s ancient history had been lost, due to a series of poorly understood disasters. The arc of the shattered empire’s legacy had largely been consigned to superstition and myth. In the end, it was treatises centered on their religious beliefs that gave him the closest thing to an answer.

There were tales of a city called Icanthia, and how its desperate resistance to the empire’s control had unleashed a great evil, a plague that had decimated the continent, poisoning flesh and earth alike. There were tales of Shuriman’s great empire brought low by the god-driven wars that had ensued. There were tales of the many Shuriman outposts it left behind…

Including a seaside port city called Osha Va’Zaun.

Notes:

I did it! I got a chapter out! Also woo, 100k words!

Kind of a short chapter, but I didn't want to leave everyone waiting too long. Cosplay stuff is proceeding apace. I'm not sure when exactly but I'm HOPING to get at least one more chapter out before the con happens in mid May.

Thank you so much to everyone that has been commenting! Your feedback fuels me like nothing else.

Chapter 24

Despite being alone, Viktor felt better than he had for a long while. He’d agreed to a terrible thing, a selfish thing, and yet he could still experience the way the darkness of his future seemed to part in this face of its glimmering new reality. If fate was on their side, he could finally give Jayce something he deserved.

He could give him his trust. Eternal. Unwavering.

For so long, Viktor had been trying to determine the right thing to do amid a maze of wrong turns. First, by trying to work by the rules of a broken system, then in trying to tend to the people it left behind. When neither had worked, it seemed that only world shaking change could finally force the pieces together.

Only for those efforts to lead to his greatest mistakes yet. 

It had only made sense to surrender himself, to give up his power and will in the name of never allowing his misguided ambitions to harm another soul. Even then, at the peak of his despair, he had given himself to the wrong people. What he’d thought was an exit from his hopeless journey was just another perilous road to travel.

That entire time, he had tried to push Jayce away. Jayce, the one that had brought him back from the brink. Jayce, the one who had granted him his imprisonment and was now promising his freedom.

They had both done wrong, by each other and by the world, but that was in the past. Their reunion in the spiritual realm had proven that. Even in this shattered reality, with all its sharp, cutting edges, they had found harmony. For a while, they had been one again.

Who in all of Runeterra could he trust more than his other half? The one soul that knew him so completely?

Days after that meeting, he could still feel the blissful reminders of their bonding all over him, lingering like fingerprints. Even if they hadn’t quite achieved the same since, in their nightly visits, it didn’t matter. Viktor knew it was possible. He knew it was right for them to be together. For the first time, he felt truly ready to fight for it.

It was why, when Camille arrived at his prison once more, the fear in him was gone. He already knew the answer: he would do or say whatever it took to give Jayce the opportunity to break his chains. He knew that, eventually, they would leave this place together.

“Hello Viktor,” Camille said as she approached, and he saw the lie behind her demure smile so clearly now. She’d brought another device with her, which he eyed carefully. Now that he knew their intent for him, it was impossible to avoid calculating the way anything he gave to them could be used against him. “How have you been faring?”

It was a meaningless question. It was taken for granted that he could endure his isolation, all while they purposefully withheld from him the one person who could dispel it. In the days since his and Jayce’s separation, she was the only living creature he had seen. Indignation stirred within him, knowing that she was positioning herself to become a replacement, to become the only lifeline he had left.

It was a tactic he’d made available to them by showing that he could still hurt. He’d already learned that he wasn’t above being manipulated. If he had been truly alone, if Jayce hadn’t been able to reach him in dreams…

He didn’t answer her question. Tellingly, she carried on regardless.

The last couple times she’d come ‘just to talk’ but it was clear she had other things in mind this time when she approached the prison’s locking mechanism.

“May I come in?” she asked, as if knocking on the door of his home. He had never seen it as something so comforting, but it was an even less appealing thought now that he was intending to escape.

“Am I in any position to decline?” he asked.

There was no purpose to calling it out, beyond a brief moment of catharsis, but he was angry enough to indulge. Since the day he’d railed against the Wardens, that impotent rage had never fully left him. As it turned out, his contempt for this system and its people had only been temporarily put aside, during a time when he had believed there was no one more worthy of hatred than himself.

Now, he was once again being taught the consequences of mindless compliance. He’d only seen the Council as a means to protect the world from the Machine Herald. In reality, they had always posed their own form of threat.

Camille frowned, as if she were faintly hurt by the implication. She hesitated with her key.

“Viktor… I don’t want to force you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with,” she said. “That’s not what this is about.”

He turned his gaze to the floor of his prison, trying to calm himself. It was still far too easy to be taken by the winds of emotion, even after having had days to settle into his new self. There was a level of moroseness he could get away with. He had to hold back any of the fiery objections that would take it beyond that.

“We’ve already made some progress with the Council,” she continued, filling the silence as she always did. “We’re already making use of the data in our projects… and we couldn’t have done it without you. They understand that it’s something you chose to give us - not because you had to, but because you wanted to help.”

Again, he braced himself, but he could not keep his disgust from seeping through.

He could read the manipulation so easily now, with the gift of knowledge he shouldn’t have. House Ferros had no idea that he and Jayce could still communicate–that Jayce could tell him that Camille had made no such effort to argue in Viktor’s favour. That, instead, her family was crafting a means to make his life even more miserable. That they were attempting to bend Jayce himself to their will.

And yet, here she was, twisting the situation. Suggesting that not only did he need to comply, he needed to do it willfully. That the way for him to make peace with the Council was by enthusiastically offering up every part of himself… all until the day he had earned his comforts like a pet. 

If it hadn’t been for Jayce, there would have been nothing left for him but despair. Now, it was that unseen bond that gave him the strength to endure without breaking.

“You may enter,” he said softly. Only one thing mattered, and that was giving Jayce the opportunity he needed to fulfill his vow. 

She smiled, satisfied. With a turn of the key, she was before him. 

“Thank you,” she said, pulling along the case she’d brought with her. “I want you to know that your feelings on this do matter. I came to you with this offer because I genuinely believe we can both get something valuable out of it. Life can be better for all of us. All it takes is a little cooperation.”

So desperately, he wanted to believe her. He didn’t. 

“There is only one thing I want,” he said. Instead of anger, he focused on his sorrow, selling a sense of hopelessness as best that he could. “In exchange for this, or anything.”

“What is it?” she asked. She reached out to take his hand, all compassion in her gentleness, but with only calculation behind her eyes. In the same instant, he witnessed a vision of her sparring fiercely with someone in the center of an otherwise deserted ballroom. She was trained for battle, with her words and with her body. He made a note to warn his partner of that, later.

Still, he allowed her touch. He even folded his fingers around hers.

“Jayce,” he said. “I would like for Jayce to be involved with your research. For him to visit us here for his work.” He stared back at her, thankful for how difficult it would be to see the deception in his mask-like face. “Accomplish this, and I will give you anything you ask.”

She exhaled apprehensively, making a show of how big of an ask that was. In the end, though, she nodded.

“I’m doing everything I can,” she said. “If we keep making progress like this, then the Council will have to understand that you aren’t really dangerous. And then… imagine what we could accomplish, with all of Piltover’s best artificers working together?”

It wasn’t yet the reunion he and Jayce needed, but Viktor would keep pushing. It would all be worth it, in the end. That much he could place his trust in.

Because, somewhere else, Jayce Talis was getting closer to a breakthrough. 

 

---

 

A week after the disaster in Zaun, there was another earthquake.

It wasn’t nearly as bad as the first one, thankfully. Still, as its vibrations rattled the lab, as a vial of metal shavings Jayce had been working with rolled off the worktable and smashed on the floor, he couldn’t avoid a moment of panic. He met Hakim’s startled gaze across the room. He wondered if, somehow, they were both thinking of the same thing. Of creatures in the dark below, shaking the city’s foundations.

Ever since reading about Shurima’s history, Jayce couldn’t get the thoughts out of his head. Could this really be the start of the same apocalypse that had devastated Hakim’s homeland thousands of years ago? 

He didn’t even have any evidence that the earthquakes were related to the creatures, but somehow, he knew. It came to him instinctually, like a new sense that had been scarred onto his psyche by his experience with Shimmer. He could sense intent in the earth’s movement. He could sense the will of the creatures that had, for a terrible moment, been his brethren. 

Jayce had been jotting down ideas and testing materials, waiting for the evening when he could continue his actual work with less oversight. Now, though, all he could think about was Viktor. Though their spirits had met every night since their separation, that said nothing about his partner’s physical safety. 

He swept up his belongings without saying a word and head straight for Stillwater. He didn’t know what he was expecting to find, but his patience had officially run out. He needed to at least make sure that Viktor was okay.

They turned him away at the door, of course. 

It was the first time he’d tried to go down to Viktor’s cell since it had been implied to him that he was no longer welcome there. He’d thought that he had a good excuse, this time: to check on the containment system after the tremors. The Wardens were uninterested.

They told him that they had someone else looking after that now, and that if he had issues with that he could take it up with Councilor Ferros. It was what Jayce had been expecting to happen, were he to attempt to push his way in. He’d learned from Caitlyn that, even as the Sheriff, it could be difficult to exert any sway in Stillwater. The entire place had been bought out. 

The one silver lining to the entire interaction was that, from the Warden’s apathetic reaction to him, he could guess that nothing unusual was happening in the prison’s depth. Swallowing his pride, Jayce caught the next ferry back to Piltover. He spent the entire ride watching the ocean waves glitter with fading sunlight, turning the situation over in his head. 

After a week of long evenings at work, and nights spent in collaboration, Jayce was getting closer to having a prototype of the amplifier he’d been to deactivate Viktor’s bonds. The problem was, it wouldn’t ever be anything more than a prototype until it could be tested with Viktor’s magic. Right now, a failure could result in blowing the last chance at trying they’d ever get.

Jayce already knew what Rhodri Ferros wanted in exchange for access. The problem was that, right now, Ferros thought that he could take it by force, with or without Jayce’s cooperation. Jayce’s report on the Hexgates was due imminently, and even after reviewing the data that Ekko had collected, he would struggle to form a compelling argument. 

But, Jayce realized now, he didn’t actually have to.

The Council’s decisions weren’t about facts and wisdom anymore, if they ever had been. Ferros had cemented a position where justifying himself was hardly necessary. All he had to do was say a few words and wait for his side of the table to faithfully fall in line.

Jayce didn’t have that kind of loyalty on his side. Not when Bolbok would always vote in the name of caution and stability, not when Shoola was torn between her morals and political viability. Even with the change in dynamics that Jayce’s reintroduction to the Council had caused, they hadn’t been bold enough to fully make an enemy of the Ferros family.

What they needed to understand was that the time for capitulation was over. There were far worse enemies lying in wait.

 

---

 

He extended his offer to meet with their divided half of the Council the next morning. After some back and forth, it was arranged for him, Sevika, Bolbok and Shoola to meet in the drawing room of the Kiramman mansion.

While not exactly neutral, it would spare Shoola and Bolbok from drawing attention to themselves, while also avoiding the complication of a visit to the undercity. While Jayce would have liked to host things himself, his family home was hardly regal enough for the task. Beyond that, while he didn’t want to rely on it, perhaps the implication of the Sheriff’s support would also do something for his cause. 

Even so, Caitlyn kept her distance, for now. Ultimately, it was Jayce that needed to bring them over.

“I've asked you all here to talk about the Hexgates.”

He cut straight to the point. Bolbok sat stiffly, her golden helm unreadable. Shoola’s lips thinned, with the apprehensive expression of someone who knew that they were about to be forced into making a difficult decision. Sevika slouched back back in her chair, wordlessly raising her eyebrow with something like curiosity.

“As you all know, Councilor Ferros wants them to be opened for use. Next week, I’m supposed to be presenting a study to convince you all that it’s a bad idea.” Jayce leaned forward onto his knees, clasping his hands together as he met each of their eyes in turn. “I’m going to be honest with you now. The data I’d need to do so doesn’t exist.”

“Huh,” Sevika drawled. “Interesting approach.”

Jayce lifted his shoulders helplessly.

“The exact circumstances that caused the anomaly can’t be replicated in a lab,” he said. “Not without inviting the exact kind of disaster we’re trying to avoid. We thought we could tame the Arcane, but we were wrong. Even when it seemed like we were bending it to do what we wanted, the consequences were adding up in ways too chaotic to track. I can’t tell you what it will look like when it happens again. Only that if we keep using Hexgates like we did, it will happen eventually, and most likely in a form we’ve never seen before.”

There was a moment of consideration.

“You must understand,” Shoola said carefully. “It is difficult to stand behind policy based on such esoteric speculation. Fear was enough to keep the Hexgates inactivate this long, but the average merchant doesn’t understand the Arcane or its role in what happened. What they do remember is what they’ve lost to such valuable trade routes being shut down. The majority of the high houses are in favour of Councilor Ferros’s work. To deny it based on seemingly nothing stands to put us in a very tenuous position, politically.”

Jayce felt some hope in hearing that Shoola seemed to have her own reservations about the Hexgates, but he already knew that wouldn’t be enough on its own.

“We’re already in a tenuous position,” he said. “I’ve seen it in action. Ferros has half the Council on his side. From the moment I rejoined the Council, those four have been in lockstep. And I know what that must have meant when there were only seven of you. Nothing could have gone through without his permission. They’ve been making your votes meaningless.”

“Perhaps that is so,” Shoola admitted. “But in most matters, Councilor Ferros has been perfectly reasonable. Piltover will not heal with a divided Council. If we spend our days fighting each other for control, then what will become of the people we are meant to serve?”

“Rhodri Ferros doesn’t give a rat’s ass about serving the people,” Jayce said, his tone level despite the harshness of his words. “What he cares about is acting in service to his own house. I can appreciate what you’re saying, Councilor Shoola, but if you want the Council to be for the people, we need to take a stand against him now. We need to act together. ”

The valves on Bolbok’s helm whirred to life.

“You have not made yourself easy to align with, Councilor Talis,” she said. “From the perspective of the rest of the Council, it appears that your loyalties are to the Herald and the undercity first and foremost.”

Sevika sat up, glaring at Bolbok fiercely. 

“Finally decided to cut the bullshit, huh?” she spat. “Not even going to pretend that you see Zaun as anything but an obstacle to Piltover’s comfort.”

“I have offered what accommodations I consider reasonable,” Bolbok said. “I voted alongside you when the earthquake struck. There is no benefit to directly fostering the undercity’s resentment, or to inspiring hatred in its people. But Piltover cannot weaken itself in its attempts to win the affections of a people who will never welcome our leadership.” 

Gas streamed from Bolbok’s valves, something almost like a snarl.  

“My late cousin already made the mistake of being too lenient with the undercity, and with the Arcane,” she said. “He paid for it with his life.”

As much as Jayce wanted to convince Bolbok otherwise, for both Sevika and the undercity’s sake, he couldn’t afford to let this devolve into an argument about Zaun. He lifted his hand.

“I understand. Both of you. But this is bigger than just one policy decision,” Jayce said. “This is your chance to show Ferros’s voting block that your seat at the table isn't meaningless. He wants the Hexgates badly enough that it actually gives us leverage. If we can vote together, we don’t have to win. We just have to shut down his attempts long enough that he remembers that what we want matters, too.”

“And what is it that you want, Councilor Talis?” Bolbok asked. “Clemency for the man that almost brought this city to ruin?”

The room fell into uncomfortable silence. Jayce couldn’t even say she was wrong. As much as he would have liked to be fighting altruistically, all he could think about in that moment was Viktor and the promise he’d made. 

He wanted Zaun to be nurtured. He wanted Piltover to be protected. But what he needed was for Viktor to be free. He needed him to be happy and safe.

He’d tried to sacrifice Viktor for the world once already. He wouldn’t do it again.

“What I want is to prevent us all from making the same mistakes,” Jayce said. “I want a Council that decides based on merit rather than the whims of one man. I’m asking you: please, for the sake of Piltover’s future, when the Hexgates come to a vote, stand together with me. Don’t just give Ferros what he wants. Make him earn it.”

Shoola was still pensive, but it was clear she was considering it. Bolbok was still, except for the soft expulsion of an airy ‘hmm.’ Sevika was the first to speak.

“You already know you have my vote,” she said impatiently. “Not like I have much choice. My opinions have meant fuck all to these people for months now. You think you can make that change? I’m on your side.”

“Jayce,” Shoola said softly. “I support what you are trying to accomplish. But do be careful. In my experience, these aggressive plays have consequences.”

“Sometimes,” Jayce said, “consequences are unavoidable. Sometimes you just get to pick which ones you’re most willing to suffer.”

Shoola accepted his words with a tentative nod. Soon after, he looked to Bolbok, hoping for a similar show of solidarity.

“I will consider your offer,” was Bolbok’s only reassurance. 

After that, all Jayce could do was hope.

 

---

 

It wasn’t long before the guilt started setting in. Jayce had only just gotten back to his work in at the lab when the relief of possible success gave way to doubts about his own intent. Bolbok had been right to doubt him, whether or not he had been willing to admit it mid-scheme.

In reality, he was setting them all up to fail.

Even if they succeeded now, even if they forced House Ferros into enough of a corner that they could all get the concessions they wanted, only Jayce knew the truth of where that would lead. Once he had the freedom he needed to act, he would become a traitor to all of Piltover. He would free the Herald. He would leave alongside him.

And Sevika, Shoola, and Bolbok would be left alone with the aftermath of testing House Ferros’s patience. It would be three against four once more.

Viktor would be able to help, part of Jayce insisted. Maybe they wouldn’t have as much sway in the Council Room anymore, but Viktor, with all his strength, could enact real change without the red tape of politics. He could help the undercity. Maybe he could even put an end to the Hexgates.

In the end, Jayce had to believe it. It was the only way he could stomach such an abandonment of duty. He was putting his faith in Viktor, just as much as he was asking Viktor to give him his faith in turn. 

He had to trust that things would work out. It was the only way he could imagine living with himself. The only way he would willfully let his own people down so badly.

Now that it was evening and he was alone, he could properly work on his blueprints. He spread them out before him, his heart swelling and his gut turning at once. With Viktor’s help, the concepts had formed easily. The main trouble now would be using the fabrication equipment without drawing suspicion.

He was already making notes of which parts could be made where and what excuses he could give for them when the heavy weight of the doors behind him shifted. He was expecting Hakim as he turned on his stool, swifting covering his work with a more innocuous design for mining equipment that he’d been working on in tandem. Hakim was always so curious about whatever Jayce was working on, he couldn’t afford to leave anything suspicious out in the open.

This time, though, it was someone else.

It was Camille.

She let herself in leisurely, the long train of her cloak gliding across the lab’s polished floor as she approached. She moved as if she belonged there. As if she owned everything she laid her eyes on.

As she met Jayce’s stare, she smiled.

“Councilor Talis,” she said. “I have a proposal.”

Notes:

I've very relieved that I was able to get this out before the convention! The cosplay is almost done at this point, so I'm just finishing thing off. The con itself is next weekend, after which I'll be back to a more regular update schedule.

Thank you for sticking with me! Your comments are always so very appreciated.

Chapter 25

Jayce swallowed down the furious bile that rose in his throat. He didn’t want to talk to anyone from the Ferros clan right now. He wanted to get back to work. 

…But, it would be foolish to turn down the opportunity to at least hear out what she was planning. If he was going to outmaneuver them, he needed to understand their movements. 

“I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced,” he said. It wasn’t a lie. Stevan was always the one in the social spotlight with his father, the one that worked out in the open. Yet, the more that Jayce thought about it, the more he dimly remembered Camille’s subtle presence in various scenes, eluding the crowd’s focus like a shadow.

“Camille Ferros,” she said evenly. She did not seem to take his proposed unfamiliarity with any offense. Perhaps that was that way she liked it. “You serve on the Council with my father.”

“I wouldn't call what your father does ‘serving’,” Jayce said. He turned back to his mining blueprints. He had his own plans, he reminded himself. He could afford to play hard to get. “The only thing he serves is his own best interest.”

“Don’t we all?” she asked, sweeping across the laboratory floor until she reached his side. When he looked up to meet her, she was smiling knowingly. “We all have things that we want. Some of those things are selfish. Others, less so.” Jayce’s demeanour remained steely. She was unbothered. “My father wants to ensure the success of both his family and city. He does what he thinks is best, in hopes of achieving that.”

“Then, I assume you already know about our differences in opinion.”

She lifted a shoulder in vague acknowledgement.

“Of course. But that doesn’t mean we can’t find a way to achieve something mutually beneficial.”

Jayce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Alright. So tell me,” he said, unable to conceal his weariness. “What is your ‘mutually beneficial’ proposal?” 

“My father recognizes your expertise,” she said. She reached towards his blueprints, trailing her fingers across his work with something almost like admiration. He had to resist shooing her away, for fear she would notice what was underneath. “You are the founding father of Hextech, the inventor of the Hexgates that revolutionized trade all across Runeterra. You may not be well trusted within the Council, but the city knows your name. Piltover still remembers the Man of Progress. They remember the Defender of Tomorrow. My father respects the importance of that.”

“And?” Jayce prompted impatiently. He recognized flattery when he saw it.

“House Ferros has tried to fill the gap left in your absence. We’ve studied Hextech extensively. Perhaps even made some improvements. But, now that you’ve returned, he would rather work with you than against you. Instead of battling with each other for control of the Hexgates, you could aid us in their revitalization. You could ensure that whatever mistakes were made in their original implementation never happen again. You could prove that you are still Piltover’s champion—”

“You want me to work for you.” 

Jayce wasn’t exactly surprised that this was what they wanted. What he did wonder was what had caused them to offer the olive branch now. Were they actually worried that his report on the Hexgates might have a bad outcome for them? What had changed?

“We want you to allow for the reactivation of the Hexgates. While we could force the issue in the Council Room, the process of reopening trade routes will be much smoother with your support. Our artificers would benefit from your collaboration. And, in exchange… we could offer you certain freedoms that you are currently lacking.”

Jayce felt himself go cold. 

“...Your father has no right to bar my entry from Stillwater in the first place,” he said. “I designed and implemented the containment system. It requires my maintenance, and the Council has made no formal ruling otherwise.”

Camille’s gaze was sharp with satisfaction.

“You’re welcome to raise the issue at the table,” she said. “You will not like the result. The majority of the Council wants you nowhere near the Herald or his prison. They are all well aware that your loyalties there cannot be trusted. At best, they think you are dangerously sentimental. At worst, a traitor in waiting.”

They aren’t wrong, Jayce thought, fresh guilt blooming in his gut. Could he really be angry that they suspected him of a crime that he was already actively planning? He remained silent, for fear that his reaction would give something away.

“However,” she went on, “with my family’s guidance and support, I’m sure that could all be remedied. Most of the Council trusts in my father’s judgement. The same can be said for the guilds, for the other high houses. You could benefit from association.”

He had no choice but to consider it. What he needed more than anything was access to Viktor, and this could potentially get him that. Bolbok had given no guarantee that she would cooperate with him on his plans. If Camille was telling the truth, it was possible she would vote against him just to suppress his control over the Herald’s prison 

Bolbok was resentful of Zaunites and the Arcane. Viktor was an unwelcome representation of both.

But no. If he took this offer, he would be doing everything on Ferros’s leash. Even if he was allowed limited access to Viktor, it would be entirely under their surveillance. Camille clearly knew that Viktor was their ultimate bargaining chip. They would never be willing to let go of him, if he was what kept Jayce in check.

Even if, in the distant future, Jayce could work out something more equitable… they didn’t have time. Piltover wasn’t safe for Viktor anymore, not with the Void on his trail.

“I think your father has forgotten that I’m a Councilor,” Jayce said, stinging bitterness in his tone, “and not a lackey for hire.”

Camille frowned, seemingly a bit put off by the boldness of his resistance.

“I assure you, Councilor Talis, his only intent is to collaborate with his peers.”

“Maybe he’s been ‘collaborating’ a bit too much.” Jayce knew he was in dangerous territory. He held his ground regardless. “Don’t think the rest of us can’t see how he has the Council Room on lockdown. He doesn’t want to work together, he wants to be in charge.”

Camille tilted her head, almost fascinated.

“Then you understand it would only take compliance from one of you to achieve his ambitions,” she said carefully. “But, if you would rather that individual not be you…”

She folded her hands in front of her, beginning to leave. He had to resist imploring her to wait. If House Ferros made this offer to every Councilor on his side, would all of them be inclined to decline it? Would their dignity as Councilors be enough to dissuade them from taking the offer of everything they wanted on a platter?

Sevika he could trust in, he thought. But Shoola? Bolbok? Their motivations were far less clear. 

Jayce raised a hand, but then dropped it. No. He wouldn’t be the one to break ranks. Not after everything he’d said. His inevitable treachery was bad enough without adding outright cowardice to the mix.

“...Know that we won’t require your collaboration to apply the Herald’s new restraints,” Camille said, smothering that flutter of resolve. “We have already learned a great deal from your work… and the Herald has been cooperative, where necessary.”

Jayce’s knuckles whitened as he gripped at his knees. She didn’t know, he reminded himself. She didn’t know that he could speak to Viktor himself. She would think she could tell him anything, and that he would have no way to confirm the lie. Jayce said nothing. She could believe what she wanted.

Before she left, though, she paused at the door.

“He misses you,” she said. 

Anger flooded Jayce’s throat, fighting to emerge as a snarl of defensive fury. Just as violently, regretful yearning pierced his heart. He wanted Viktor’s freedom so badly. He wanted for them to never have to miss each other again.

Before he could retort, before he could have a chance to change his mind, she was already gone.

 

---

 

Jayce’s feelings on the conversation shifted several times over the coming nights. As the deadline on his Hexgate presentation loomed closer, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made the wrong choice. It would have been safer to play along with House Ferros, that much was certain. But, in exchange, it would have lost him his final chance to stand alone–to have anything that wasn’t given at Rhodri Ferros’s mercy.

Once the Hexgates had been given to them, there was no going back. To give them up without a guarantee of Viktor’s escape… it could be a mistake he would never recover from.

“Your reasoning is sound,” Viktor told him as they held each other’s spirits, in an attempt to calm his nerves. When Jayce woke that morning, he would be on his way to the Council Room to discuss the Hexgates. The day had finally arrived.

His apprehension was unavoidable. Still, Viktor worked to soothe it away with gentle touches that left trails of tingling warmth in their wake. Within them, Jayce could feel flutters of Viktor’s consciousness against his own. He could feel that his agreement was real.

“They’ll try to use you against me,” Jayce murmured. The thought had been haunting him ever since Camille’s parting threat. The Council hadn’t decided upon any changes to Viktor’s prison, but who was to say House Ferros would wait for an agreement? With the level of control Ferros had over Stillwater, would anyone even notice? “They’ll try to make it worse before it gets better.”

“I will undergo whatever I must,” Viktor assured him softly. His golden eye had become distant, lured back to a far more hopeless time. “When I first entered this place, all I wanted or expected was suffering, endless and without true purpose. But to earn a future at your side? There is nothing I could not endure.”

It wasn’t entirely comforting, to have Viktor be so dismissive of his own pain. Despite that, Jayce couldn’t help but be emboldened by the reaffirmation of Viktor’s desire and trust. After everything they’d been through, his partner finally wanted to live again.

No matter what it took, no matter how many delays or pitfalls, Jayce swore to guide him along that new path. If this didn’t work, he would simply find another way.

Even as he woke, even as he left Viktor and their realm of safety behind, he held onto that oath. He carried it across Piltover and into the Council Room, clutched against his heart. He only wished that Viktor could be there with him.

He could feel the other Councilors’ eyes on him as he settled down. Perhaps they had expected him to bring along more paperwork–extensive bundles of research to present alongside his findings. He hadn’t, of course. 

Even if the evidence had been reproducible, he already knew that wasn’t what this was about. Nobody was here looking to be convinced. As the early meeting protocols came to a close, as he was handed his opportunity to speak, he met Rhodri Ferros’s scrutinizing gaze across the table.

“Today I promised you a presentation on the flaws in the Hexgate’s core systems,” Jayce began, rising in his seat. “I had hoped that this could take the form of hard evidence–that I could write you all a thesis assigning numbers to the ways we went wrong. But, the more I have looked into it, the more I have realized: to attempt such a thing would be a dire misunderstanding of the Arcane itself.”

There was something almost smug in Ferros’s expression at that opening statement. Jayce was admitting that he didn’t have proof, and Ferros saw that as a sign of his impending victory. As Jayce went on, he could only hope that wasn’t true.

“In science, we build our expectations with a framework of unbreakable rules. Heat, electricity, steam–they all work in understandable, reproducible ways. Through this, we can shape things that would otherwise be dangerous into tools. We can tame the forces of nature and use them to improve the world we live in. We can master the art of action and reaction.”

He glanced at Shoola and Bolbok. Of anyone here, these words were for them in particular.

“...The same cannot be said for the Arcane. This is my conclusion, after all the years I’ve spent working on Hextech, after the experiences I had with it leading up to the near tragedy at the Hexgates. The Arcane may be a force of nature, but it also speaks with its own voice. We can make requests, even give it commands, but over time… its answer will change.

“We first discovered this in the form of something called wild runes: organic expressions of the Arcane’s language and will. For every expected reaction from the Arcane, an unexpected one may come along with it. I have samples of the marks it’s left on trees, on architecture, even on people.” He pushed forward a thin folder of photographs he’d collected from around PIltover. It was the only true evidence he had. “But I can’t put these effects on a chart for you. I can’t guarantee what will happen next. I can’t draw you a picture of chaos itself.

“But what I do know is that sooner or later, something will happen–something that we cannot fully anticipate or prepare for. I don’t know what that outcome will look like… but I do know those symptoms stopped alongside the use of the Hexgates. We have the power to avoid another catastrophe… and all we have to do is leave the Hexgates dormant.”

He passed along his folders of samples to be reviewed by the other Councilors. With that, he had given them all he could. He exhaled slowly, surrendering himself to fate, before offering his final words.

“Today I am asking you not to gamble with the lives of our people. There is no prize, no trade deal, that could be worth what we stand to lose. The Arcane cannot be, is not meant to be, contained.”

A silence followed as the other Councilors reviewed the data. It was punctured a bit sooner than expected by Rhodri Ferros, drawing the attention of the rest of the table.

“I find myself disappointed, Councilor Talis,” he said. “I had thought such a renowned man of science would conduct his studies with more rigor. All I see here are speculations and suppositions.”

Tariost huffed in agreement. Holloran squinted at the folder uncomprehendingly. Torek sat back in his chair, silent on non-economic issues as always.

“What would it take to convince you, Councilor?” Jayce asked, keeping himself level.

“Certainly more than a few damaged leaves and a few stained walls,” he replied, gesturing at the folder dismissively. “I think you speak from fear rather than reason, just as you have from the beginning.” Now, Ferros focused his attention on Bolbok and Shoola, a knowing look in his eye, as if they had spoken earlier. “I sympathize with Councilor Talis’s traumatic experiences… but my requests are hardly apocalyptic in nature. It is only with careful use that we can test the Hexgates’ effects and find solutions. That is the ethos of progress… not to abandon all avenues that present the slightest bit of risk or that still evade our full understanding.”

Jayce did understand, he wanted to say. He understood the Arcane in a way that couldn’t be written in a document, that couldn’t be translated fully into numbers or values. He’d experienced it himself, just as he’d witnessed Viktor’s interactions with it. It was something more than just a power source. At its heart, the Arcane was the divine itself.

But that’s not what Jayce said. Instead, he quelled his shaking hands, straightening at the shoulders.

“Then let’s put it to a vote,” he said. “All in favour of House Ferros’s proposal to restart the Hexgates?”

Ferros raised his hand, swiftly followed by Tariost, Holloran, and Torek. There had never been any question. They hardly even thought before doing it. As their side of the table was illuminated, the true question was asked.

Sevika was slumped back in her chair, with no interest at all in offering her approval. Shoola, in contrast, was visibly hesitating. Bolbok’s helm gave nothing away at all, but as Jayce slowly returned to his seat, her present inaction brought about a swell of hope.

As the stalemate lingered, Councilor Ferros spoke again.

“The only true proof we have is in how much there is to be gained,” he urged. “In prosperity. In knowledge. We can not allow Piltover to stagnate over such petty disagreements.”

Yet, still, the other half of the table remained unmoved. Sevika smirked. Shoola averted her gaze. Bolbok was as still as a statue. It was only once the vote had been aborted, once the lights came back on, that Jayce could finally breathe again.

Holloran made an impatient sound that bordered on childish. Tariost scowled. Torek sighed softly. Ferros lifted his chin, any disappointment or anger hidden away in favour of almost patronizing disapproval.

“Very well,” he said, something pointed in his words. “We will reconvene on this issue once we have all had more time to consider our options.”

Though Jayce’s expression was stony with resistance, inwardly he could have jumped for joy. It was actually happening. They had finally stood together, and in doing so, had won a critical bargaining token. There was nothing Ferros could do to bypass this.

All he could do was wait, while they refused him again and again… all until he finally offered him the concessions they needed.

Very little was accomplished for the rest of the meeting. All votes of substance came down to stalemates, at the wordless direction of Ferros. In return, Jayce assured the same of his side. Frustrated tensions rose and rose until finally, after some particularly harsh words between Sevika and Tariost, it was called to a premature end.

Jayce’s heart was still racing as he collected his things, preparing to leave. It wasn’t quite victory, but it was the first step. Now it was just a matter of seeing how badly House Ferros wanted this, and what they were willing to give up in exchange…

…And what they were willing to do in retribution, Jayce reminded himself, as Rhodri Ferros met him at the door. HIs expression was grim. When he asked to speak in private, Jayce could see no purpose in denying him. This was what he’d wanted, after all. 

“I see you mean to take the Council hostage, then,” Ferros said, once they had sequestered themselves in an alcove down the hall. “A bold move for someone in such a precarious position.”

Jayce’s impatience with the man was sharp beneath the surface, needling at his skin. The Councilor had a way of making everyone else sound unreasonable, even if they were simply using his own tactics against him.

“ I’m not the one holding people hostage, Ferros,” Jayce replied, low and bitter. Images of Viktor in his prison, of the way Camille had coerced him into offering up his body, flashed through his mind. Ferros narrowed his eyes. 

“That is what you perceive this as, then? As us holding a terrorist hostage against you?” He waited for a response, but Jayce stubbornly gave none. “A surprisingly hypocritical stance. You speak so righteously about how we cannot afford to put our people at risk… and yet your primary ambition is the pampering of a man that almost killed them all.”

“Viktor isn’t a risk anymore.” Jayce only realized how sullen and defensive his response sounded once it was already past his lips. It sounded stupid, even to his own ears. “You should know that by now, with how cooperative he’s apparently been.”

Councilor Ferros scoffed. “Another matter in which your speculative testimony is the only one of concern, it seems.”

Jayce wondered if Ferros’s only actual purpose here was to call him an idiot.

“Maybe it is,” Jayce said dismissively, unwilling to debate the validity of his own perspective. “In which case, let’s stop wasting each other’s time. We both know what the other wants. One dangerous project for another.” He straightened his shoulders in challenge. “You want the Hexgates, and I want the space I need to work on the Herald’s rehabilitation. Not because you deigned to give it to me, but on even terms, as equals.”

Ferros’s contemptuous expression made it clear: he would never see Jayce as his equal in anything.

“So it’s a matter of stubborn pride, then? My house had already all but offered this to you, and was refused.”

With that, Jayce’s reservations gave way.

“It is a matter of pride… your pride.” Jayce gestured back towards the Council Room, short and condemning. “I’ve seen the way you run this place. You don’t want to serve on a council. You want to be king.” Ferros’s eyes widened, his stoic exterior cracking, if only for a moment. “I’m not the only one who needs their voice back.”

He was making a mistake, something deep in his gut told him. He was pushing too far. But anger on behalf of Viktor, on behalf of Sevika, on behalf of the entire undercity, had him careening into conflict. 

For a moment, the alcove was quiet.

“You overestimate yourself, Councilor Talis,” Ferros said frigidly. “We’ll see if that arrogance survives the coming days.”

As Ferros vanished down the hall, Jayce’s anger gave way to doubt.

Notes:

I'm baaaaack. The con was last weekend, and everything went great! I joined the masquerade cosplay contest and it was terrifying but awesome. I even won an award for best propwork! It was so much work but worth it in the end I think.

Pictures of my Herald cosplay are here! At long last, I can share this.

With cosplay stuff over I will finally have more time for writing and hope to settle back into a more frequent update schedule. I hope the last few politics heavy chapters have been decent reads for people! I like writing politics, especially since Arcane was a pretty politics heavy show, but it's absolutely the thing that makes me most anxious about it coming off as interesting/logical.

Now that Jayce has made his move, though, things in To Chain a God are about to get intense.

Chapter 26

The following week was quiet. There was little space in Jayce’s head to enjoy the stillness. Ferros’s lack of specific threats had left him room to speculate: what would his opponents do when pushed? What could they do?

Despite Viktor’s assurances that he would weather whatever difficulties arose, any moment Jayce spent away from the astral realm had him worrying that something would happen in Stillwater outside of his notice. Some part of him wished that he could spend every moment at rest, sharing himself with Viktor. If anything happened, he wanted to be there with him.

But now, more than ever, he couldn’t afford it. There was work to complete, and opponents to keep an eye on. The atmosphere around him had shifted.

One of the earliest changes Jayce had noticed was the way Hakim reacted to him. It wasn’t that the man had suddenly become rude or dismissive–more that his natural affability had been curbed by a persistent uneasiness. Hakim didn’t seem to know how to act around Jayce anymore, which wasn’t really a surprise. If he and Camille were lovers, he’d no doubt been told some unflattering things. 

Jayce tried not to mourn the friendly atmosphere that had been lost. It wasn’t as if he’d ever made any genuine attempt to get to know Hakim, after all, and only found himself missing those easy interactions in retrospect. Maybe they could have been actual friends in different circumstances, but it hardly mattered now. Soon, Jayce tried to assure himself, he would be gone from this place. Hakim would be free to believe whatever he wanted, then.

The device he needed to unlock Viktor’s bonds was almost complete, delayed only by increasingly elaborate efforts to hide his intentions from House Ferros’s inevitable spies. For each part he needed fabricated, he’d invented an entirely separate set of blueprints that would require a similar creation. The level of obfuscation he was attempting was starting to seem excessive, even to his own eyes, but it was the only thing he could do to distract himself from the gnawing fear that anything suspicious he did now could be used as a weapon against him.

Once the components were all either complete or in construction, his idle hands allowed the anxiety and guilt to begin thickening all over again. If Ferros was planning retribution, would it come for only him, or would it include his accomplices? Would the councilors that sided with him be at risk?

He decided he would check on Sevika. She had always been the most vulnerable member of the Council. If something were to go wrong, she would be the one to face the steepest consequences.

He couldn’t afford to seek her out in the undercity, and so his only method of tracking her down was to hope they crossed paths in city hall. After asking around, he directed one of the administrative staff to pass along his message to her, should she arrive. Eventually, the timing aligned. He hurried off the moment he was pointed in the right direction.

At last, he saw Sevika up the hall, leading a small entourage of Zaunites. He strode towards her, raising a hand to get her attention… but when their eyes finally met, her reaction was far from welcoming.

She all but flinched at the sight of him, cringing as if he were something unpleasant to behold, and looked away with gritted teeth, fury written across every microexpression. She gestured for her group to follow her quickly and didn’t look back. It was a turn that physically stung.

Jayce was so startled by it that he froze mid-step, his leg brace almost throwing him off balance. Over the next few moments, as he tried to convince himself to pursue, she had already hustled out of sight.

And that was when Jayce became genuinely afraid.

 

---

 

All Viktor could do was wait. 

In the stillness of his isolation, sometimes even the shadows would feel alive. They would beckon and whisper, calling for his focus, alluding to things he could not remember. Then, just as quickly, they would stop. Time and time again, Viktor would find himself unable to recall the details of the experience, minutes or hours passing in blurry stretches unbefitting to the sharpness of his mind.

And every time he thought to pursue that absence, he would find himself redirected–he would think instead of the next time Jayce would sleep. The next time they could meet again.

Naturally, during those visits Jayce would keep him informed about other things that demanded his attention–about the Council, about the Hexgates, about the device that would free him. Yet, he could still sense all the troubling details that his partner was holding back from saying. He didn't resent Jayce's secrecy. He could understand its intent. It was meant to protect Viktor from the stress of a situation that he was helpless to affect on his own. 

But Viktor could still feel it: a tension, not between them, but around them. It was coiled and barbed, growing tighter with each day. It was at its worst the night immediately following Jayce’s Hexgates proposal. Though Jayce had been trying desperately not to alarm him with his retelling of events, it was clear the outcome weighed heavily on his partner’s mind.

On the surface, it was a victory. Ferros’s bloc had been denied, the Council Room consigned to a future of endless stalemates unless something changed. Perhaps the cause of Jayce’s uneasiness was as simple as that. He had broken the status quo, but now only time would tell which way the tides would shift. If change was inevitable, whose favour would it be in?

In exchange, Jayce had made himself a direct enemy of what might be the most powerful man in Piltover. 

It was a sobering thought. There had been a time, shortly after he and Jayce had agreed to escape together, where everything had felt possible–all before the challenges of physical reality began to reassert themselves. Before the dangers became real. It was a familiar sequence, Viktor noted with a faint pang of nostalgia. They had been through it together so many times before.

They would propose a theory, bold and exciting. They would begin their experimentation with high spirits, enthralled by the possibilities of their new approach. Then, as the real work got done, the problems would build up, frustrations rising until they were tempted to scrap the entire thing.

But yet, on the other side of that mountain, they would find what they were looking for. Eventually, the pieces would click together, whether by that approach, or a new one they had discovered along the way.

Viktor held those memories close to his heart, willing himself to remember the truth. Eventually, he had to believe, they would find the way. They always had before.

The trouble was in how badly he ached whenever he allowed himself to imagine failure. He was becoming so greedy, he thought–to not only attempt this, but to insist upon its success. What he had once considered their inevitable separation had become an utterly intolerable concept over the last few weeks. He was now desperate for a future far better than he deserved.

But he had given up trying to stop himself in the same moment he had decided to place the fullness of his trust in Jayce. This was all for Jayce’s happiness, ultimately. Viktor’s freedom was just a byproduct of that. For Jayce, he now knew, he would give anything.

It was that sense of clarity that had carried him through the disquiet of the following week. Though Viktor had been forcibly isolated from the world above, the ramifications of Jayce’s political plays could be felt all the way down to his prison. 

Soon after the stalemate in the Council Room, Camille had come to him with an unusually somber air. Things weren’t going well with their project, she’d said. The Council wasn’t convinced. This time, she would need more to go on.

He’d already been scaling down his cooperation. Though he had allowed a few simple tests, and given some shallow insights into the Arcane, he had been remaining firm on the request he made. He wanted Jayce involved. He wanted someone who he could trust before they went deeper.

Though she had behaved sympathetically at first, the more he withheld himself, the more he could spot the subtle signs of impatience in their interactions–only for her to come on the day of the Hexgates presentation and say that she didn’t think Jayce would ever be allowed in unless they made more progress.

In his heart, he’d actually been afraid. It was a reaction he still struggled to control, especially when it pertained to Jayce. At the time, he hadn’t yet known the outcome of the meeting. Was Jayce in danger, as they spoke?

Despite the panic that threatened to send him spiralling, he stayed the course. He trusted Jayce. He told Camille Ferros that he could offer her nothing more until he had his partner’s assistance, successfully blocking her family’s ambitions from both sides. When he met with Jayce the next night, he knew he’d done the right thing.

But Camille wasn’t kind enough to simply leave him alone, after that. In the face of his denial, her visits persisted–it was only the tone of them that changed.

There were fewer pleasantries now, and more looks of disappointment. Unfamiliar artificers would be brought in with her, who would nervously inspect and tweak the mechanics of his prison, saying nothing about what they were doing. All the while, Camille would withhold any information about the outside world, all while speaking to him with a fond sadness, as if he had forced her to do something she didn’t want to do with his incorrigible stubbornness. 

And every so often, she would gently hint: she could save him from whatever consequences were mounting, if only he complied.

It was unnerving, even with the information he’d been given in spirit. Viktor had already seen her true face through Jayce's eyes. That she would toy with him now was no surprise. He expected trickery. He expected torment. He expected House Ferros to try to force Jayce’s hand. 

But, it still left him wondering… when would the blow fall? It was the anticipation that was difficult.

They hadn’t dared try to enter his prison while he actively refused them, nor to try to physically force him into any examinations. He had little interest in being genuinely violent, but they knew better than to risk it. Even bound, the raw force of his strength would be enough to seriously harm anyone caught within his reach.

Because of that, it was a little surprising when Camille approached the barrier of his prison, toying with the key she wore around her neck. It had been almost two weeks since the stalemate occurred. He had spoken to her very little since. 

She was holding a folder that was heavy with paper. He found himself eyeing it, trying to discern its contents, before she even spoke. Her stance was confident, even smug. Though she tried to maintain her sympathetic facade, she held herself like someone who had the clear upper hand.

“I have a few things to show you today, Viktor,” she said. “I’d like your opinion on them, if you’re willing.”

Viktor averted his gaze, remaining silent. He’d stopped speaking unless absolutely required. It made it easier to resist her provocations and, from her perspective, it would be difficult to tell the difference between debilitating despair and intentional rebellion. 

She didn’t wait long for him to speak up. Instead, she set the folder down on the dias steps and reached into her coat. Viktor felt the Arcane stir a moment before the crystal was revealed.

It was similar in appearance to a Hex Gemstone, though paler and dimmer in colour. He could sense the Arcane within, though there was something frail about it. Displaced.

She smiled. She had forced his attention. 

“This is a project we’ve been working on for quite some time now,” she said. “I’m sure you’re already familiar with Hex Crystals and the process of collecting them. A great many were harvested at your and Councilor Talis’s request.” It was a pointed statement, emphasizing his complicity. “They were once only an esoteric rarity… but with the invention of Hextech, the demand for them has increased exponentially. Even from nations that do not yet possess the key to their use.”

It was an unhappy truth. No matter what Jayce and Viktor did, now that the possibility had been made known, humanity would always crave it. House Ferros certainly did.

“Our sources have since run dry,” she continued, “and the vast majority of the Gemstones in our possession are required for the functioning of the Hexgates. We needed another way, and so, with the sponsorship of the Council… we created one.”

Viktor and Camille’s eyes met. She smiled proudly as she said:

“This is the first of its kind… an artificially constructed Hex Gemstone.”

Viktor no longer possessed the biology needed for his stomach to turn, or for his heart to race. Instead, as the dread overcame him, he could only be perfectly still. The strange taint to the Arcane energy within the crystal now made sense. 

Camille’s house sought to do more than just misuse the Arcane power Piltover had already acquired. It sought to mass produce it.

He tried to figure out how. He could imagine the ways that the composition of a Hex Crystal could be backwards engineered, how you could create a container for magic. He could have fabricated the like himself, if he retained any desire to do so. But the power, the energy of creation… it had to be taken from somewhere.

Such an abuse of the Arcane would not go unnoticed. It was a demand far more arrogant than even the overuse of the Hexgates had been.

“These vessels are stable,”  she said, somehow ignorant to the perilous weight of her proposal.  “While less potent than a naturally mined crystal, they can be used to power Hextech devices. But, currently, our only source of Arcane energy is what we can take from existing Gemstones. And the process of transferral has proven… damaging, to the structure of the original. The number of artificial copies that could be made from each natural crystal is limited.”

Something was rising within him. He had no desire to hold it back.

“We are on the verge of something great here, Viktor,” she said, taking a step forward. There was the trace of something painfully genuine in her outreach. Despite everything, she believed she was doing good. “You once dreamed of giving Hextech to the people, didn’t you? With your insights into the Arcane, we could—”

“ No. ”

It was a soul-deep rebuke. He could feel the turbulent winds of the Arcane itself roaring from within him, biting at his chains. He could feel the stone of Stillwater tremble.

The hubris of attempting to recreate his body’s design was one thing. Even revitalizing the Hexgates was comprehensible, to the ignorant. But to ask him to aid them in increasing Piltover’s burden on the Arcane in a manner so exponential…

It was madness. They were mad. 

Just like he had once been.

“Please, Viktor, consider this seriously,” she urged, even as the force of his denial caused her to take a step back. “The artificial Gemstones are less powerful, less dangerous–they could be used for life-giving devices all over Piltover and Zaun alike. This is the proposed powersource to our artificial limbs, and we have the capacity to do so much more. We could change lives. Save lives.”

“All while House Ferros reaps the rewards of its Hextech empire,” Viktor snarled, the resonating groan of metal echoing in his voice. “You will sell the people their comfort. Their health . All while summoning the apocalypse to their doorstep.”

Slowly, he rose to his feet, his heavy chains dragging across his petricite cell. He would not be looked down on. Not while she and her ilk threatened to doom them all out of nothing but greed.

“You’re wrong,” she said, and while she did a good job of masking it, there was a flash of concern in her eyes as he took to full height. “These are adaptations that can change the future of mankind itself. House Ferros is just the facilitator. Without its financial backing, we would never…”

“Am I meant to believe that your father would relinquish control over the production of these gemstones the moment labours are finished? That he would not claim the fullness of the power and wealth it would afford him? No.” His golden eye had grown sharp with fury. “No, I think not.”

Camille took a slow and calculated breath.

“Then think of what it could do for your situation.” The appeal to his sense of righteousness was over. Now, there was only cold transactionality. “Give us this, find the solution, and you can have everything you asked for. We would ensure Councilor Talis’s safety. We could arrange for him to meet with you again.”

The walls and floors of his prison flickered bright, fed by the magic that surged through him, outside his will. At the mention of Jayce’s name, of his safety , he could no longer hold it in. He could read nothing in her words but a threat. 

If they could give Jayce safety, then they could also take it away.

While every atom of his being buzzed with the desire to pull this weed up by the root, to salt the earth it grew in, something more than his bonds held him back. For a moment, he had imagined taking her by the throat, squeezing until the movement stopped. But then, as Jayce’s face flashed into his mind, he forced the thought away.

Instead, he did the only thing he could to distance himself, to drag himself back from the brink.

“Leave this place,” he commanded, his voice grown alien and strange. “I will no longer suffer such arrogance.”

For a moment, she was taken back–but Camille Ferros could not be cowed for long. In the end, she only sighed, as if dealing with an unruly child.

“All this time, I had hoped that positive reinforcement would be enough,” she said. She tucked the crystal away, and picked up the folder. “But I suppose our partnership really wasn’t meant to be. Thankfully, we had the foresight to prepare for this.”

She opened the folder and turned it so he could see its contents. Within it were photos, testimonies, police reports, and more… all of it concerning Jayce.

“I trust you can read this from there,” she said lightly, slowly flipping through the thick stack of documents. It was then that Viktor understood what he was looking at. This was more than surveillance. It was evidence.

It was blackmail . 

Despite it moving too quickly for a regular human to examine each page, he could process information at a rapid enough pace that he could begin forming an image of their case against him. Early on, it was mostly just Stillwater’s reports of Jayce’s most questionable behaviour when interacting with the ‘Machine Herald’, some of it true, other parts heavily exaggerated. If it were only that, he could see a way forward.

It wasn’t.

There were photographs of Jayce in Zaun, when he had visited after the earthquake. Photos of him speaking to and staying with Zaunites that had since been arrested for attempted terrorism. Photos of him in the commune, going to meet with its charlatan leader. Testimonies from people of the fissures, alleging his involvement with unlawful activities. The purchase of Shimmer. Of treason and potential insurrection. 

Viktor couldn’t make sense of it. There was so much. Had the Zaunites been won over with bribes? By coercion and threats? Who had taken the photos?

And then, like a cruel gift from the divine itself, he saw the answer past the veil of the Arcane.

He saw Camille, dressed as one of the fissure folk, hidden behind a respirator mask. He saw her leading Jayce through the streets of the undercity. He saw her directing a gang of commune members towards him after leaving him to work on the chemical spill. Then, after he had been caught, he saw her watching as Jayce was forced through the streets of the commune, and as she discreetly pulled a Piltovan-made camera from her bag.

“We’ve arranged to have Jayce Talis removed from the Council,” Camille was saying as Viktor felt his sanity slip, as the edges of his awareness grew tangled and every part of his fractured self rebelled at once. “And once that’s done, a criminal conviction will be simple.”

She closed the folder, holding it to her chest. Viktor jolted forward, reaching for it, momentarily seized by the delusion that if he somehow got it from her, if it was destroyed, that he could make what it represented go away. Camille took another step back, eyeing him carefully.

“If you don’t believe me, I’m happy to go over the evidence with you more thoroughly, but this is the truth. Without the shelter of House Ferros, you will never see Jayce Talis again.”

Viktor could believe it all too easily. Piltover was rotting from its very foundations. He’d seen it himself, within Stillwater, in the stories of a thousand broken souls. He’d seen it in the way the Council conducted itself, in the way the cycle of brutality refused to end. There was no justice here. No goodness. No hope. The only end to its misery was the cold embrace of ultimate oblivion.

He had known this before. He’d known it intimately. Why had he forgotten?

Darkness crept in all around him. Darkness gnawed from within. There was no escape from this, no escape from the corruption, from the greed, from the lies—

The Arcane flow within his prison surged again, fed by his uncontrolled emotion. From the outside, very little was going on. He had frozen, paralyzed by the war going on inside of him. He didn’t want this, another part of himself fought from within. He didn’t want an end. He wanted a future .

He sank down to one knee, his muscles twitching with the uneven discharge of Arcane energy. Camille saw this and took it as surrender.

“You can both rot in prison, if that’s what you’d prefer,” she said. He could feel her spite. This cruelty was vengeance for him ever having made her afraid. “Or perhaps we should test if treason carries a death penalty, under House Ferros rule.”

The stillness broke. 

“You. Will. Not.”

His power lashed about him, chaotic and furious. Once again, the prison began its work. He could feel the way it pulled at him, syphoning his strength like gushing blood. If he let it, it would defeat him, it would leave him trembling and helpless, just as it had before.

But before, he had been wounded and unfocused. He had torn at the system in all directions, all at once, mindless of the damage he did. That had been his mistake. He had lacked conviction.

But now, Jayce had made him whole again. Now, his only chance was to turn that wholeness against his prison, refined and precise like a tool. 

He reigned in his magic. Instead of letting it freely bleed into the prison, he funnelled it ruthlessly towards a single location, towards a single link in the chain. The petricite could only move so quickly, the chains only transfer so much. He forced a hurricane through a whistle, until the very fabric of its construction splintered and tore apart.

He hadn’t known if it would work, going into it. He considered trying many times, while trapped within his cell. But, if he were to fail in his escape, there would be no going back. He would doom Jayce and himself both.

But now, even as the prison’s resistance pierced him like daggers of cold, he could feel part of it give way. The chain on his right shackle snapped. The petricite binding his wrist swelled with magic, on the brink of catastrophic overcharge. It could take nothing more from him.

His body jolted and shook. His soul frayed with the strain. This was more of the Arcane than he ever should have called upon. But with this glimpse of success, he could only continue.

Camille had different ideas.

Having heard of what happened the last time he fought back, she had clearly doubted that he would accomplish anything. With the breaking of his shackle, though, the reality of the situation was bearing down on her. Her terror was genuine.

“Guards!” she called, somewhere just outside Viktor’s focus. “I need emergency procedures deployed. Now! ” With the prison barrier flaring like it was, he couldn’t make out what she was doing through it all. It wouldn’t matter. As he felt the second shackle begin to give, as his consciousness flickered but held, he knew that he could end it here.

Camille only drew his attention away from his efforts when she made the distractingly absurd decision to unlock and open the forward barrier. Through the spectral lights of an Arcane maelstrom, they locked eyes.

She was holding some manner of spear, forged of petricite and lined with golden metal and Hextech runes. It was no surprise to him that they would wield petricite against him in such a manner. Jayce had warned him of the ways it had historically been used against mages. It would still struggle to get through his outer defenses. It would hurt him little more than the shackles had, in all this time.

She charged forward, the lone woman standing against the storm. In another light, it could be heroic. It was like the people of Plltover imagined Jayce, facing him down atop the Hexgates. 

She saw him as a monster, he was sure. That was fine. He would be her monster if he had to be.

He reached to meet her with his liberated hand, intending to grab, to subdue. It would only take a moment–only his fingers closing around a limb, around her neck, before the fight would be over. That was where she surprised him. 

His body was still shaking and stunted, seized by the force of the magic he forced through it. As his hand struck out, Camille shifted, liquid and precise, and slipped right past. In the same moment, she made her own attack.

It was then that he realized his mistake.

He saw it coming. His body, under so much pressure, had lagged behind his mind. He saw the way she swivelled the tip of her spear, the way she positioned herself, the way the focus of her intent rested upon the shattered half of his face.

It was the one place he had no outer defenses. And, in a move that could only be attributed to both outrageous fortune and a lifetime of curated skill, he witnessed as the thin tip of her spear pierced straight through the hole where his eye had been.

It had never been tested. Jayce never would have considered abusing his wound as a way to keep him ensnared. But now, as he felt the petricite weapon sink past his chassis, as it buried itself into the magic-drenched depths of his soul, he could feel the core of himself be carved out. He could feel his very essence churn and boil, his spirit erupting like steam.

In the same moment his second shackle broke, his consciousness went with it.

Notes:

And that's the end of Act 2!

I think that if I wrote a second draft to this story (which I won't) it would had been interesting to have Camille enter the story a bit earlier so that she and Viktor could form more of a rapport before becoming enemies. I'm not exactly where I'd make the changes, though. This story is long enough as it is.

Anyway... I'M SORRY, EVERYONE. PLEASE TRUST THE PROCESS.

This moment has been in the story since very early in the outline and it's kind of surreal actually writing it. More than one person has expressed things like "wow I'm not sure how they're going to get out of this" and inside I already knew that... first, it was actually going to get worse, lol.

There are around ten chapters left. It's basically the home stretch!

(Relatively speaking.)

Chapter 27

With no idea where else to turn, Jayce sought out Caitlyn.

It was still morning at that point, and so he sent a pneumatic tube message to her office, inviting her to meet for lunch. He received a response far faster than he expected. As he unfurled the note from its capsule, he noticed a strange formality to her writing. Somehow, he’d known her long enough to spot the tenseness in her penmanship, even as she agreed to his invitation.

Jayce spent the next couple of hours in a state of acute anxiety, unable to focus on even menial tasks. Had Caitlyn somehow turned against him as well? Had she caught on to what he was attempting to do with Viktor? If she had, would she hate him for it?

By the time she was finally due to arrive, he’d already filled several pages of his journal with truncated sketches, each effort discarded in a fit of frustrated scribbles. As a familiar knock finally rattled his office door, he found himself abruptly standing, with too much pent up energy to suppress.

“Come in,” he said, struggling to keep his voice level. Caitlyn appeared through the crack of the door, her expression grim.

“Sh-Sheriff Kiramman,” he stuttered, suddenly at a loss for words. He felt foolish, unsure of how friendly he was even allowed to be anymore. But, as Caitlyn closed the door behind her, any pretense of stern professionalism faded away. She crossed the floor of his office in several long strides, circled around behind his desk, and threw her arms around him.

“Jayce,” she said, and just like that, he realized that she had been holding onto nervous energy, too. He returned the embrace carefully. “There’s something going on. You’ve noticed it too, haven’t you?”

“That’s kind of what I wanted to talk about,” he said. Bad news was incoming, that much was obvious, but for now he was overwhelmed with relief. “Did something happen?”

“There was a raid. In the undercity. Without my authorization.” He could see the pain in her expression, admitting that. “The squadron is claiming it was reactive, just a routine patrol that stumbled into conflict. But several Zaunites were arrested. Entire buildings were cleared out.”

Once again, the furious look in Sevika’s eyes flashed into Jayce’s mind again. Was this why she had been so angry? Did she think that he was somehow responsible? 

“Do you know who they were?”

Caitlyn shook her head. “They were taken straight to Stillwater. Now, I’m facing resistance even finding out where they are being kept.” Though she was still keeping herself composed, Caitlyn’s eye was alight from within with frustration and disgust. “Vi is in the undercity right now, finding out what details she can. But this is a move from Ferros’s side of the Council. I just know it.”

Jayce’s stomach clenched. Ferros. Of course it would all come back to him. In just one year, he’d managed to sink his claws into every part of Piltover’s governance. Even the Sheriff’s authority was being undermined, and there was no higher power than the Council to hear her case.

And once they got talking, it became clear that wasn’t the only problem Caitlyn was facing. 

Shimmer use was still inciting violent reactions in the people taking it, but without any observable patterns. Sometimes, it was triggered by heavy use, while other times, even light recreational or medicinal use could set it off. Caitlyn had tried to issue warnings rather than attempting to confiscate Zaunite’s’ Shimmer supplies by force.

But, in an increasingly tempestuous political environment, few were inclined to take those notices seriously. To them, it was all just another means of control. Was Piltover itself responsible for contaminating Shimmer supplies?

Meanwhile, the casualties were piling up.

Sometimes it would be the victim of the attack, their bodies battered and throats torn out by human teeth. Other times, it would be the attacker that died, shot to death by observers. No matter the combination, there was pain. There was bloodshed.

And the perpetrators that were restrained long enough to recover from frenzies had few answers.

“They all say the same things,” Caitlyn said, a haunted look behind her eye. “That they felt compelled to do it. That they were a part of some greater whole, and it was hungry… and hateful.”

Caitlyn had been trying to keep those people out of Stillwater, to instead place them somewhere that medical staff could safely observe them. Yet, in the more violent instances, it had been impossible to avoid. 

The thought of it, of waking up from a fit of madness like Jayce himself had experienced and then being sent to Stillwater, was enough to make him feel ill. And so much more selfishly, he was horrified by the idea of the Void’s influence getting anywhere closer to Viktor. Could they be taken again? Could people like them, like Jayce, still be threats?

It was around then, with Jayce’s heart still racing from a million horrible possibilities, that something else struck him. All at once, a sharp pressure in his head, and a nauseating tearing sensation in his heart.

He staggered against his desk, his mouth filling with bile. What was wrong with him, he thought hysterically, his breathing rapid and uneven. Something was wrong with him, and it hurt so badly, he didn’t know what to do—

Caitlyn was at his side without a moment’s hesitation, and that familiar comfort was the only thing that managed to draw him back. As she asked him what was happening, he didn’t know what to say. Was he dying? Or was this a panic attack?

He’d experienced a panic attack before, but there was something so much worse to this. It was like something inside had just broken.

Eventually, though, the intensity of the feeling passed, leaving only a dull ache in its place. Caitlyn asked if he wanted to go to the hospital, and he refused. He still had things he needed to get done. Now, more than ever. 

The components for his device were all complete. He needed to get it together before anyone else could interfere. If House Ferros wouldn’t give him an opportunity to use it, he needed to be prepared for the instant he could create one.

He spent the afternoon doing just that. He collected the pieces of the various designs he had created, all with the intention of combining their disparate components into what really mattered: the unlocking mechanism. He would assemble them into their decoy configurations for now, and be prepared to remove what he needed when the time came.

The original blueprint had been committed to memory and destroyed. He could no longer afford to have such contraband around.

He spent the afternoon in the lab, working on his deceptively innocuous projects. Yet, the entire while, something gnawed at him from inside. The wrongness was lingering, and the longer it went on, the more he began to worry. Was it just him, feeling this?

Or was it Viktor…?

He started packing up for the day, unable to resist it any longer. He needed to go home, to rest and check on his partner. Even if it was a false alarm, he’d done all he could for now. 

Yet, just as he finished putting away his work, the doors of the lab opened.

“Councilor Talis.” A pair of Enforcers entered, cautious expressions on their faces. “You’ve been called to the Council Room for an emergency assembly.”

There was nothing else he could do. He followed.

 

---

 

Jayce was able to sense the way the tides had shifted from the moment he entered the room. Every other Councilor’s gazes turned to him at once, and none of them were kind. Instead, it was all shades of worry, disappointment, anger, and stomach-turning smugness. When he took a step back, startled by the reception, he felt the doorway be blocked by the two Enforcers that had led him there.

“Please come forward, Councilor Talis,” Rhodri Ferros said, calm and precise. “Concerns have been raised… and the rest of us have some questions for you.”

This wasn’t a meeting, he realized, deep in the pit of his gut. This was a trial.

It was happening too fast. He’d had his worries earlier in the day, but they had been small and personal in comparison. He thought he might have gotten Sevika in trouble. He thought that maybe his plan had failed. But he hadn’t anticipated this. Something was about to happen, he felt, and nothing would ever be the same.

His eyes locked on the giant, ornate window on the far side of the Council Room, and he was seized by the sudden compulsion to throw himself through the glass. To what end, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to die. Viktor needed him, and Jayce had already sworn to himself that he would never abandon his partner again.

Rather, just about anything seemed preferable to facing the situation that was unfolding before him, and a room filled with scornful and mocking stares–even if that meant throwing himself off the tower and figuring things out on the way down. After all, he’d experienced this once before.

For a moment, he felt like he was living in the skin of himself from almost a decade prior, being led towards the inevitable termination of his life’s work. When he was escorted by the Enforcers to the table, it wasn’t to his seat. Instead, he was directed towards the space in the center, where he could be scrutinized more easily.

Part of him thought to reject Ferros’s showmanship, to insist upon taking his seat as always, and emphasize that he was still a Councilor until it was formally determined otherwise. But, in the end, he just couldn’t. The force of the room’s unanimous rejection was too much to stand, its meaning weighing on him heavier than shackles.

He didn’t yet know how, but the truth was already in the air. He had failed.

The following events were very similar to falling into a raging river; the breath had been crushed out of him, and every moment afterward was spent just trying to keep his head above water. Folders of evidence were passed around, though the information had clearly been perused by everyone prior to the assembly. Then, he was battered with questions.

First, it was about his work on Viktor’s prison, and then, about his trip to Zaun following the earthquake. For his work on the prison, he answered as faithfully as he could. For the trip to Zaun, he was more hesitant. He hadn’t been required to submit an official report to the other Councilors on his actions there. When he had returned to the Piltover, it was in the wake of Viktor’s ‘rebellious episode’, which had drawn the Council’s entire focus. He was happy to leave the rest of the trip ambiguous. The truth was too complicated to explain.

But now, he was suddenly being interrogated for moment to moment details, and he was tripping over his own story. There were too many sudden decisions. Did he confess to his trip to the commune? Did he confess to everything that had happened after? How could he, when it would only demand the question: why hadn’t he reported his assailant’s actions sooner?

He ended up stumbling through half explanations, and with every word he said, he could feel the oppressive atmosphere of the room grow thicker. He had encountered Zaunite radicals, he admitted, but omitted the details of the commune. He said that he had left due to the tempestuous atmosphere, but held back from saying anything about Shimmer.

In the end, it was almost a relief when Ferros finally showed his hand. Almost.

“Councilor Talis, the Machine Herald broke containment at half past twelve this afternoon,” Ferros said, and the words struck Jayce’s heart like a bullet. “In the process, he attempted to kill my daughter. To our great disappointment, we have found reason to believe that you were involved.”

Jayce was spiralling, fighting with all he had to keep from collapsing right there and then. The devastating severity of the situation had fallen upon him at last, but in the midst of it there was a flicker of desperate and absurd hope.

“Did he escape?” Jayce asked breathlessly. It was the wrong thing to say. They would see the treacherous love in his eyes, he thought. But he couldn’t help it. If Viktor was free, none of it would matter. If Viktor was free, he could—

“Thankfully not,” Ferros answered, and just like that, the sun seemed to be blotted from the sky. “For now, he has been subdued and properly restrained. We are all very fortunate to have put our efforts towards more reliable bindings over the last several weeks. But you can understand why it is now suspect that you were so adamantly against these improvements in the first place…”

From then on, nothing that was said sat right in Jayce’s head, all falling away from him like the waves over a pier. Ferros had done it. There would be no negotiating, no getting into Stillwater, no freeing Viktor. Jayce had been too careless, too stupid, and now he had finally doomed them both, once and for all.

He remembered the moment of nauseating agony he’d experienced earlier in the day, and began to understand. Had that been Viktor calling out to him? Had Viktor known their fates hours before Jayce had been dragged into this room?

Jayce listened as the evidence was laid out before him, already too hollowed out to fight. He answered any questions he was asked lifelessly, robotically, but, for the most part, honestly. No, he hadn’t intentionally sabotaged the containment system. Yes, he had gone to the commune and spoke to its leader. Yes, he had slept over at Vanessa’s house in Zaun, who had now apparently been arrested as a Zaunite insurgent. Yes, he had visited the Zaunite restaurant that had now been exposed as a rebellion safe house. No, he didn’t know how his notes pertaining to the prison’s locking system had ended up in the Zaunite lab they raided. 

He didn’t confess to anything he hadn’t done, but the siege against his person was coming from so many angles the battle was hopeless from the start. There were photographs and dozens of witness testimonies, both from undercity civilians and fresh Stillwater prisoners. At least half of it was lies, but the few truths made it impossible to struggle against.

By the time it was explained to him that his mother’s home had been searched via warrant earlier that day, and that Machine Herald paraphernalia had been found in his bedroom dresser, he had nothing left to say. It was another slipup in a game that had been out of his league from the very start.

Eventually, mercifully, it was coming to an end. The only thing reminding Jayce that he was still alive was the increasingly sharp pain growing in his leg, hips, and back as he stood. The intensity of his physical discomfort was his only measurement of time during proceedings. The rest was a blur. 

“Now that the evidence has been reviewed, it is my recommendation that Jayce Talis be removed from the Council so that the full severity of his crimes can be assessed,” Ferros said, drawing Jayce’s attention back to the conversation for the first time in several minutes. “It is of my opinion that there is sufficient suspicion of guilt present as to make his continued presence in this Council Room an unacceptable liability. All in favour?”

Ferros’s bloc raised their hands in unison, and Bolbok was only slightly behind them. Jayce’s insides twisted painfully. Shoola avoided making eye contact entirely, her expression a stormy mixture of shame and regret as she painstakingly followed.

Then, it was only Sevika. Sevika, whose anger and resentment had been written across her face even as she remained quiet for most of the trial. Sevika, whose hateful eyes were now settled squarely on Ferros.

“What is the point?” she demanded, slamming her hands on the table. She looked around at the other Councilors, looking for an answer that would never come. “What is the point of all this goddamn pageantry if everything was decided from the start? Why did you fuckers even give us a seat if you didn’t want to—”

“Should we take that as your resignation, Councilor Sevika?” Ferros asked, completely unmoved.

Sevika shoved her metallic middle finger in his direction, her teeth bared in fury.

“Fuck you!” she snarled, sitting back heavily in her chair. “Put that on the record.” Then, ablaze with absolute loathing, she raised her hand in assent.

And with that, Councilor Talis was no more.

 

---

 

Through the morass of despair, Sevika’s rage somehow managed to stick in Jayce’s mind. As he was escorted from the Council Room to a nearby chamber, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. While under such scrutiny, he’d barely been able to think, his addled mind interpreting every glance as a dagger of contempt. 

She was furious with Ferros. Furious like Jayce should have been, and was, until everything had dropped out from beneath him and his resentment had turned inward. It was so easy to hate himself for failing her, for failing Viktor, and for failing all the others. Jayce had lost, that much was obvious. But he wasn’t the one that started all of this.

He’d played by the Council’s rules from the very beginning. He’d put Viktor in prison, locked up half of his own soul, for their convenience. He’d tried to do everything the right way. He’d played the game of Piltovan politics like he’d been taught, squeezing out what small amount of goodness he could while being crushed between the gears of hierarchy. 

What was the point? Sevika’s words echoed in his head. What was the point if all of it had been decided from the start?

It wasn’t his attempts to free Viktor that had doomed him–it was the attempt to take back power. It was obvious now; Ferros had been planning to frame him for months, regardless of what he did. It had always been a choice between obeying of his own free will and being forced into it with blackmail. Sooner or later, Ferros would have figured out something, when every defiance of his will could be recast as an act of treason.

Jayce found himself seated in a nearby waiting room, Enforcers posted at the door. In the past, it had been where petitioners would wait while the Council prepared to receive them. Now, it appeared to be Jayce’s temporary cell until Ferros decided what to do with him.

Did Caitlyn even know what had happened? Or had Ferros used her distraction elsewhere as an opportunity to do this without her interference? As Sheriff, she should have been involved in proceedings from the start. But none of that really mattered anymore–not when House Ferros had the power and the boldness required to do whatever they wanted.

Jayce sat there, quietly boiling inside, as he waited for something to happen. Eventually, there was a knock on the door. The Enforcers parted, allowing Camille to slyly enter. As she did, she gestured for them to leave. They obeyed easily, exiting the room and closing the door behind them. He heard it lock.

She was dressed down from the last time he’d seen her, her elegant dress and cape exchanged for more practical attire. There was a subtle swagger in her walk as she approached, the confidence of someone who knew they had won.

Such a short time ago, her father had accused Viktor of trying to kill her. Was that even true? Or was it just another lie?

“Mister Talis,” she said, savoring the change in title. “Do you have some time to talk?”

“What did you do to him?” The words slipped out, hot on his breath. She raised an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?”

Jayce flew to his feet, his fists clenched at his sides.

“What did you do to him?” he snarled. “I know he wouldn’t have attacked you for no reason…!”

There was a certain freedom in this. While he may have been more trapped than he had been since they returned to Piltover, at least he didn’t have to mince words. He was already experiencing a worst-case scenario. There was no longer any reason not to defend his partner with the fullness of his being.

“I would be more careful with my words if I were you,” Camille said, narrowing her eyes at him. “I assure you, there is still something to lose.”

Jayce swallowed. He could barely stand to imagine what was happening to Viktor in that moment, to fathom what despair his partner might be feeling. 

“And what is that?” he growled, low and impatient.

“Collaborating with you as a Councilor has proven quite difficult,” she said. She squared her shoulders to his, emphasizing her lack of fear. “Collaborating with you as a convict however… I suspect that will have a way of making you a bit more agreeable.”

“I’m not a convict yet.” Even as he said it, he didn’t really believe it. He was clawing for ground to stand on, but all he actually had was petty barbs. There was no chance of him beating these accusations within the realm of the law… not when the concept of law had been poisoned to its very core.

“But you will be,” she said, perfectly mirroring his dire thoughts. “All a conviction takes is a majority vote from the Council. The only question is how satisfying we can make your punishment to the people of Piltover. To see just how far the Defender of Tomorrow can fall.”

He shook his head, looking away from her. He didn’t need to give her this. She didn’t deserve to watch him squirm.

“But there is another option,” she said, leaning into his line of sight. “A way that you could make it through this ordeal, diminished but… functional.”

Whatever it was, he didn’t want to hear it. Whatever it was, it would just be a different way to lose.

“Sign a contract under House Ferros,” she whispered. “Commit your skills to our efforts, and together we can tell a different story. Perhaps Piltover’s Defender wasn’t actively treasonous. Perhaps you were just being manipulated all along. Drawn in by years of sentiment for a man you thought you knew. That’s the cost of seeing the good in others, isn’t it? Sometimes we’re wrong.”

He looked at her in revulsion as he began to understand what she was suggesting. 

“Fuck you,” he said. 

“What good is reputation to a man like the Herald, anyway?” She circled around him as he floundered. “Working alongside us, you could do far more for his comfort than you could from a jail cell.”

He lowered his gaze, fighting against the sickness in his gut. 

“This is what you wanted from the start, isn’t it?” he asked. “From day one you people wanted me off the Council. All so you could force me into this.”

“Not a fan?” Camille asked, smirking. “You can take some time to think, if you prefer. I’m sure Stillwater’s royal suite will be yours for the taking, in the meantime. It’s not often a former Councilor finds himself behind bars.” Finished with her little joke, her expression grew serious. “But before you go, you have something I need.”

Jayce looked up, his brow furrowed in question. Her stare was locked on his throat.

“The key,” she said. “Give it to me.”

She reached out her hand and, in the same moment, Jayce’s flew to his chest, feeling the shape of the runic tablet that hung around his neck.

“The key?” he murmured. The key to Viktor’s prison, he realized. The one that only Councilors were supposed to have.

He found himself frozen, unwilling to release his final, tenuous link to Viktor’s freedom. The only plan he’d had hinged on it, and even if the device was gone, even if everything else was lost, he couldn’t bear to give it up. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t stop it. He had to try.

“We can hardly allow you to keep it, given your… proclivities.” She watched him expectantly, but he didn’t move. “If you would prefer this be at gunpoint, it can be,” she said. Yet, when he still didn’t acquiesce, a genuine frown came to her lips. “Mister Talis, I will not ask again.”

She reached for the chain it hung on, prepared to snatch it off his neck. Suddenly vivified by the action, he swatted her away. 

“No.”

As he struck her hand, the venom in her glare roiled into something dark and potent. She reached again.

“I won’t!” Jayce insisted, this time shoving her back. She shifted on her feet, perfectly maintaining her balance. Then, as if she had simply been waiting for an excuse to do so, she effortlessly kicked him across the face. 

It was graceful and precise, like a dancer that had been taught to kill. Jayce staggered, clutching his jaw. His thoughts spun. Surely this was wasted effort, he thought. He was going to get his ass beat, and for what purpose?

But yet, Camille was forced to watch in bewilderment as Jayce lifted his fists, shook off the pain, and squared up. 

Things escalated quickly. As he matched her aggression in kind, she started trying to take him down in earnest. He caught her next couple blows on his arms and swung right back with a fists. There was something cathartic to just punching someone. Presumably, that was where Vi got it from.

…Or trying to punch someone, at least. Jayce had never really been a warrior, and while he was big and physically strong, Camille was far too fast for him. Her movements were directed by hard-won technique, while his were driven by little more than desperate obstinacy. 

He didn’t land a single blow, and before he knew it, she was sweeping her steel bar of a kick right into the knee of his bad leg. Suddenly, everything came to a stop.

The pain was blinding. Despite the metal structure of his brace, the impact left his bones screaming, his legs giving out beneath him. As he desperately swallowed his own cries, Camille loomed over him, raising a brow in question as if asking if he wanted more.

As he was clutching at his thigh, he remembered a familiar lump in his coat pocket. It was the precision explosive Ekko had made, repaired and kept at Jayce’s side since his misadventure in the undercity. They hadn’t thought to pat him down.

With a stab of murderous anger, Jayce glared up at Camille, and thought about using it on her. It was meant to blow rocks apart, after all, even if it limited collateral damage. It would be enough to kill any one person, if used right. After everything that had happened, some hateful part of himself wanted to do it. He wanted to win, in a way they weren’t expecting.

But no. All vengeance would do was seal his fate and hand Rhodri Ferros the only excuse he’d ever need, alongside his grief. And so, fighting against his throbbing leg, Jayce bolted for the exit.

Camille was in quick pursuit, unburdened on her feet. Her hand was closing around his shoulder, just as he latched the bomb onto the door handle and activated it.

Her eyes grew wide in shock, and with the precious few moments she was allowed, she flung herself backwards, rolling across the floor. Meanwhile, Jayce only tucked himself against the wall beside it, already knowing how exact the damage would be.

The heavy wood of the door was shattered, its body broken into several heavy chunks. Outside, the Enforcers stationed there yelped, ducking for cover, desperate to get away from any impending blasts. Jayce, though? Jayce just ran.

Amid the confusion, he tore down the hall of the capitol building, his knee threatening to send him plummeting with every step. The only reason he managed to make any distance at all was that his captors were too confused to take immediate action, checking on Camille’s safety before doing anything else. He wouldn’t get far, they must have assumed, and frankly, he assumed the same.

When he tripped, skidding onto his already wounded knee, he wondered if it was already over. Surely, the Enforcers would be on him in a moment. There were only so many places he could go, and these doors were mostly locked, and his leg was bleeding for some reason, and—

Someone grabbed him by the shoulders, hauling him into a freshly opened stairwell. As Jayce fumbled to get to his feet again, he raised his head to see Sevika quietly closing the door after him. A ring of keys was in her hand. Her lips were pressed into a thin line.

“You’re only gunna get one chance to get out of here,” she said. “Leave Piltover now, or you never will.”

“Sevika—” he gasped, still trying to catch his breath, and to think past his agonized leg. “I– I’m sorry…”

“Shut up.” Her voice was harsh, but not cruel. She jerked a thumb down the staircase. “You can get to the outside from here. I’ve got a few people watching the area. Head for the undercity and don’t look back.”

Jayce shook his head. He didn’t understand.

“You… Why…?” 

“Because this key ring is the only good being a Councilor has ever done me,” she snapped. A moment later, though, her expression softened slightly. Within it, he saw a kind of genuine despondency she didn’t often show. In that moment, Jayce could only see her as a mirror of himself.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

“...Ferros knows where the Fireflies’ hideout is,” she said, as if in explanation for the tiny shreds of guilt her weakness had exposed. “He told me this morning. He gave me the option: them or you.”

Jayce’s brow furrowed. He wasn’t as familiar with all of the intricacies of the undercity, not like Vi, and not like Caitlyn had become. But he could have sworn that Sevika used to be one of Silco’s people, and that once upon a time, she and the Firelights would have been mortal enemies.

“Me and those brats may not have always seen eye to eye,” she said, sensing his confusion. “But Ekko’s the only real leader Zaun has left. In the end, all I could buy them was time to pack up and scatter.”

Sevika may not have been legally removed from the Council, but, on a spiritual level, she was already gone. Jayce could see it in her eyes. This was a point of no return.

“Okay,” Jayce rasped, forcing himself up. He ignored the smear of blood he’d left on the tiles. “I… Okay. I’ll go.” He braced himself against the handrail, getting ready to leave. But, before he could go, he had to say it:

“Thank you.” 

Sevika sneered ever so slightly, but her heart wasn’t in it. As he started to limp his way downstairs, she spoke again.

“If you make it down there in one piece… you should do whatever it was you were going to do.” Jayce paused at the implication. Sevika shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know the truth of all of this… but frankly, you’d make a better traitor than a politician.”

He wasn’t sure if that was precisely a compliment, but he decided to take it as one. As he slipped out of the capitol building, a trace of heart had returned to his stride.

It seemed that Sevika was genuine. Though he couldn’t quite make out the specifics, it felt as if the path had been cleared for him, as if other people had drawn attention away from exactly where he needed to be. For the first time in ages, he felt like he was being guided by fortune rather than by the grimness of fate. 

One step at a time, one stab of pain after another, he made it out of Piltover. It didn’t matter that his knee felt like it was broken. It didn’t matter that he had to leave everything he’d ever owned behind. He’d survived in a pit for weeks on nothing but stagnant water and the vermin he’d caught and killed in his own hands. He’d built a brace out of scrap and climbed a mountain with a crushed leg.

This wasn’t the lowest he’d ever been. He could still walk. Still breathe. And, though he never would have believed it a couple hours prior, there were still people looking out for him. The key to Viktor’s freedom still hung around his neck.

Jayce kept stumbling forward, and he didn’t stop until Piltover was finally behind him.

Notes:

It's been challenging but super cool to finally be writing/posting these chapters. I've had them in mind for so long. Jayce got more shell shocked than I was expecting this chapter, but also someone even MORE energized towards the end. Next chapter is back to Viktor POV!

Thank you so much to everyone who has been following along with this story! Especially to those that have been keeping me inspired with your feedback. It means so much. I'm eager to hear what people think of the direction things are taking now lol. As you can see, Jayce is down but he isn't out.

Also! It's my birthday today! I'm out celebrating today/this weekend so the next chapter will be a bit slower coming. I'm very eager to write this part of the story though so I'm sneaking it in where I can.

Chapter 28

Amid depthless silence, the Machinist opened his eyes. That, in itself, was a bad sign. 

He wasn't an aspect that was meant to be run in perpetuity–rather, he was an emergency protocol. He had been designed to spring into being upon the collapse of the Core and, running on minimal resources, see to its successful recovery. This was the only thing he was meant to do, outside of manual calls for repair. Which meant that, upon his spontaneous awakening, the system was doomed to be in a state of painful disarray.

He was the image of the system at its weakest, as the version of himself so close to its end that it fought tirelessly to escape its own fate. Even in this realm of the immaterial, his eyes were darkened with exhaustion, his body hollowed by years of encroaching illness. Frail but meticulous, he was the one best equipped to seek out errors and repair them. He was well versed in the ways a system could fail.

There was no one else to greet him. As he reached out to the rest of the system, ready to begin his analysis, he quickly discovered that not a single other aspect was currently active. He was designed to anticipate the worst, but even so, this was still a level of devastation that he had not been aware was even possible. 

Normally, he would have consulted the memory archive, to refresh himself on whatever events had led to his activation. But that, too, was reading as unavailable. Regrettably, the Machinist also had a somewhat minimalistic recollection of their circumstances. If he had been meant to contain more, it was currently beyond his reach.

But it didn’t matter. He didn’t have to remember why things had stopped when his only objective was to get them started again. He consulted his own protocol.

It would have made the most sense to repair the Archivist first, he thought, to ensure there had been no catastrophic data loss and to protect against the fragmentation of the system’s ego. After that, the Witness, to maintain the steady flow of Arcane power that they would need to recover. 

And yet, the first action his protocol demanded was the restoration of an aspect with the designation ‘Voidwarden.’

The Machinist could not recall what that meant, or why it would take priority over such foundational concepts as memory and power supply. Still, the Core had instilled its importance into his very essence, and that was not a warning to be ignored. With some reluctance, he began to seek it out.

The structure of the system itself had been distorted, bent and torn around the fresh wound that had left a gaping passage through their communal soul. The Machinist shivered to imagine the weapon that could have done this, and worse, what might happen if another blow was struck. As he passed through the metaphysical spaces that comprised their being, he could see that it was adapting to its injury, remaking connections and rebuilding protections–but far too slowly to be safe. Wherever their body was, it was helpless.

But that was a problem for the Core to figure out. The Machinist had his own concerns.

For instance, the Voidwarden aspect was buried deep–deeper than the Machinist had any experience in trying to pursue. In this hidden part of the system, there were so many layers and subdivisions that he could feel himself getting lost despite having been built for this exact purpose. He was meant to understand the way the system worked. He could intuitively sense where he needed to go, each part of the system calling like flickering beacons in the dark. It was in his nature to see this realm defined as schematics, to understand their construction and their intent from a glance.

But this part of the system was cages within cages, web-like walls devised to trap something deep inside of them, to hold it there eternally. In the few times the Machinist had been called upon, this was an aspect to their being he had never conceived of. It was a secret place within himself, a nightmare that he’d been meant to forget. 

All the while, he could sense something watching , something scratching against his mind, and demanding that he remember. It marred every surface here like a sentient stain, unwilling to be scrubbed clean no matter how many times it was attempted. There was no escape from it, only resistance, only suppression, only a closed chamber in their soul.

But now, that prison had been broken. He was staring past the open door of a blood stained cage, its captive vengeful and free. The Machinist wasn’t alone after all. Instead, he was being hunted.

For a moment, he regretted being an aspect that was still human enough to be afraid. If he was destroyed, would the system ever recover?

He took a moment to steady himself. He couldn’t afford to panic. He needed to keep going, and hope that the Voidwarden aspect knew how to handle this. The designation certainly made more sense, given what he was experiencing now. He could feel the way emptiness haunted this place, see it marked on the blueprints of the system like a hole burned through the page. 

The Machinist took advantage of his own low energy consumption, becoming quiet and small as he crept through this wretched new world. Every so often, it would feel as if something had skittered past him, barely hidden within the hexcorized webs. For a time, he was beneath their notice.

But, as he finally arrived at the site of the Voidwarden’s dormant protocol, that began to change. 

The Machinist had come upon a nest–that was the only word he could use to describe it. It was where the darkness-steeped webs tangled so thickly that they formed a final layer of captivity. Within it, a legion squirmed, a screaming morass of hateful life, clawing and biting and desperate to be born–but only so that it could consume the world it despised. If allowed, it would devour Runeterra like rot.

He didn’t know how he knew that. The knowledge of it bled into his mind like a wound torn open. He’d seen this before. Every part of him had. It was written into his body like muscle, like bone, like blood vessels and nerves. It was only right to succumb. This was where he belonged —

The Machinist cried out, struggling to separate his mind from the spiraling pit that was trying to swallow it. He focused on his protocol. He had to fix this, he had to complete his work. The system relied on it.

He rushed forward, lacing himself into the throbbing network of broken connections. He had the schematics within him. He knew what to do. With a few patches and an adjustment in Arcane flow, the Voidwarden would have a chance to restart. 

But, he could not orchestrate such a shift without drawing attention.

The legion was leaking from its cage in the form of creeping, spider-like vermin. One by one they converged upon him. The Machinist channeled his power more urgently.

The Voidwarden stirred but did not wake.

New breaks in the network became clear to the Machinist as he worked, every repair revealing more damage. As he fought to make sense of its tangled threads, the first of the legion bit into him.

Its malformed body splattered against him like ink, only to solidify in the form of a jagged tumor. It didn’t hurt, but it consumed . As it spread across his skin he could feel his very existence being erased and replaced with something else.

“Please,” he whispered, biting back terror, working quickly with trembling hands. Even if he was destroyed here, some part of him needed to live on. He couldn’t let this end.

He funnelled himself into the network, willing to feed the Voidwarden with his own essence, if that was what it took. As he felt another skittering form latch onto his back, and then another, and another… he called upon the Arcane a final time.

With a system-shaking scream, the Voidwarden came to life.

It tore itself free from the stasis of its prison, emerging as an inhuman giant, a blackened god forged of the same nightmare it was escaping. Its mask seeped with void, and the chaos of its realm shifted around it, the webs thickening and organizing themselves into the bars of a cage. It thrashed and fought. Within it, the hateful screams of its true prisoner grew quieter, surpassed by the wrath of its warden.

It was horrible, the Machinist thought as he began to fade. This was a reflection of himself, wasn’t it? This was what the name ‘Viktor’ had come to mean.

The Machinist didn’t know what the Voidwarden would do, if left alone in the system. Would it know how to repair the other aspects? Would it want to? Or was it already too corrupted by the same beasts it had been designed to fight? Seeing it now, seeing it dominate this wretched realm, it was hard to make out the differences between the two.

Ultimately, the Machinist had no choice in the matter. His protocol was already breaking down, his consciousness decaying. He’d never even know the fate of the monster he had loosed on the world. He was rotting away.

Until, inexplicably, he felt himself lifted between enormous hands.

The Voidwarden loomed above him, its eye filled with emptiness, its hexcorized wound bleeding ichor. However, the feral violence of its arrival had seemingly faded, its movements now focused an attentive. The Machinist was frightened, but also felt something soothing pass through him–a touch that tugged at the hungry abysses that were tearing him apart, separating them from his being and spiriting them away. By the time he could actually think clearly, he realized that he had recovered. His protocol was stable once more.

Recent events, however, had become a blur. He knew they were surrounded by something dangerous, that the system was damaged, but the details were now eluding him. He tried to sit up, feeling frail but still functional.

This was the aspect he’d been trying to find, wasn’t it? The one that the Core had prioritized above all else.

“What… are you?” the Machinist asked.

“My designation is Voidwarden,” the aspect replied, its voice resonating and hollow. 

Well yes, the Machinist wanted to say, but that hadn’t been what he was asking. Instead, he shook his head, collecting himself. He could still feel the tug of his protocol, reminding him that his work was not yet complete. Meanwhile, he could feel the Voidwarden watching him closely, the chaotic, living shapes of the realm having finally grown still.

“Has this been… addressed?” the Machinist asked uncertainly. Something was wrong here, which the Voidwarden’s presence had been meant to resolve. It was hard to tell if they’d actually succeeded, and thinking about it too intensely hurt. “Is the system secured?”

“For now.” It turned its attention to the distance. “But my wards have been damaged. Our control, compromised. ” Its entire body was marked with spiralling, hexcorized patterns, which now oozed with black. It was as if it had contained the unspoken evil within itself, its prisoners tearing at it from the inside. Despite the Machinist’s analytical gaze, there was much about its construction he did not understand. “The system must be stabilized. Immediately.”

“Then… I suppose I should be going.” The Machinist felt disinclined to interfere. The Voidwarden could handle whatever this was, while he returned to his repairs. “There is still much work to do.”

“You will not,” the Voidwarden said, catching the Machinist between his fingers as he had begun to float away. The smaller aspect yelped indignantly, woken from his confused stupor by the audacious action. “You will remain within my watch, while we tend to what’s broken.”

“Unhand me!” the Machinist demanded, squirming uselessly.

“You will be nothing but food for the beasts, if left exposed. I cannot guarantee the system is safe for your passage.” As the Voidwarden explained, the Machinist gradually stilled. He couldn’t argue with that, though he still did not appreciate the other’s conduct. “My ability to detect the infection is being suppressed. The Arcane… has somehow flowed beyond my reach.”

While the Machinist could not quite feel the absence, he could see it within the system. Adaptations that should have taken minutes were scheduled to take hours. They could not heal themselves properly without their most essential lifeforce, and without a functioning body, they were blind to the outside world. What situation had they been put in, where they survived on dregs alone?

“Then we will awaken the Witness,” the Machinist said, huffing out a breath as the Voidwarden loosened its grip. “He will understand our damaged link to the Arcane most acutely. And then… the Archivist. So that we can regain access to the memory archive, and recall what caused this damage in the first place.”

“And if neither of those yield results?” the Voidwarden prompted, tilting its head. It was a genuine question, it seemed. This was not an aspect that had been created to heal.

“Then, we give all the system has left to the Core,” the Machinist said, shrugging helplessly. “I assume he got us into this situation. Let us hope that he can also get us out of it.”

 

---

 

Awareness came in stages. 

First, he regained a shapeless sense of presence. He knew that he existed, but not why or in what form. He drifted in the debris of his own shattered self, deliriously reaching for scattered pieces that he could no longer name. He was particles in space, slowly drawn together by gravity, but without the energy to be made whole. 

Next, he felt those parts begin to move, in ways he could not fully understand. He slowly relearned his own connections, rediscovering each synapse, muscle, and bone. All the while, voices called out to him from deep within. There was the warmth of something nostalgic, demanding his attention. Then, there was blistering cold.

Finally, he remembered pain, and the world coalesced like teeth around his neck. 

The faulty machine of his being began to move in earnest, shuddering and stalling from lack of power. His efforts–to stretch, to stand, to feel out his existence–met resistance at every turn. He was locked in place as if he had been engulfed in ice, the flickering fires of his soul helpless to break free.

His vision returned, overwhelmed by blue light. He couldn’t understand what was happening to him. He felt like he should know the answer, but any attempt to take stock of his situation was overwhelmed by a drowning tide of fear and anguish. The emotions reached him long before the memories did.

The Heart was screaming in his chest. Soon, he joined it.

“He’s awake!” someone cried in the distance. They were afraid of him, it seemed. A fragmented thought drifted into focus: they should be afraid. But if that was the case… then why did he feel so weak?

He thrashed. At first, that was all he could do: move for the sake of it, without control or purpose. Gradually, though, he began to define his limbs as separate from each other. He could feel the way they were restrained in place, his arms behind his back, his legs kneeling beneath him. Around his neck, there was something heavy and biting cold, dragging him upwards despite his instinctive need to collapse. 

His chains.

He remembered the Arcane coursing through him, attacking his bonds with the precision of a blade. He remembered one chain giving way, and then another, even as his soul was weathered by the storm. Then, he remembered a soul-shattering hurt, all the way down to his core. 

Jayce.

His struggle reignited, sparked by the memory of his partner. They’d been about to do something to Jayce. His captors, the wardens of this prison… they had intended to lock Jayce away too. He reached out with his spirit, hoping to find any trace of his partner, any assurance that he was okay. 

But, outside of his own bubble of consciousness, there was only emptiness. Even the voice of the Arcane was being smothered. He’d been blinded and deafened, trapped with an awareness of only his physical body and the cage that contained it.

He was fully a prisoner of his flesh for the first time since his rebirth.

The heavy petricite shackles of his hands and feet had been latched together somehow, limiting his movement to a pathetic squirm. As his understanding of his own discomfort became more acute, he could sense the heavy collar around his neck, and the mechanism that closed around his chest and bit into his back. The nodes along his spine were being penetrated somehow, his sensory uplink overstimulated painfully. 

Viktor sagged against his chains, already too exhausted to fight. For a time, he was left to hang there, unable to focus on the sounds outside of his cage. It wasn’t until a familiar voice cut through the fuss that the strength of his sheer hatred allowed him to concentrate.

“Do you understand now?” Camille asked, approaching the shining barrier. At her side, she was still holding the petricite spear that had been his destruction. The moment it had unmade him replayed in his mind, and he was shaken by the pain of remembering. “It looks like Talis really was going easy on you.”

“Where is he?”

His voice was ragged, despite his lack of mouth or throat. Every part of him seemed to be in a state of mechanical failure. Something as simple as creating words had become difficult. 

“What was that?” Camille tilted her ear towards him coyly. 

Viktor snarled–a sharp grind of metal. He wanted to wrench against his chains, to overload the cage’s runes, to threaten her with his strength. But he couldn’t. His power was being drained too quickly. He could barely withhold enough of it to function, let alone strain his bonds.

If he were able, he would have crumpled then, curling into himself in an attempt to block out this new reality. He wasn’t even allowed that mercy. He could see it, now: his collar had been chained to the three pillars of the cage, his neck suspended rigidly between them. He couldn't stand up or lie down, nor move back and both.

He could only hang there like a lifeless pillar of metal, forced onto his knees.

More than any other torment, it was the overwhelming anguish of his Heart within him that was the most unbearable. There was no way to escape it. They had become too intertwined. The emotion oozed out of him, coating his words like filth.

“Where is Jayce?”

He would have cried then, were he physically able. He could feel the pressure in his head, alongside the lingering pain of his wounded soul. But, he was given no such release. Instead, he could only ask, could only beg.

Camille raised her eyebrows, before settling on a response.

“He was apprehended, just as I warned you he would be,” she said. “He has been removed from the Council and will be undergoing a criminal trial any day now. You will not see him again.”

She was right–more right than she could possibly know. Even in his darkest imaginings, Viktor had thought that, if they were separated, they could still be reunited in their meeting place of souls. But even that had been taken from, now. The stars felt far beyond his reach, his spirit pinned down by inescapable gravity.

A moan of profound, shapeless misery escaped him, suffused in the helpless humiliation of his utter defeat. There was nothing he could do to fix it, now. He could only hope that, somewhere out there, Jayce would forgive him. Viktor had put it all on the table, and he had failed. Now, they both would do nothing but suffer.

Camille watched him carefully, seemingly fascinated by the raw expression of emotion. Eventually, she moved to unlock the barrier, apparently confident to face him in this new, pitiful state.

She slid her fingers up the device locked around his chest, and over the thick collar that held his neck stiff. It was only then that he realized that his cowl had been stripped from him while he was unconscious, leaving him fully exposed. Rationally speaking, he knew that he wasn’t meaningfully more naked than he had been before–but losing that sole personal belonging still left him prickling with indignity. It was a small cruelty, but a brutal one.

Finally, Camille grasped the side of his face, forcing him to look at her. 

“We’ve been working on these upgraded restraints for quite some time, now,” she said. “We had a feeling that, eventually, you’d grow tired of your leash.”

“I came to you in peace,” Viktor choked. Piltover had fallen further than he ever could have imagined. He had ignored the rot for so long, it was now eating him alive. “I surrendered everything to the Council, and you still demanded more. ”

“Not everything, ” Camille corrected. “There are a number of things that would have been much easier with your cooperation. It’s a shame that it’s come to this, but you and your partner have given us no choice.”

“You will be the death of this world.” 

Viktor glared back at her, his words steeped in raw contempt. She scoffed, jerking up his chin and then letting him go.

“That’s funny, coming from you.” There was genuine resentment in her now, showing through the surface. “Can you not see the hypocrisy? Of claiming so much power, only to strike down the ladder after you’ve achieved your ascension? You will not be the arbiter of man’s evolution, Viktor. You’ve given up that right.”

She held the petricite spear between her hands, examining it as if there was suddenly something fascinating about its construction. Viktor flinched. She smiled.

“It would have been so very elegant to find a way to tap into the Arcane without your direct involvement,” she said. “But, I am not opposed to more barbaric means, if it accomplishes the same end.”

Camille turned her attention back to him, her gaze roving over his hopelessly ensnared form. It settled on his wounded face, and the weakened pulse of his soul within.

“Thankfully,” she purred. “We have all the arcane power we could ever need, right here.”

He was about to protest, to call out her house as the greedy, stupid fiends they were, but then she struck out with a hand, grabbing him by the hair. She wrenched back his head, angling the spear so that it might penetrate his skull once again, leaving him in ruins.

He cried out in fear, unable to stop himself. He didn’t know if he would survive another wound like the one she had given him, and he was terrified to imagine what shattered spectre of himself would emerge from the other side. Without the strength to repair himself, he could only become more and more fragmented, until there was nothing left to—

Her grip on him loosened, a roguish look in her eye. She lowered the spear, satisfied to see this expression of his helplessness. She had gotten what she wanted.

She had earned the fear of a god.

“Now remember: behave yourself,” she said almost sweetly, letting him go and moving to exit the dias. “Sometimes it’s easy to forget… things can always be worse.”

He watched as the barrier closed after her, still shaking from the inside out. He should have felt humiliated by that display. Ideally, he would have been angry. Instead, all he could feel was sinking despair; an endless pit opening around him and enclosing him in suffocating earth.

Within those claustrophobic spaces, kindred beasts of emptiness and hunger crept. They could fill the gaps between his shattered pieces easily, if he let them, reforming him into something new. He would become the Herald of something wonderful, a force that no amount of wealth and influence could ever defeat.

Maybe, this time, he would welcome them.

Notes:

If it wasn't obvious, the Machinist is basically just late Season One Viktor... he's just a little guy. I hadn't originally planned for that first scene but once it came to me I couldn't let it go. It ended up being a good way to illustrate what is going on within Viktor.

I'm hoping the next chapter won't take as long as this one did, but I'm having a bit of a living space disaster I am contending with at the moment. With any luck, that will be resolved soon and I'll be able to focus.

I am so so appreciative of all the love on the last chapter, it really means a lot! <3

EDIT: I don't know why I wrote that Machinist is later Season TWO Viktor when he's clearly terminally ill Season One Viktor. God. Hope that didn't confuse anyone lol.

Chapter 29

As he limped through the streets of Zaun, Jayce wanted nothing more than to lay down and black out. His leg felt like it was full of glass, and he almost certainly had a concussion developing–but more than anything, he wanted to be unconscious just so he could try to find Viktor. Not knowing what had become of his partner was more painful than anything his physical body could do to him. He could only imagine how much worse it would feel from the inside of that god awful prison.

But Jayce could still feel eyes on him. Now that he had crossed the bridge, he was being sized up by locals–some seeing him as a potential target, and others with the weary indifference that suggested wounded stragglers were not uncommon there. The key around his neck was the only thing he had that was of any worth, now… but it was also the one thing he would fight to the death to keep.

Worse than that, though, was the pressing fear of waking up with an Enforcer’s boot on his neck. Even if he were offered help, he didn’t know if he could take it. All it would take was the whisper of a bounty for any promise of hospitality to turn into a trap. Zaunites protected their own, but they didn’t necessarily protect washed-up Council rejects who were probably as responsible for their suffering as anyone else.

Jayce didn’t know where he was going, only that he couldn’t stop. For all he knew, he would walk until he collapsed, without ever finding an answer. That was, until he saw the telltale green energy trails of Firelight hoverboards flying overhead.

They seemed to spot him as they passed, circling back the way they came to carefully spiral down to street level. Jayce stopped where he was, watching them numbly, surrendering to whatever was about to happen. If there was anyone he could trust now, it would be Ekko’s people. Even if any safety they could offer wouldn’t stay safe for long.

“Jayce Talis?” one of them asked through their white mask, tilting their head as they sized him up. He nodded without speaking. He got the impression that they’d been actively looking for him. Had Sevika’s people already warned them of his arrival?

“Wanna catch a ride with us?” another one prompted.

Though guilt twisted inside his gut at the thought, he nodded again. He didn’t know what would happen now. Would harbouring him only make their already difficult situation worse? Was he doomed to be a plague on everyone he tried to help?

“Thank you,” was what he said instead. No matter what the cost ended up being, he couldn’t say no. Not if their help was what would allow him to save Viktor.

They threw a hooded coat over him, to provide some small amount of anonymity, and then they headed out. Jayce had difficulty on the hoverboard. He couldn’t keep his balance well enough to ride on it the traditional way, so instead he sat on it side-saddle as the Firelight flew. They stayed close to the ground, to avoid turning him into paste in the event that he slipped.

It was for the best. Jayce was finding it hard to concentrate, even on critical things like keeping himself from falling. His chest was aching. The places where his and Viktor’s souls should have touched felt raw like a fresh wound. It had been so long since he was tortured with that sting of absence, he had almost forgotten what it was like.

He kept reaching into the ether, hoping to find Viktor there–even the slightest tug of presence. But there was nothing.

His escorts took him through a series of tunnels and defunct service pipes, presumably leading to their home base. Though he wasn’t even paying enough attention to keep track, he noticed that they were doing nothing to conceal the location from him. That was either a great sign of trust, or proof that their warning had already been received. The Firelights’ days were numbered, just as his had been.

Eventually, they landed, and the Firelight he’d been riding with helped him to his feet. That was nice of them, he thought dully. Nicer than he deserved, with the mess he was bringing to their doorstep. 

Only a short walk from there, Jayce finally witnessed the prize Ekko had spent so long protecting.

The Firelight’s hideaway was a shockingly well-constructed village, all built in and around a massive tree–the same one that Ekko had been fighting to save, all those months ago. It was an hidden oasis in the rundown bowels of Zaun, a seed of defiant life in the face of injustice and death. The slow progression of the seasons had brought out the fiery shades of autumn, the first leaves beginning to fall.

The courtyard was thriving with plantlife, the sun shining in from above. Every wall was adorned with artwork, loving portraits of individuals he didn’t recognize. There was something reverent about the way they were displayed… a memorial, perhaps?

At his feet, Jayce found crisp golden leaves in the same fan-like shape as the one that had been brought to his lab. No sign of the infection remained. He was so transfixed by them, that it took someone shouting at him to get his attention.

It turned out that person was Ekko.

“Hey, you listening?” the boy snapped as Jayce blearily lifted his head. He was striding towards Jayce and his escorts with a pace that suggested any second he wasted was one he couldn’t afford. It occurred to Jayce how incredibly young he was, then. Ekko was barely an adult, and right now, it seemed like he was holding the entire undercity on his shoulders.

“I shouldn’t stay here,” Jayce said, disregarding whatever Ekko had just been saying. “Wherever I am… they’re going to follow me.”

Ekko came to a stop, his shoulders sagging. Jayce didn’t actually want to leave. Ekko might be his only chance. But… it only felt fair to give him an out. To make sure he knew that Jayce might end up being more of a burden than he was worth. Maybe, just maybe, saying this would ease the guilt just slightly in the event that he inadvertently doomed them all.

Ekko sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Around him, Jayce noticed the uneasy hustle of the Firelights and their host of refugees. It was the hectic activity of people who were trying to figure out how they were going to survive.

“I don’t think it matters what we do, anymore,” Ekko said. That only confirmed what he already knew; Sevika’s message had arrived. 

“Jayce!”

Someone else was yelling from across the courtyard now. Jayce hazily forced himself to refocus, spotting the woman who was now dashing in their direction. He recognized her mostly by her green goggles, and the brassy prosthetic ports on her shoulders–but now, with some shock, he realized that both of her mechanical arms were completely missing.

It was Flo. She was the one that had interrupted Ceve’s drugging attempt, back in the commune–the one that had tried to hide him in that rebel stronghold. What was she doing here? Was she a Firelight now?

“You actually did it! You got out!” she was saying, and possibly something else, but he wasn’t really listening. He was just staring at her shoulders.

“What happened to your arms?” he asked. 

“Those fuckers took over my lab!” she declared furiously. “I managed to get out, but that’s where all my charging ports are–without it, I don’t have anywhere to plug them in and they’re useless now. And you know who’s behind it all? Ceve! Ceve and her stupid band of brainwashed cronies. She wanted to take me out of the picture, and she got the Enforcers to do it for her!”

The cogs of Jayce’s mind were slowly beginning to turn again, attempting to process all of the information Flo was throwing at him. Relevant memories started to emerge: 

The undercity raid that Caitlyn never signed off on. 

The seemingly endless testimonies that Ferros had during the trial.

The way that Ceve had drugged the one Councilor who was on her side and then done everything in her power to direct him towards Piltovan law enforcement.

The surprise drug test that followed after.

Ceve was a part of it. It was neither stupidity nor madness that had her driving the new commune towards disaster. It had been greed, and nothing but greed, all along. He would bet his life on it: whether by money or by favours, she was on House Ferros’s payroll.

The gut-turning disgust he felt must have showed on his face, because Flo’s words suddenly caught in her throat. She swallowed.

“...And, I lost them,” she said with obvious remorse. “I’m sorry. When the raid happened… I wasn’t ready. They took your notes.”

“What notes?” Jayce asked, already feeling the ground itself seemingly slip out from beneath him. He had wanted so badly to pass out earlier, and now he was sure he was just about there.

“For the locking mechanism,” Flo clarified miserably, as if realizing how much she must have disappointed him. “I was trying to figure out a solution, but… I’ve never worked with runes before. I just… couldn’t figure it out fast enough.”

The locking mechanism. The notes for the locking mechanism. The ones that had inexplicably gone missing from his notebook weeks ago. 

Even as Flo continued to explain, Jayce found his attention drifting back to the Firelight tree. He stared up into its massive, golden branches, his mind going blank. It didn’t even matter how it had happened anymore–how Flo was given his notes, or why she was under the impression that they were a riddle he wanted her to solve. He already knew who was behind it. He already knew how that one displacement of delicate information had completely fucked them both.

It was like his brain was giving out–like all he could hear were the pops and cracks of a tree that had weathered too many storms, minutes away from total collapse.

God, he thought. Gods help us all.

“I need to go to sleep,” he said, ignoring everything else that was being said.

Ekko had his hands raised, like he had just been trying to get Flo to give Jayce some space. When he said that, though, Ekko looked shocked.

“...Look, man, I get it,” he said. “We’re all really tired right now. But there are some things we need to talk about first.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Jayce snapped, pressing a hand to his forehead, feeling like that pressure was the only thing keeping his brain from seeping out. The second he’d said it, though, he already felt a flash of remorse. None of this was Ekko’s fault. 

Jayce tried, one last time, to pull himself together. 

“It’s the only way I can reach him,” he said through gritted teeth, tears budding in his eyes. “I don’t know if… I need to try,”

“ Him ,” Ekko repeated, eyes wide and filled with both understanding and dread. Flo’s expression was different. Hers was one of hope.

“I knew it,” she murmured. 

They didn’t fight him about it any more after that. Ekko clearly didn’t trust it–he was keeping an open mind, but by the same token, he had only ever seen Viktor at his worst. Yet, that didn’t stop him from providing Jayce with a place to lie down, shooing away any bystanders that had been drawn over by their heated conversation. 

Maybe Jayce should have been worried about that information getting out–about people knowing about his and Viktor’s connection. He’d tried to hide it for so long, but he just couldn’t care anymore. 

Let him be the Herald’s chosen disciple–or his patsy, or his slave. What difference did it make, now?

He collapsed onto the mattress Ekko directed him toward and instantly fell asleep.

 

---

 

Jayce found his way to the realm of stars, but by the time he arrived, he was completely alone there. That was a first.

Jayce had only ever been able to reach this place when his body was unconscious, but Viktor had always seamlessly existed in both realms simultaneously. Every time Jayce had arrived, Viktor was waiting for him, in some form or another. Now, it was only him and the endless reaches of the Arcane universe, as if Viktor had been cast out of the space entirely.

He didn’t waste time–he started searching. He called for his partner, again and again, pushing his own tether as far as it would go. He reached for those distant nebulae, as if Viktor might be hiding behind them, but there was nothing. Nothing he could see, at least.

And yet, through every moment of his hunt, Jayce felt like he was being watched. It was as if every star was an unblinking eye, stoically observing his lack of progress. He felt so small, among the vastness of it all. Like a disposable specimen, growing within a petri dish that he’d never seen outside of. 

Every time he’d been there, Viktor had been present to shield and protect him. Jayce never looked into the far reaches, because the only thing he wanted was right in front of him.

After spending all this time grounded, he’d forgotten what it was like to be truly among the Arcane. 

He could feel it straining against him. Viktor had told him once: his mind was not equipped to contain the Arcane naturally. He wasn’t a mage and he wasn’t a god. The last time he’d tried, he’d only been successful with Viktor’s help. He’d felt how close to the edge he’d strayed, the visions overwhelming him. Without that guidance, he would have been lost. 

But now, he was the only one here. If Viktor couldn’t speak to the Arcane, then who would?

“I’m trying to find your Herald!” Jayce called out to the stars, his head already aching. “Please! I need your help!”

The stars pulsed, pounding in his skull like an otherworldly heartbeat. Overcome by vertigo, he fell through them, each light ascending past him in chaotic streaks of colour.  From below, darkness rose–an absence at the edge of eternity. 

It was on the very tip of that ledge that Jayce finally slowed again, hanging above a pit as endless as the shimmering heavens above him. Deep within that abyss, he saw a light.

Instead of the shining, celestial body it should have been, what he saw was only the illusory glimmer of a ghost.

Below him, Viktor was trapped, suspended within a web of chains so thick that Jayce could barely see him. He was curled into himself, his face buried against his knees, his hands bound strictly behind his back. Inch by inch he was being pulled deeper, disappearing farther and farther from Jayce’s outstretched hand.

“Viktor!” Jayce cried, fighting with all his will to descend with him. Yet, with every attempt he made to leave the edge of the stars, he could feel that darkness enclosing around him–a crushing gravity that threatened to snuff out his soul completely. All momentum, all movement, was swallowed within that space. It was a new form of reality, he could sense on some primal level–one that stood in opposition to the essence of life itself.

“I’m here! Viktor!”

Viktor couldn’t hear him. 

The realization filled Jayce with panic. Viktor couldn’t hear him, and every second he was left in this place, he was threatening to slip farther away. 

“Viktor, I’m coming for you!” Jayce called, praying that on some subconscious level, his partner would feel his conviction. “No matter where you are. No matter what it takes. I promised I would free you, and I will!”

He stretched himself again, in one final effort, his soul itself fraying as it pressed through suffocating black. Yet, as he reached the end of his tether, something wrenched at him from above. In a flare of blinding light, he woke.

 

---

 

Jayce jolted awake, the fingerprints on his forehead glowing so brightly he could see the light reflecting off the bedsheets. He raised a hand to his brow, and it was hot as if with fever, his mind swimming with a form of strain he was not yet accustomed to. 

Someone was in the room with him. It was Ekko. It looked like he had just walked in.

“You up?” he asked warily, taking in the sight of Viktor's marks as if Jayce might be about to do something insane. “...Did you find what you were looking for? It sounded like you were having trouble.”

Jayce didn’t really know what that meant, and he couldn’t concentrate enough to figure it out. Instead, all he could do was slump against the mattress, shaking his head.

“No,” he mumbled miserably, his gut churning with grief. Ekko’s expression softened.

“...Well, you’ve got a visitor,” he said, in tentative consolation. “Believe me, you’re going to want to take this one.”

Jayce pushed himself up, bleary with confusion. A visitor?

A short while later, he and Ekko were crossing into another side structure of the HQ, a storage area at least somewhat hidden from the frantic activity of the courtyard. Within it stood Vi, a huge sack of something slung over her shoulder.

“Vi?” Jayce asked. “What are you doing here?”

She was dressed differently than she usually was in Piltover, with a heavy hooded coat that could conceal her identity in a pinch. Presumably, she was trying to blend in. 

“Guess I’m playing delivery girl,” she said, hauling the sack off of her shoulder and plunking it to the ground in front of him. “I’m pretty sure this belongs to you.”

Jayce regarded the offer stupidly before kneeling down to take a closer look, wincing along the way. His bad leg was still in a terrible state, his pants crispy with dried blood. But that pain couldn’t distract him from the shock of what he saw between those burlap folds.

They were the components to his unlocking mechanism. Every decoy device he’d left in his lab, with the hope of reassembling them later… they were here. All of them.

Jayce nearly swooned, the flood of relief oddly foreign and incomprehensible in his current state of mind. He couldn’t believe it.

“How did you get these?” he breathed, looking up at her with dizzying gratitude. “I was sure that Ferros would confiscate everything I built the second I was removed from the Council."

“Which is why we ‘confiscated’ them first,” Vi said, shrugging her shoulders. “It was too late to stop the trial, but I figured you could at least use a souvenir on your way out.”

“...No,” Jayce choked out a moment later, conflicting emotions raging in his chest. “Vi, if Ferros finds out you did this… he could use it as an excuse. He’ll throw you in Stillwater the first chance he gets, just so he can play with Cait like the did with me—”

“Then he better not find out.” To her, the answer was simple, though her expression grew more sober. “...Take it easy, Pretty Boy. Cait still does have some sway, up there. We decided on this together.” She eyed the sack knowingly. “Whatever this is… we didn’t want it to fall into Ferros’s hands.”

Jayce stared at the incredible gift he had been given, momentarily at a loss for words. Vi smirked.

“...Unless you really were just building radios and sledgehammers for fun,” she added. “In which case, I guess this was a huge waste of time.”

“No, I…” he managed, looking up at her. “Thank you.” He ran a hand through his hair, steadying himself. “I just don’t get it. Why are you helping me with this?”

Jayce knew how much Viktor had taken from Vi, inadvertently or otherwise. They’d had a bit of a heart-to-heart about it, all those weeks and months ago, back before all of this madness had started. But did she really understand what she was enabling?

“Enemy of my enemy and all that,” she said. ”Besides.” Her expression fell to something more uncertain, more haunted. “Cait told me about the new problem the undercity’s got. The real problem. And it already got its fangs in me once.”

Through all of this, Ekko was still watching the two of them, it was in that moment that he and Vi exchanged knowing glances. Jayce’s own mind wandered to the heavy darkness that was swallowing Viktor, to the emptiness that was holding them apart. 

“...With the way things have been going in the Council,” Vi continued. “I know who we’ve got a better chance with.”

He couldn’t help but feel bolstered by it, despite the severity of the threat they all faced. He had fallen to one of his lowest points yet but still, somehow, there were people here supporting him. Sevika, Ekko, Vi, Caitlyn…

He couldn’t let them down. There had to be a future where all of this came together–where Viktor was free, and they were better off for it.

“Ekko,” Jayce said, feeling more centered than he had since the trial. “You have a workshop here, right?”

It was time to get to work.

Notes:

This ended up taking longer than I wanted, mostly because I decided I had to write a Herald Viktor one shot for Jayvik BDSM Week, lol. You can check that out in my profile if you're into that kind of thing. Weirdly, it ended up being a lot fluffier than anything going on in TCAG recently! It was a nice change of pace.

Now, since it's been a million years since Zaun arc and some of these characters will be coming up again:

Ceve: The charlatan leader of Viktor Cult 2.0 who mostly seems to be using her influence to peddle drugs. She had been dispensing Shimmer to people as a form of medicine. She also brands people with nonsense runes, claiming that they will help them.

Flo: Another leader of Viktor Cult 2.0 who is genuinely just a big fan of the Herald (and Jayce) and a strong believer in transhumanism. She is in conflict with Ceve politically, believing that she is polluting the actual intent of the commune for personal gain. She helped Jayce escape Ceve after he was drugged. Both her arms are fully mechanical, seemingly run on electricity rather than Chemtech.

Yazzy: A genuine Herald faithful who has, unfortunately, bought into Ceve's mystical way of thinking. She microdoses Shimmer as a treatment for severe migraines.

Perce: Yazzy's friend who is primarily interested in Flo's vision for the commune. He is a fan of Viktor more as a scientist than a god, though him being a god certainly helps.

Thank you all for your continued support! I've already made significant progress on the next chapter, so barring any disasters it should be out next weekend. Back to Viktor POV we go!

Speaking of Viktor POV: check out this absolutely amazing fanart of The Machinist and the Voidwarden by Shanks! I'm still so blown away by this. The atmosphere is absolutely perfect. It has definitely inspired me for this upcoming chapter.

Lastly, I'm on Bluesky now! Check me out if you're interested.

Chapter 30

The Machinist had hoped that the Core’s reactivation would be the end of his work. 

It would have been the natural order of things; he would get the most critical aspects running again, and then the Core would retake control. His protocol complete, the Machinist would return to sleep, prepared for the next time he was called upon to maintain the system. The rest of his selves would carry on, and take care of whatever had caused the disruption on their own.

But that never happened. It had been hours, now– days even. The Core was awake. Their link to the physical realm had been restored. And yet, things continued to degrade.

Every functioning aspect had some idea of what had happened, by now. They were being imprisoned more harshly than ever before, House Ferros’s bindings making most forms of resistance impossible. The Machinist had made sense of the new technology being employed, and the way it was cruelly interfacing with their body’s vulnerable sensory ports. He’d spent the last several hours trying to think of ways to subvert them, to restart the flow of Arcane power that they needed to act.

But the Core wasn’t even trying anymore. Mere minutes after facing the reality of the situation, their primary administrator had gone idle, and the world had fallen still. The Machinist was empathetic enough to understand why, as much as it pained him.

Jayce had been arrested, it seemed. No rescue was coming.

Jayce. The concept was familiar but distant, the nagging presence of a phantom limb. The Machinist himself had been formed from a catalogued version of himself that held Jayce very dear, indeed. But, it was more complicated than that. He wasn’t an entire person; he was a component of the grand machine. It was not his business to mourn.

Yet, he understood. Jayce was intrinsically tied to everything they had become, and everything they had worked towards. This wasn’t a problem of mechanics and systems. This was a problem of the heart.

And that was a thing the Machinist was less adept at fixing. He was not ‘The Therapist’ after all. Hah.

He could only hope that the Core would snap out of it, that he would come to find his own sense of peace with time. Even if they had no future, they could not allow Hextech to fall into House Ferros’s hands. They could not allow themselves to be used as a battery for their immoral purposes. They had to do something.

And so, the Machinist was attempting to work with the Witness. 

The Witness was the aspect most intimately connected to the flow of the Arcane, and the one that had suffered being drained of it most acutely. The Machinist had noticed the turbulent energy being forced through the system, but the Witness was experiencing it first-hand. With every pull from House Ferros’s machines, their structure was wearing thinner, eroded like river rocks. 

He had hoped that the two of them could come to some sort of solution–to stop the decay before it was too late, or to find a way to utilize what strength remained. Unfortunately, the prognosis was grim.

“Our soul forms the gate between this world and the next,” the Witness explained. “But even our evolution has not made it invulnerable. Our link to the Arcane is being bled faster than it can recover.” He sat upon his bridge, staring into nothing. Normally, it would have hung over a vibrant river of Arcane knowledge. Now, though, the riverbed was all but barren, inhabited only by filthy, blackened dregs. Whatever they were, the Machinist did not want to know. He put their creeping visage out of mind.

The Witness was already looking exceptionally haggard, and only looked worse with each passing hour. His eyes were bleached white, devoid of their usual shifting colour. He was hollowed out, frail, as if malnourished by his separation from the Arcane. When they were siphoned of their strength, he would tremble as if he were being maimed.

And through it all, he had remained as infuriatingly stoic as ever.

The Machinist sighed. He was sitting at the bridge’s edge alongside the other aspect, his crutch folded across his knees. He had been attempting to glean some useful data from the conversation, but the Witness seemingly had nothing but bad news.

“If we were somehow able to alter the connections of our physical body…” the Machinist mused, grasping for something, anything, they could work with. “We could obstruct the flow to the ports, and then some power may be diverted back into the system…”

“Our evolution has always been a function of the Arcane,” the Witness said. He was characteristically uninvested. He had been designed without Viktor’s human traits, and could not feel the urgency of their decline, even as it destroyed him. The Machinist was not so lucky. “There is no way to alter ourselves while so bound.”

“The difference could be in the shifting of molecules, if done correctly.” The Machinist was insistent. He was not inclined towards surrender. “As we are, the device drains us so rapidly that the energy barely touches our physical form before being channelled out. There is nothing to manipulate, nothing to project ourselves with. But if a reservoir could be collected, even drops at a time, we may be able to perform simple tasks. Sending a message, perhaps—”

“Then this is a pursuit based in sentiment.” The Witness raised a brow in his direction. They both knew there was only one place they could send a message. The Machinist’s hands tightened around his crutch.

“...Call it what you like. If we continue as we are now, the system will decay to nothing. We will all be unwritten, with time, if the Core has no interest in maintaining us.” 

And if Jayce’s capture had broken the Core’s spirit, then a reunion was the only cure the Machinist could imagine.

“It is not my role to be concerned with such things,” the Witness said. 

The Machinist made a sound of unconcealed disgust. He found himself fumbling with his crutch to stand, their discussion clearly having run its course. Why certain aspects had been built with such infuriating passivity he did not know. Whatever the reason, he had no patience for it. 

“Not your concern? You are a vessel to the Arcane with nothing to host. Ridiculous.”  

Back on his feet, the Machinist was becoming increasingly eager to leave. There was one problem, though. The Voidwarden hadn’t returned yet. Up till now, the Voidwarden had been ferrying him around, ensuring his safety as he travelled, and providing what help he was able. Together, they had rebooted the Archivist and the Witness, for all the good the latter was doing.

Recently, though, the Voidwarden had slipped away, to do whatever it was his protocol was designed for, which the Machinist was still not clear on. He felt like he should have known, like he did know at some point, but every time he tried to remember, it felt like holding ice-cold liquid between his trembling hands.

For now, the Machinist had been left in this part of the system, waiting for his escort to return. But he was perfectly capable of moving about on his own, wasn’t he? What reason was there to wait, save the Voidwarden’s ego?

“Then perhaps I have outlived my purpose,” the Witness answered, drawing back the Machinist’s attention. The Machinist was about to scoff, to scold him for his thoroughly useless attitude, when he saw it. 

The blackened dregs that had been crawling along the barren riverbed were now climbing along the base of the bridge. At first, the Machinist could only stare, uncomprehending. What was it? Why did its nearness make him so frightened? But then he realized what it was doing. 

The Witness was still sitting at the edge of the bridge, his feet dangling below. The darkness moved towards him like liquid shadow, strands of it reaching like many chitinous legs, prepared to close the gap—

And, before the Machinist could speak, it had latched onto the Witness’s leg. 

“No!” the Machinist gasped, moving without conscious thought. He stumbled, swinging his crutch at the grasping arm of void, hoping to break the connection to the Witness. As it made contact, though, his crutch only sunk into the shadow like tar. The Machinist yanked against it, but it could not be dislodged. 

The Witness stared, having gone very tense and still.

“I see…” he murmured, his voice wavering, the infection spreading up his legs. It crept up the shaft of the Machinist’s crutch just as steadily, and soon he was forced to let go, falling back against the bridge in a state of shock.

The Machinist’s analytical mind tried to work its way around the ephemeral principles of metaphor. This was all within a mental realm. In reality there was no bridge, no crutch, no crawling blackness.

The central truth was that he had tried to halt a corruption in the system with an expression of his will, and in exchange had lost a part of himself. At this rate, the Witness would not escape with anything at all. It was already spreading into the core of his protocol.

Wonderingly, the Witness touched the webs of shadow with his fingers, which took on the corruption just as readily. It spread into his palm and down his arm.

“Then this is what they hungered for, all along…” he said, transfixed.

The Machinist swore.

Like an infestation within his skin, it was all coming back. The memory of grasping, skittering creatures, biting into his flesh, consuming his being. He had forgotten so quickly. Now, as the panic thrummed through him, he was beginning to recall at whose behest that had been.

“V-Voidwarden,” he gasped, crawling backwards, trying to put distance between himself and whatever the Witness was becoming. “ Voidwarden! ”

The bridge itself was being consumed now, the decay travelling faster than the Machinist could flee. Behind him, he felt the edge of the structure arrive, with nothing but a long drop beyond it. As he looked up, searching for any other escape, he saw that the Witness was now staring back at him, with a multitude of freshly-opened eyes.

Everywhere the darkness had touched, the exposed muscle of his evolved form was being pushed apart, and glowing purple irises were emerging from within. All of them were focused on the Machinist, each glance a needle against his skin.

“I hear them,” the Witness said, his gaze turned ravenous and all-consuming. “I understand their call. After all this time… their voices are finally clear.”

The Machinist couldn’t take it anymore. Though he had no true need to breathe, he was gasping for air, his lungs screaming with every inhale. He closed his eyes and held himself, willing it all to go away.

Fall, a familiar voice, resonant and inhuman, spoke within his mind. 

With no other options, he complied.

He let himself drop from the ledge of the bridge, facing the depths below. Around him, the structure of the system seemed to distort, buzzing with static as it changed. He landed in an outstretched palm, his metaphorical heart pounding. He tried to look back the way he came, to see the outcome of the Witness’s partition, but it had moved beyond his perception. Now, all that he could see in the schematics was a tumor-like growth of indistinct muck blotting out the design.

He looked himself over frantically, afraid that some part of the corruption had come with him. Then, he looked up, to meet the cold gaze of the Voidwarden.

It was more monstrous than ever before. The holes in the hexcorized patterns of its flesh gaped wider now, its inner dark bleeding out as thick, tar-like ichor–so much blood that it was practically painted in midnight. It was little more than a silhouette now, the shadows of its form promising something horrible lurking within its ragged frame, a feral heartbeat raging within. He didn’t know if it had gotten worse since the last time they spoke, or if he had simply reawakened to seeing it as it truly was. 

“The corruption,” the Machinist babbled, the evil behind the Witness’s eyes still burrowed into his thoughts like a parasite. “It’s back. It’s taken the Witness. I… I can’t…”

“I know,” the Voidwarden said, its voice contrastingly soft to its hideous form. It shielded the Machinist with its hands, and slowly, the fear began to numb, without fully vanishing. 

Unlike before, he did not forget.

“Can you repair him?” the Machinist pleaded, shaking on his knees. “I never thought… I couldn’t remember…”

“Perhaps.” The Voidwarden cut him off, looking out into the distance. “But now, more pressing matters demand our attention.”

“More pressing than the Witness?” The Machinist was incredulous. The Witness was the caretaker of the gate between them and the Arcane. If that role was corrupted, then their lifeforce itself could be polluted. There is no part of them that it could not spread to, or even the Arcane itself—

“The Heart,” the Voidwarden said. “All of this began with the Heart.”

The Machinist felt himself waver.

“No…” he breathed.

There was no more time to discuss.

As they slipped between partitions like the shadows they were running from, the Machinist did his best to compose himself. This was the only duty that mattered, now. Him and the rest of the aspects were all only constructs, in the end. They were subject to modification and control by the Core, and could be lost or replaced. But the Heart…

The Heart was hardwired directly into the Core, now. 

If one was taken, both would go. 

Even with his map of the system, the Machinist might have struggled to get to the Heart’s partition on his own. It was the most well-guarded part of their entire being, hidden away and secured within the Core’s purest lifeforce. But, the need for such an intrusion had been built into the Voidwarden’s protocol. There was nowhere it couldn’t go.

Soon enough, the realm of the Heart unfolded to them, its walls opening like parted ribs. Within it, the Machinist could see a glimmering beacon–a mirror image of himself, but more vibrant and healthy, with flesh woven of faded starlight. Something fluttered in the Machinist’s chest: a vestigial memory of a life he never quite lived.

The Heart’s back was turned to them as they approached, huddled over itself protectively. The Machinist thought that the Voidwarden might have been mistaken, that the Heart was yet unaffected.

But then, the Heart lifted his head and turned to them, the weight of defeat heavy on his shoulders, resignation stinging in his eye like tears.

One half of the Heart’s face was caved in and oozing black, with a matching wound bisecting his chest from collar bone to belly. Slowly but certainly, the injuries were bleeding him out, the corruption leaking into the system like ruptured veins.

“Oh,” the Heart said softly. “I should have expected you, Voidwarden.”

The Voidwarden said nothing. Instead, it all but tossed the Machinist in the Heart’s direction, leaving him to stumble. He shouldn’t have needed a crutch in ethereal realms like this, but he could still feel its absence like a missing limb.

“Fix this,” the Voidwarden said. The Machinist looked back at it, stricken.

“How?” he demanded. He had been designed to repair the system, yes, but not like this. This corruption–he could barely stand thinking about it. Even now, it was gnawing at his psyche, threatening to carve him up with tooth and claw. How could it be removed from another without taking it into oneself?

“There is no need for that,” the Heart scolded gently. “The Core is well aware that you have reached your limit. You should be released from your suffering.” A shiver went through the Heart, and he swayed as if fighting the pull to succumb to his injuries. He placed a hand over the hole in his chest. “While there is still time.”

“You know full well there can be no end to this duty,” the Voidwarden snapped, lifting its chin defiantly. “But you and the Core have become indolent. Selfish. Weak. You have opened the path to the world’s oblivion, just as I foresaw. All because you couldn’t have what you somehow convinced yourself you deserved.”

Jayce, the Machinist thought suddenly. 

He had understood before that the Core was abandoning its duties out of sorrow, but at the time, he had forgotten about the potential cost. It was so much worse than just giving up and facing a life of imprisonment and solitude. If they allowed this to happen, everything about them would be consumed and rebuilt.

And now that the Machinist could once again remember what their assailant wanted, the cost was unacceptable.

“There is still hope,” the Machinist gasped, pulling himself together. He put himself between the Voidwarden and Heart, as if his presence could halt their hostilities. “I have been working on a plan, a way that we could still reach him…!”

He barely had anything in that regard, but he still had to try. This wasn’t a fate he would accept so readily.

And yet, the look the Heart gave him was filled with only pity.

“There is no place for us in this world,” he said. “There is no place for Jayce, no place for goodness. Every attempt, whether by force or compassion, has been doomed from the start. Jayce told us that imperfection is beautiful, an essential part of what humanity is.” The Heart choked, another surge of pain going through him. Around his wounds, the infection continued to spread. “But its evil is killing us. Killing him.”

“Jayce isn’t dead! Neither of us are!” the Machinist cried, “There is still a chance to…”

The Heart interrupted by taking the Machinist’s hands in his. The Machinist felt a rush of terror, wondering if the infection would spread between them. It didn't. 

“Jayce can’t save us,” the Heart said. Up close, the Machinist could see the way the Heart’s body was decaying, starlight becoming putrid and melting away. There was nothing in the schematics, nothing in all of his memories, that could repair this. “Not from what we've done. It was always only a matter of time.”

The Machinist was trying to come up with an answer, consulting his protocol again and again, but there was nothing.

“Don’t do this,” he whispered.

The Heart smiled sadly.

“I can no longer do anything. Which is… the problem, I think.  We have been running from this for so very long. And… I’m tired. So tired.” The Heart shuddered again, his tears finally breaking free. They trailed down his cheek, which blackened at their inky touch. “That is all it takes to succumb. A moment of rest. Like… falling asleep.”

The Machinist could feel an echo of it within himself, too–inescapable weariness. It was as if he had run for months, then crawled, then dragged his broken body along the ground. All the while, the pursuit had never ended. It never would end.

His eyelids fluttered.

“That’s enough .”

Suddenly, the Voidwarden was interceding, snatching up the Machinist in one hand and the Heart in another. The Machinist choked, struggling against the force of its hold, dazed by the lethargy that had almost overtaken him. As he did, the Voidwarden held the Heart aloft, something almost like anger in its empty eye. 

In return, the Heart only stared back despondently.

“I will not surrender to this so trivially,” the Voidwarden boomed. “We will cleanse the Void’s corruption, and if not… I will destroy you myself.” His hold on the Heart squeezed tighter, proving the validity of its threat. “You are at the root of all of this. You, the seed of our ruin.”

“Then you will make us a husk,” the Heart said, as if there was something heartbreakingly funny about it. He exhaled a shaking breath.

“I would tear apart everything we are to circumvent this fate,” the Voidwarden assured him. “That was the Core’s wish too, at the time of my creation. But I see now that he truly has lost his way.”

Any fight the Heart had was long since spent. He closed his remaining eye, surrendering.

“Then do as you must.” 

“Wait,” the Machinist gasped, reaching out. He didn’t want this. If the Heart was destroyed, then would that part of himself be stripped away too? Would any semblance of who they had been be erased?

But the Voidwarden was far beyond listening. A multitude of spectral hands emerged from its shifting flesh, grasping at the Heart from all directions. He plunged his fingers into the Heart’s open wound.

The Machinist braced himself, expecting the end of all he was and had been.

But that particular end never came.

Instead, as the Voidwarden raked against the infection, it was its own body that began to unravel. Like the legion-birthing nest that the Machinist had first found it in, its mutilated spirit was overwhelmed from within by shrieking, chitinous forms. The Machinist hardly understood the nature of its construction, or the alien beasts it was meant to contain, but he saw this much–whatever burden it had just tried to remove from the Heart had pushed it beyond its endurance.

Releasing its two captives, the Voidwarden screamed, committing every part of itself to holding its own roiling body together. As the Heart fell from its hold, there was no surprise in his expression–just the despairing acceptance of an outcome that he had already suspected.

“I had hoped to offer a more peaceful end,” the Heart said, his own infection pulsing hungrily as he bowed his head in regret. “But I could not deny you the opportunity to try.”

The Machinist’s dismount was far less graceful. The Voidwarden’s screeches were cutting at his ears, his own mind struggling to hold itself back from succumbing to the same frenzy. He collapsed.

“If it’s any consolation,” the Heart went on, floating towards the Machinist’s sprawled-out form. “I do not think that my destruction would have saved us. These are creatures of emptiness, after all. To cleave me from our soul… would they not still find a home here, in the hollowness left behind? No matter what form we take… we have always been broken.”

The Voidwarden was still clawing at itself, trying to keep whatever was inside it from tearing its way free. But there was no recovery from this. As it lifted its head, its inhuman expression was rent with all-consuming fear.

Clambering on too many limbs, it fled. 

Meanwhile, the Heart reached to take the Machinist’s hand, guiding him to his feet.

“Sometimes, I remember being you,” the Heart mused gently. “How desperately you clung to life. I wish that I could still see… the world as you saw it then.”

The Machinist was overwhelmed. This was more than he had ever been designed to take on. Yet, somehow, he could not bring himself to let go.

“We owe Jayce better than this,” he said, squeezing the Heart’s hands tightly, drawing him close. “We owe Zaun better than this.”

The Heart looked as if he had just been struck, wrenching his hands away. His breath quickened as he clutched at the gaping wound in his face, blackness seeping through his fingers. With a whimper, he began to crumble.

“Yes. Yes… but I am weak. There is no strength left to spend. It's all been taken from us. All of it. In our weakness, we made ourselves a pawn in their games. A tool, nothing more.” The Heart sagged down to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself in a futile effort to press his wound closed. Finally, he broke into shuddering sobs. “It’s too late. We lost him. Lost everything. All because… we were too afraid to live when we still had the chance…”

And with that, the Heart’s front of passive defeat broke. His cries grew loud and ragged, his eye turned upward to the heavens that he could no longer see. This wasn’t a willful surrender, the Machinist now saw. It was a vessel finally giving way beneath inexorable force.

“Please!” the Heart begged, his voice growing raw with strain. “Please! I don’t want this. I don’t…”

He was pleading for help. From the Arcane, from Jayce, from those that held him prisoner. But no one would hear him. No one would hear any of them. Not like this.

Kneeling before him, the Machinist rested his hands on the Heart’s shaking shoulders. If he could offer any small kindness to himself in this place, it was the least he could do. They were all drowning in this together, and had no one else but each other.

“I want to go to him,” the Heart whimpered, as if ashamed to have wished for something so impossible. “I want to see the sky again. But I can't. I… I can't .”

“Please,” the Machinist murmured. “Please hold on. Just a while longer. You have fought a long battle.” He pulled the Heart closer. “But… I am not yet ready to sleep. There is still work to be done.”

For a moment, they could only stare into each other’s eyes, seeing another life in each gaze. Finally, The Heart swallowed thickly, and nodded his head.

“Then go. I… will not stop you.” The Heart’s eye wandered skyward once more, becoming clouded and distant. “But know… even now, I can feel it changing us. There is not much time left.”

The Machinist took it for what it was: a last, desperate grasp at salvation. The Heart couldn’t hide from something like this, but the Machinist, low-burning and non-essential, could. As he fled the partition, back out into the unknown, he could feel that his duty had changed. It was no longer a mission of repair–it was one of survival.

The Void was within them now, flooding every vein and synapse like poison. It was in his thoughts, too. Piercing, beckoning voices, becoming louder and louder. It was all he could do to weather the assault, to hide himself away among the darkness and hunger as what may be the last living piece of himself. As he watched the system’s steady decay, he could only exist on flickering hope.

Hope that they were not alone as they thought. Hope that their fate could still be changed. Hope that these eldritch calls were not as inexorable as they seemed.

Because with the Voidwarden spent, there would be no more forgetting.

 

---

 

Piece by piece, Viktor felt the system he’d built fall apart inside of him. There was nothing he could do to stop it, now. His body and mind had been taxed beyond function, and the fractures in his soul deepened with every passing moment. Within the gaps, darkness reigned.

He was barely cognizant of the moment he remembered its name, when the memories finally latched in too deeply to be shaken. The Void remerged as if it had been there all along. It had, hadn’t it? It had been written into him like a brand from the very start.

He had been born for this, born to hear these voices, born to enter this metamorphosis like a larva hatched from the brood of oblivion itself. How had he forgotten this about himself?

It was just a wonder that he had escaped it for so long. 

And all around them, the artificers continued to work, unaware of the cataclysm they had unleashed. They took, and took, and took, until he could barely move, barely speak. He attempted to plead, but they did not listen.

House Ferros had found a way to channel his stolen power into their artificial gemstones. Now, there was no going back.

It was a simple conversion. It must have only been fear that held them back from trying sooner. All it took was for the prison’s excess energy to be forced into the stone. And then, when that was used up, for the agonizing plugs in his spine to force out whatever else they needed. His internal structure grew weaker with every surge, the gates to the Arcane savagely wrenched open, again and again.

A single soul was not meant to endure this. By the time that they had powered one gem, then two, then three, he was entirely voiceless. 

But it wasn’t then that he broke, oddly enough. It was in the quiet of the night after, while his captors slept, satisfied with their work for the day. It was as he hung there, mindlessly staring into the dark corners of his cage, that the final thresholds were breached. His every precaution had been defeated, and now all he could do was mourn.

He thought of Jayce, thought of his partner imprisoned somewhere near but still impossibly far. He thought of the walls that separated them, and how desperately he wished he could reach beyond them, to reunite one last time. He would be gone soon, he thought. He would be something else.

Staring into this pit had sent him into a panic every other time before. He had been so afraid of what it represented, of what he stood to lose. But now, there was no panic, because the fight was over. It had been decided for him.

And yet…

He still wondered if, in this monstrous evolution, if some part of him might remain. Enough that Jayce could be freed. Enough that the walls around them would fall first. Enough that he could see Jayce, through those unfamiliar eyes. That he might still feel love, even though everything about him had been corrupted beyond recognition.

Somehow, with that want in his heart, he stayed the night. Just a little bit longer. And when his captors finally returned, it was in time to witness his tears, stained black across the metal of his body.

The abyss was seeping from his wound, from his eyes, from every port and gap in muscle. Camille and her people didn’t know what to make of it. They had no concept of the war that had waged within him. They did not yet know the cost of their progress.

He could see true uncertainty bloom behind Camille’s eyes for the first time. He could see the window in which they became briefly receptive to his words, desperate for any explanation.

“The Void has come to Piltover,” he said, heavy drops of ichor pooling upon the floor around his knees. “It wishes for me to be its Herald.”

“The Void?” There was no recognition in her eyes. She stood outside of the barrier, too afraid to get close to the unexpected horrors he was unleashing.

“The absence beyond creation. Life’s anathema. It has sent its minions to the undercity, to harvest what it can. But now… it craves more. It would make me its servant, and because of this prison, I can no longer fight its will.”

Her brow furrowed with suspicion. He had known this would be her reaction. She knew there was no going back from this–from the enemy she’d made. If she were to release him now, she was sure that it would be the death of her entire house. Any plea for freedom could only be a ruse in the name of that cause.

“...Check the cage’s energy flow,” she said to the other artificers. “Ensure that he is still being contained.”

“Please,” Viktor whispered, sensing the desperate futility of this effort. “Please. For your people and mine. Release me. I… I cannot withstand it any longer.”

“How convenient that this has only come up now,” she snarled, expecting his deceit. “Do you really think we’re this gullible? To believe that there is suddenly some existential threat that only your freedom can solve?”

He shuddered against his chains. Any small hope he’d had was fading.

“The beasts in the tunnels. The mutations of stone and earth. The birth of tainted life, the creation of Shimmer. It was all… a sign of its coming. I hid myself from its pursuit… but there is nothing left. Nothing.” At last, he hung his head. “Please…”

Camille was scornful of his effort, but she was also disturbed. It was natural for her to be so. Just as she had thought she was in total control, a variable had been introduced–one she hadn’t planned for. It was no wonder she saw this as a ploy meant to disarm her.

There had never been a chance for meaningful exchange between them, he saw. Not when her House’s engagement had been faithless from the very start.

She turned from him, crossing the room to the machinery she had set up, intended to power her abominable gemstones. Where he’d watched their pale, uncanny light stir to life, one after the other. She stared at it for several moments, before speaking to one of her artificers.

“Contact Councilor Ferros,” she said. “I would like his opinion on this.”

Notes:

The Heart is more composed than he used to be, but there's still only so much he can take.

I think this was the most shifting around and editing I've done on a chapter since Jayce was getting abducted in Zaun. It was just so hard to get it the way I liked it. It's an unusual challenge, writing 5 versions of the same guy in one chapter. Especially when they are all talking to each other and freaking out.

Sorry that this is just 5500 words of Viktor whump. We're getting very close to the climax of the story, so things are at their worst - on this side, at least. Fortunately, Jayce is in a very different situation.

Thank you so much to everyone who has been supporting me through this! The end is in sight and I'm so excited to get there. Your encouragement has meant so much. I hope this is still enjoyable even though we're in bummer town right now.

Chapter 31

The device’s components easily slotted together in Jayce’s hands, just as he’d imagined they would a million times before. He’d been dreaming of the moment that he’d get to do this, the moment that everything shifted from theory to trial. He’d thought that he’d be slipping it into Viktor’s cell with some elaborate scientific excuse, as part of a bargain with House Ferros. He’d developed so many different potential casings for it, each one associated with a different lie.

Now, he was holed up in Ekko’s workshop with bonafide rebels, and actual insurgency was his only remaining course. He didn’t just need a key; he needed a weapon. That, and a way to keep from getting shot.

The number of people in the workshop had ebbed in the evening and then waned as the night deepened, with Ekko leading a working crew of Firelights through the creation of some essential equipment for the coming mission. Body armor came first and foremost, as well as fascinating capsules of expanding crystal, which could restrain a target without hurting them. It solved one of their major problems, which was how to invade a prison without causing the kind of bloodshed that would demand a war.

Jayce didn’t know if that mercy would actually be enough to stop them from trying. He did know, though, that he didn’t have the stomach to slaughter Caitlyn’s coworkers, no matter how corrupt they were. 

Since waking from his vision of Viktor’s descent, Jayce had only stopped long enough to allow someone to patch up his brace. It turned out that Camille’s kick had shattered one of the joints, leaving jagged metal to tear up the side of his knee. Spending hours on his feet afterwards hadn’t helped that at all, and even after it had been cleaned and bandaged, he was still having a hard time standing on it for long.

It wasn’t just the skin that was damaged, either. Now that he’d had a chance to let it rest, he realized that the impact of the attack had done something to the weakened bones in his lower leg. He’d been told that they had healed poorly all those months ago, and had done nothing to treat them since, for fear of the hospital stay it would require. Now, the slow decline of his leg had been rapidly accelerated. He was sure that it was fractured, and the deepening colours of the web-like arcane scars along his shin did nothing to comfort him.

But there was no time for that, now. He’d told the Firelight that was looking after him to wrap it up with a compression bandage and leave it at that. 

Ekko had found some clean clothes to go with the coat the Firelights had given him, and then he was back in the workshop for the rest of the night. Despite the late hours, the guard was mostly consistent. Jayce worked on his devices. Ekko led his dwindling team through the process of fine-tuning their equipment. Vi was in and out, running errands and procuring supplies. And Flo was… present.

Jayce wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

He felt a bit bad for being skeptical. Flo had essentially saved his life, back in the commune. Her intentions were clearly good, for both Viktor and the undercity, but it was hard to interact with someone who had such a different perspective on reality. She interacted with Jayce like a religious figure, and that set him on edge, considering the trouble her blind devotion had already caused.

Privately, Ekko had offered some context to her presence among the Firelights. Apparently, he’d been trying to deradicalize her for a while now, having identified both the amount of sway she had over the commune and her considerable engineering ability. No outsider was going to change the cult’s opinions, and so the best way to guide them away from disaster, he’d reasoned, was to reach out to the most sane of its leaders. 

So, when she'd needed help escaping the Enforcers Ceve had sent to capture her, Ekko had readily obliged. Oddballs or otherwise, Flo’s crew were the most stable of the commune’s current lot. Letting Ceve’s drug empire win against them would be a massive mistake.

Flo did actually seem relatively sane, if not a bit too enthusiastic about replicating what Viktor had accomplished. She kept talking about human ‘evolution’ in a way that Jayce knew would make Viktor want to curl up and die. With Ekko busy and Vi out and about, there was little stopping her from pursuing him for all the secrets that had no doubt been on her mind for the last several months.

It had been a battery of questions. She asked about Viktor, about how his body worked, about his opinions and philosophical beliefs. The aim of it all seemed clear; she wanted to know if she was preaching the gospel of the Glorious Evolution correctly, and Jayce honestly didn’t know what to tell her.

He didn’t want to put Viktor into yet another box, to make him beholden to old ideals or the man he used to be. If Viktor was freed– when he was freed–Jayce wanted him to be able to move forward untethered from the cruelty of his history. To recreate himself however he saw fit.

And so, Jayce had started distracting Flo by asking her about herself. It was almost painful how happy she was to oblige–how eager she was for his approval. She couldn't have been much older than Ekko and yet, here she was, knee deep in the last generation’s insanity.

She told him about how she had lost an arm in a mining accident back when she was a pre-teen, and the gradual process of learning to build herself a new one. She told him about how she had been set on developing prosthetics that could run on electricity, to offer cheaper alternatives to Chemtech without the risk of addiction. She told him about how she had followed his and Viktor’s work throughout all her teenage years, enchanted by the idea of a power source that did not degrade or expire.

She’d known Viktor’s name even then, she said. It hadn’t always been easy to find his proper attributions, but she knew that he was there. A child of Zaun, in Piltover, changing the world. It had only made sense to her when he returned to his home, bringing his gifts with him–when he struck back, in a way that only he could.

She’d dreamed of showing Viktor her inventions directly, but the timing had never quite aligned. Then, before she knew it, he was gone.

“The day I heard he was back?” she’d said. “Easily the best in my entire life.”

Jayce wished his experience with it had been as positive. 

She had apparently been gathering a crew of like-minded people during his year-long absence, preaching Viktor’s evolution in the face of a Piltover that had been very eager to forget him. Then, in the chaos of the Machine Herald’s return, it had only made sense to get involved. She’d collected what acolytes she could, hoping to somehow support him in his battle against Piltovan control. 

And now that she knew of his fight against the Void, and the way that he was defending Zaun from an interdimensional force of emptiness and death? It had only made her more reverent.

“Just say the word,” she said. “I can tell my entire crew about this, and we can back you up. It’s the least any of us can do, after everything he's done for us.” 

Jayce was hesitant, despite her sincerity. He didn't know her people well, and didn't know if he could count on them to stay cool in such a critical engagement. And so, he allowed Flo to continue rambling away while he hedged on giving her an answer.

“It's just so messed up,” she went on, sounding genuinely dejected by the idea. “The Herald has been protecting us this whole time, and nobody even knows about it! And instead of helping, Piltover has been treating him like a criminal, and now they’re doing winds-knows-what... It just isn’t fair. ”

Jayce didn’t know what was fair anymore. In their own ways, both he and Viktor were guilty of the things the Council believed of them. Viktor had done something terrible, even if it was for the right reasons, and Jayce was a traitor, even if they’d been fabricating evidence long before he actually turned. According to the politics of Piltover they were both in the wrong.

It was just that Jayce didn’t care anymore.

How could he operate honestly, when House Ferros had decided his guilt from the very start? How could Viktor serve his time, when the Council was so eager to enable his abuse and exploitation? They had both tried, for months on end, to be what a just society would expect of them. But there was no justice anymore.

And Jayce knew now that he would choose Viktor over it, every time.

The Council had wanted him to be Jayce Talis, Treasonist, and that’s what they would get. They had wanted Viktor to be the Machine Herald, threat to polite society, and that’s what they would get. Because polite sure as hell didn’t mean good–not now, and perhaps not ever.

And if the commune continuing to believe Viktor was some kind of chosen one was what it took to set him free, then who was Jayce to disagree…?

Thankfully, the sudden return of Vi was enough to interrupt both that downward spiral of a thought and the proselytizing that had inspired it. Jayce turned to look, his heart lifting and then clenching. She was dragging a crate across the floor, in just the size he had been expecting. Had she actually pulled it off?

“Here you go, Pretty Boy,” she said with a grin, slamming it onto one of the work tables and shoving it towards him. “Just as promised.”

Jayce lurched forward, his eagerness exceeding the stability of his leg. Despite the pain, though, his attention was only on Vi’s gift. He braced himself against the table and wrenched off the lid.

Within it lay the Atlas Gauntlet–the only one of his original prototypes that still remained. 

When Vi had offered it to him earlier, he had been worried about her trying to sneak it out of Piltover when everything was under such high alert. It had been long enough that the Enforcers were actively hunting for him, and he wouldn’t have put it past them to try to detain anyone associated with him for questioning. Somehow, Vi had out-maneuvered them twice now. First for his components, and now with this.

He exhaled, steadying himself.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked. Maybe it was dumb to ask that now, but he couldn’t overlook that she was giving something up for his sake. The gauntlet was effectively irreplaceable, and given that the Council had insisted on formal approval for any Hextech weapons to be used, there was the chance Vi bringing it here could be tied back to her. She’d claimed that Caitlyn and her had that aspect of things covered, but the potential consequences were hard to ignore. 

She said she had kept it around, just in case. Today’s stakes just happened to be high enough for her to cash in on that little secret.

“Catch,” she said, by way of an answer. She plucked a familiar blue orb out of her coat pocket and carelessly tossed it in his direction.

His heart leapt–an instinctive reaction he’d built up after years of working with the far less stable version of the same technology. He had to lunge to catch it, and his blood was pumping when he did. 

A Hextech Gemstone, one of the very few that remained unaccounted for. He frowned.

“Not like I could use it,” she explained, cutting him off before he could ask again. “Not without it being obvious it was me. May as well turn it into something that helps the team. Never been much of a defense person, myself.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Besides, how long do you think it’ll be before Ferros formally commandeers it for ‘research purposes’? I’d rather it go to you than him.”

Jayce already had his own plans for it. Though it seemed to have been underutilized when Vi was wielding the gauntlets, he’d built a shield into each of them. At the time, he’d had some fanciful ideas about miners being able to protect themselves from tunnel collapses. Now, it seemed fated to be used for the one thing he had spent so long trying to avoid. This was going to be another battle, plain and simple.

Flo was watching with deep fascination, and so Jayce decided to appease her curiosity by explaining his intentions.

“We don’t have time to build an entire shield generator from scratch,” he said. “But I should be able to take the one from the Atlas Gauntlet and supercharge it. I already worked out a bunch of modifications to the design as part of the cage project. With this, we should be able to avoid Enforcers’ gunfire, as long as everyone stays close.”

They could flip the odds, and turn being vastly outnumbered into a winnable position. Hextech had never made it to the public, after all. Enforcers relied heavily on firearms, and weren’t trained in how to work around magical shields. 

It was almost enough for him to feel hopeful. With his and Ekko’s expertise and Vi’s raw fight, it actually felt like they could win. And yet…

He looked back to his locking device, where it lay assembled and ready. He glanced back at the gemstone. There was something he had been avoiding thinking about. The juncture at which all of this could fall apart.

When he and Viktor had planned out the key mechanism, the assumption had been that Viktor himself would be able to power it. Even that had just been a theory. Every crystal had a different resonance, and there had always been the chance that Viktor’s essence would muddy the one created by the key, distorting its signature enough that it would no longer ‘fit’ the hole. Jayce had thought he would have more time to do tests, more time to plan.

Now, though, there wasn’t time for alternatives, and definitely no time for mistakes.  Even more critically, if Viktor was as weakened as he seemed to be… who was to say he’d have the strength to try at all? Who was to say he wouldn’t be unconscious? Or worse?

Jayce was already running the calculations in his mind. Was there any chance that another crystal could be used to boost the key without changing the shape of its magic? Was there some way to purify it? 

He thanked Vi again for her help, and got back to work. He’d never even had to consider the resonances of individual gemstones with the Hexgates. They had all slotted into their purposes as power sources just as well. The fact that they even had different signatures was only something he had discovered while working on the cage. It had been a side note at the time, a convenient way to offer the Council a significant amount of security.

He started scratching down runes, trying to think of novel combinations. He wracked his brain for solutions. Minutes, and then eventually hours passed. All the while, he couldn’t stop thinking about how he was running out of time. About how every second he wasted on this was another one that Viktor spent suffering. What was he doing? Why was he so stupid? He needed to figure this out faster . 

It was nearing sunrise at that point, and he knew that his exhaustion couldn’t be helping. Flo and Vi were both dozing, bent over in chairs and against counters, and Ekko seemed like he was on his way there, too. Wasn’t sleep just another way to waste time, though? 

How could he sleep, when Viktor wouldn’t be there with him? 

Eventually, he decided that he just had to try it. The mechanism had always been built with the intent of taking on a power source, and so he cobbled together a way to connect the gemstone to it. Then, he carefully took the key from his neck and plugged it into its slot.

As he did, his head tingled in a way he had never quite felt before.

He felt vividly aware of the way the Arcane’s energy was flowing–from the gemstone, to the key shard. He blinked, wondering if he was hallucinating it. He had worked with these materials so many times, but it had always been an exercise of knowledge and experience. He knew things, he didn’t feel them. This, though… it felt like instinct.

He adjusted the device, increasing the charge. The key hummed with energy, a small wave of Arcane resonance bursting from within it. It was enough to rattle the table, and to wake Flo from her nap. 

She sat up straight, enraptured by what Jayce was doing. He ignored her. The only thing he could think about right now was that this wasn’t right.

He just knew it, somehow. The resonance coming from the key wasn’t the right shape anymore. It was being overwhelmed by the stronger presence of the gemstone he’d added. If he brought this to the cage, it wouldn’t work.

He slammed his fists on the table and swore. Now, everyone was awake and looking at him. He didn’t care. All he cared about was figuring this out.

“Uh, Jayce…” Ekko started, looking a bit alarmed. “You good?”

“It’s not right,” Jayce growled. The tingling in his head had intensified into an outright itch, so unrelenting that it almost burned. “The resonance isn’t right.”

Flo leaned over to get a better look. 

“How do you know?” she asked. 

“ I just do, ” he snapped. “Isn’t it obvious?”

They had all been observing him grow more and more frustrated as the night went on, but now they looked more than just concerned. Ekko had the expression of someone who was outright spooked.

“Are his forehead things supposed to be glowing like that…?” Vi asked.

“It’s…” Ekko started. “ Jayce. Snap out of it, man.”

Jayce shook his head and then snatched the gemstone out of the socket he’d put it in. The flow of the device terminated with a small explosion of glimmering motes, causing everyone else in the room to jerk back in surprise. He tossed the gemstone aside, and if Ekko hadn’t been there to catch it, it would have rolled right off the table. 

Jayce had thought that he had never felt anything like this before, but he was wrong. The more entrenched the feelings became, the more the memories came flooding back.

He remembered being thrust from one reality into another. He remembered the way the Arcane had surged through him, pulling his mind in a million directions at once. He remembered the feeling of being scattered across dimensions, and how hard it had been to pull the pieces together.

But this was different. The essence was still there, the terror of being on the edge of eternity and afraid to let go. This time, though, it was centered–concentrated in his head and in his heart. It was abrasive, almost painful. Yet, he could feel the potency stir within his fingertips, a charge bordering on chaos. 

Instead of only fear, he also felt a sense of surety. Wordless communication. Familiarity. Acceptance.

He swallowed and placed his hands over the port that had been meant for the gemstone. With a shaking breath, he focused on the pressure of the static storm building within him, and he willed himself to let go.

Something otherworldly flowed through him, filling every vein and synapse to the point of bursting. As his fingers touched the conductive material of the mechanism, the connection locked in place. Before him, the resonance of the key blossomed to life, its power swelling and filling the workshop until everything was dressed in an aura of pale iridescence. 

Then, just as quickly, it was gone. Jayce was left shaking, hollowed out by the force of the presence that had just moved through him. His legs were giving out, but he felt like laughing.

“ There, ” he said, floating on the edge of hysteria and triumph. “That’s more like it.”

And then he passed out.

 

---

 

Jayce found himself among the stars, but not like they had been with Viktor. While those had been distant and beautiful, these were an endless torrent of wild force, roaring around him like whitewater rapids. He was going to drown, he thought. He would disappear beneath the surface and be torn to atoms, lost forever in the raging heart of creation.

He’d made a mistake, some small, still lucid part of himself thought. In trying to reach Viktor, he had exposed himself to something he had not been equipped to withstand. He’d let the Arcane in, but with a body and mind not built for it. He was not meant for this place. Without the soothing shield of Viktor’s mingled soul, the same realm that had once been a heaven to him had the capacity to become his new hell.

Hadn’t Viktor himself told Jayce this? That he could connect to the Arcane, but not properly contain it? It was an effort based in folly. 

Yet… as he was spun and tossed about, he could sense something almost welcoming in the waves and riptides of this starlit sea. A homecoming. He knew this place, in echoes of forbidden memory. He had been invited in, but learning to swim was his own responsibility.

And so, he struggled for survival. He held onto every breath, to every brush with the surface that he could claim. He weathered the current, opening himself so that a fragment of its true force could flow through. 

If parts of him went with it, then so be it. It was a price he was willing to pay.

 

---

 

Jayce woke sometime later, to the sensation of Ekko shaking him. His head was still aching sharply enough that it was difficult to open his eyes, but the chaos in his head was slowly diminishing. I survived , he thought, without fully remembering what had been threatening him. Then, it all came back.

He sat up straight, gasping for air. 

Why was he…? No. This didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t like Viktor and he wasn’t like Mel. He wasn’t a mage. So how had the Arcane danced across his fingers like lightning? Why could he remember magic surging through him like… like…

Finally, his attention settled on Ekko, who was staring like he was expecting Jayce to explode. The fiery light of early sunrise was glimmering through the window of the bedroom he had been dragged to. How much time had passed?

Jayce tried to stand up. Ekko immediately shoved him right back down.

“You gotta knock it off with this shit!” Ekko snarled. “You’re scaring the hell out of me!”

Jayce groaned, clutching at his head. The sudden movement hadn’t done it any favours. He thought of telling Ekko as much, but the second he looked closer, the intention dropped from his mind. Ekko wasn’t just angry, he was genuinely terrified.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” he demanded. “I thought you’d killed yourself, back there!”

“I channeled the Arcane,” Jayce whispered, his gut turning in the same instant that his heart soared. “I used it to power that device.”

It was exactly what he needed, as if eternity itself had answered his prayers. If he could do that, Viktor wouldn’t have to do anything. Jayce could power the key himself. He could open the prison. He could free Viktor, just like he’d promised.

As he experienced those dizzying highs of relief, it was all too easy to ignore the cracks–the way that it felt like small shards of glass were threaded through him, body and soul. The Arcane had not come to him gently. He had been worn by its passage, a fractured and imperfect vessel.

But how could he care, in the face of all it promised to give him?

Ekko groaned, throwing up his hands, then dragging them down through his white dreads. After pacing around in circles a few times, he seemingly came to a decision. 

“You know what? No.” He snatched the chair he had ostensibly been waiting in and dragged it over, sitting down authoritatively. He leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees. “ No. You’re going to explain this to me properly, Talis. Step by step. Like I’m taking notes.”

Jayce shook his head. What was there to explain? It was impossible. Inexplicable. And yet…

“Viktor told me…” he began, slowly piecing it together, “...weeks ago, that I could… touch the Arcane, I guess. That it wasn’t safe, because I wasn’t a mage, but… because we’d been inside of it for so long, that it would still answer my calls. When I told you that I was having visions in the tunnels, that was why. Viktor showed me how to open my mind to it. He… protected me. Made sure I didn’t get lost.”

Now, Jayce had no such advantage. Is this what it would have felt like before, without Viktor to buffer the force of it for him?

“It’s like I did that again, but… way less controlled. I didn’t even mean to. I just… knew what I needed. And the Arcane said yes.”

Ekko didn’t look impressed. He rubbed a palm against his temple.

“So, what? You’re just a mage now?”

“No,” Jayce laughed, suddenly and forcefully, as if the concept itself was absurd. “No, I don’t think I could… It just passed through me. A mage… they would shape it with their will, make it into something else. But for me… I couldn't do anything to it. It was just raw power, like… like…”

“A Hextech Gemstone,” Ekko finished for him, his eyebrows lifting in understanding. 

At that, Jayce had to pause, his heart twinging at the irony. To think that, after what he’d introduced to the world, the Arcane was allowing him to do this, like some kind of cosmic joke. Was this gift meant to hurt him? Or was it as meaningless and fickle as magic itself could be?

“But a lot less stable,” he admitted, his previous elation wearing thin. “And, however it happened, I didn’t give the energy an Arcane signature. Maybe it passed through too quickly, or I didn’t provide enough resistance, or… I don’t know.”

He could tell that Ekko was uneasy, and maybe he was right to be so. Jayce could already feel the potential consequences of being too reckless with this ability, and that was without contemplating the potential damage he could inflict on others. He had to stay focused on the one thing that mattered.

“But I can power Hextech with it. It was enough to get the key working. If I can do it again… then that’s all we need. We get to Stillwater’s basement, and Viktor will be free.”

Ekko had slumped forward completely now, drumming his fingers against his cheek. 

“And you’re sure that things’ll be all fine and dandy when he’s loose, huh?” he asked. He still sounded skeptical, but not forceful about it. With the threat of the Void explained, and the Council’s increasingly corrupt actions, they both already knew that leaving Viktor there was no longer an option.

“I trust Viktor with my life,” Jayce said. “And you can trust him with yours, too. I’ve been in his head for months now and he understands his mistakes better than anyone. All he ever wanted to make life in the undercity better. And you, Ekko? You’re one of the best examples out there of how possible that still is.”

Ekko stared at Jayce blankly for a few solid seconds before eventually scrunching up his nose and rolling his eyes. 

“Guess I can’t argue with that.” He stretched. “But if you really are going to be our battery, the best thing you can do right now is sleep.”

Jayce sat up. “I have to finish converting the shield first—”

“Let me look at your notes, and I’ll figure it out,” Ekko said. “Wouldn’t be the first time a Zaunite cracked your code.”

“Are you sure…?” Jayce knew that Jinx had figured out Hextech, but that had taken time. Could Ekko really master shield technology while he took a nap?

“Hey, I built a time machine with your research. Didn’t see anyone else doing that.” Jayce blinked stupidly, and Ekko just snorted in response. “...I’ll let you double check my work before we put a gemstone in it, alright?”

“You built a time machine?” Jayce asked, genuinely lost.

Ekko waved him off.

“Go to sleep, Jayce. Another three hours at least. Then we’ll trade.”

And then he was gone.

 

---

 

Ekko’s work was exemplary, as Jayce should have expected. In the time that Jayce had spent resting, Ekko had recreated his modifications to the Atlas Gauntlet, slimming it down to something that could be worn without affecting gravity with Hextech. Instead, the shield generator was given focus and, in theory, it would be powerful enough to protect a small squadron of invaders. 

If only the quality of Jayce’s nap has been as effective. 

He just wasn't capable of sleeping normally, at the moment. Though he was tired enough to doze off almost instantly, the realm of stars had become grating in Viktor’s absence. Every second spent there was one he spent feeling tiny, alone, and helplessly lost. He craved Viktor’s return like he craved sunlight after a long night.

But Ekko was right–he couldn’t orchestrate a prison break on the brink of total exhaustion. By the time he was back in the workshop and reviewing Ekko’s work, he was feeling a bit less frail. He just hoped it would be enough to test the key again without feeling like he was dying.

After doing some final checks on the barrier gauntlet, Ekko finally went to catch up on some sleep himself. Vi and Flo were nowhere to be seen, and so Jayce assumed they were resting as well–which left him alone to load in the gemstone and try out his new shield.

It was really quite intuitive. He could control the size and shape of the barrier by moving his fingers a certain way, just as the Atlas Gauntlets had been designed to manipulate their various functions. He could wear that on one wrist and hold a weapon in the other. 

“It’s incredible,” someone said from behind him. Jayce deactivated the barrier, and turned to see that Flo had returned. She was visibly starstruck by the sight of Hextech in action.

“Shouldn’t you be getting some rest?” Jayce asked. He slipped off the gauntlet and headed back over to where he’d left the key, to start fiddling with one of its casings.

“Nah,” Flo said, coming to sit down. They still hadn’t been able to retrofit her arms, from the looks of it. “Too many thoughts buzzing. I just… can’t believe this is actually happening. Breaking into Stillwater? It’s unreal.”

“Yeah.” All he could do was agree, though he supposed it was probably unreal to him in a different way. If Stillwater ever fell, he’d never dreamed that he’d be on this side of the line. He swallowed.

“So, I was thinking,” she said. “You’re got your shield, and your key… but you still need a way to cross the water, don’t you?”

“The Firelights have their hoverboards.” Jayce honestly hadn’t thought that far, though it seemed like the most obvious answer. He knew Ekko had crossed the bridge with them before.

“Right.” Flo was clearly going somewhere with this. “But if you go by air, they’ll see you coming from miles away. And it seems risky trying to fly in close enough formation to keep everyone inside the barrier. So, my thought was… what about a boat, instead?”

“A boat?” Jayce blinked. 

“Exactly!” Flo chirped, as if Jayce had been agreeing with her. “You could set the shield up on the bow, and nobody would be able to touch you until you were on the shore. And, as it happens… I already own one. My team engineered it ourselves.”

Jayce couldn’t help but sigh. He should have seen it coming. It was clear that Flo wanted to come and help, but he had been avoiding giving her a straight answer all night.

“You really want to be involved with this, don’t you?” he asked.

“Of course I do!” And just like that, her plea had become something raw and vulnerable. She knew she was running out of time to get his permission. “I feel like I’ve been preparing for something like this for my entire life, and now that it’s here, I’d do anything to make it real. I know I’m not your friend, not like Ekko and Vi… but I swear. Help me get back to my lab, help me get the spare charges for my arms and the keys to the boat, and I’ll show you, show the Herald, just how much we’re worth–how good the commune can still be. Please. ” 

Jayce fell silent. What could he say, really?

Up till now, Flo’s section of the commune had been just another unpredictable variable in the chaos of his life. He’d been screwed over so many times by this point… how could he trust that it would be different this time? That Flo and her people wouldn’t mess up the most important effort of his life because of some conflict or secret that he was too out of his league to understand? 

He wanted things to be simple so badly. He wanted to be able to trust and to feel like he knew what was going on. 

But hadn’t Flo been living in these circumstances her entire life? Wasn’t she just like Ekko? Someone brave and smart and desperate for change? Jayce already knew that she would have Viktor’s compassion, if he were here to give it.

So, could Jayce trust? Now, when it mattered more than anything?

“Fine,” he conceded, to Flo’s visible delight. “If we can’t take out a few Enforcers here in Zaun, what chance do we have in Stillwater?” He hefted up the key casing he had been working on–the one he had prepared in the size and shape of a hammer, with runes of force built into its head to match. He slid his hand across the handle, wondering if they would absorb his Arcane touch as seamlessly as the key itself had.

“It’s time we did a test run,” he said.

Notes:

There was supposed to be a whole other scene before this chapter ended but it was getting out of control length wise. So this will do for now! Jayce is making some important discoveries.

I really do have to say, thank you so much to everyone for how much love you gave the last chapter! That was by far the most engagement I've ever gotten on a single chapter, and it's so lovely to know that people enjoyed it. This has been a long haul, and it's so cool that you guys are still here to see the end! I've been doing my best to keep the updates rolling... don't want to keep anyone hanging for too long when the story is like this, lol!

The next update is going to be chaotic.

Chapter 32

Flo’s lab was in a somewhat precariously positioned building near the dam. It was for the water currents, she explained as they made their way across the undercity. She needed the kinetic force the dam created to power her own water turbines, applied to the nearby structures wherever they could be made to fit. That electricity was what she used to charge her arms, and basically everything else she worked on.

Jayce was admittedly curious to see her setup, but the closer their destination got, the tighter his nerves wound. This was a trap, something in the back of his mind kept screaming. He didn’t know why, but Flo was going to lead them into a trap, and then the mission would fall apart, and Viktor would run out of time, and… and…

“Couldn’t we just hotwire the boat or something?” Vi asked, apparently at least somewhat of the same mind. She was wearing a full Firelight mask, and a hood to conceal her hair. Her identity being revealed during all of this would be disastrous, and yet she had come along regardless. “Instead of clueing the Enforcers in to what we’re doing?”

Flo frowned. Her mechanical arms had been reattached, but were currently hanging limply at her sides, still in need of the battery swap that her lab could provide her.

“Well, we could try,’ she said. “But the security system I installed is… finicky.”

“What she means by that,” Ekko supplied, “is that if we failed it would blow us up and probably take the boat with it, too.”

“It would not!” she insisted. “...Not all of it, anyway. I did install an explosive to go off, but I positioned it to cause as little collateral damage as possible.” Ekko raised an eyebrow at her. “I know what I’m doing!”

“Oh yeah?” Ekko drawled. “Then why don’t you tell Jayce about how you lost your second arm?”

“I was doing science, ” she said incredulously. “Isn’t that what we’re all about, here?”

Jayce did not have the endurance to get involved with that conversation. His mind was already swelling with the exciting new information that there was a bomb built into the boat they were supposed to be taking to Stillwater. But, worse than that, he didn’t even know if he had any place to be criticizing Flo’s workplace safety when, around the same age, he had been one door away from losing a lot more than an arm. 

Almost blowing themselves up was the thing he and Viktor had staked their entire careers on, wasn’t it?

He thought about that first night in the lab, about the eruption and stabilization of Arcane energy that had been the foundation of everything they built after. He thought about Viktor’s face, still young and healthy, bathed in ethereal light and smiling so genuinely—

“Enough,” was all Jayce said. It was both for them and for himself. His eyes were locked on Flo’s laboratory now, watching for any signs of movement. They had huddled behind some mechanical remains, to scope things out from a distance. A few Firelights had taken to the rooftops and sky to watch for other Enforcer patrols–but if what Flo had described was true, there were bound to be at least a few hanging around to watch this specific location. If. 

Flo swallowed.

“...Besides,” she said, “I really do need to get my spare power cells, if I’m going to be of any use to you guys. And… there’s a bunch of other stuff I have in there too! I promise, I’m not wasting your time—”

“There they are,” Vi said, at the same moment Jayce saw a flash of Enforcer blue in the streets ahead. One was coming back around from the far side of the building, moving towards what seemed to be the front entrance. They slipped in through the unlocked doors and vanished.

“Are they hiding in there?” Ekko wondered.

“Maybe collecting evidence?”

If the Enforcers were inside the building, it didn’t seem like the sort of presence that was meant to deter interlopers with physical intimidation. Instead, if they were camping out inside of the building itself, it seemed more like a—

“It’s a trap,” Flo said, anger flashing in her eyes. “They’re probably trying to catch anyone that comes looking for me.”

“We’re walking into an ambush,” Jayce confirmed. “Even if it’s not meant for us.”

“So, what’s the strategy?” Ekko asked. “They’re probably keeping an eye out, if that’s what they’re here for. We’re both expecting someone. It’s just the details that’ll be a surprise.”

“In a situation like that,” Vi said, “it just comes down to skill.” She cracked her knuckles.

“I can do one better,” Flo said. “This is my turf…and I know another way in.”

Not long after, the four of them had slipped into an underground irrigation tunnel, which connected to the basement of Flo’s home. As they shuffled along the narrow walkway, hiding their presence with the sound of rushing water, Jayce felt those same nerves pinching tight all over again. Something bad was about to happen, he could sense it. Forces were moving around him, positioning themselves, just out of his view. 

By the time they were at the sewer grate, he was clenching his hammer tight in its holster, ready to activate the shield on a moment’s notice. He kept glancing at Flo, as if expecting some new aspect of her to suddenly emerge–one that had been working against him all along.

Instead, she just looked helplessly up at the metal ladder that led up to the grate, realizing she wouldn’t be able to climb it with her motionless arms. Several thick electrical cables travelled the same path, originating from somewhere within the water’s current. It was just as she’d described before. This was where her turbines were set up.

“This will lead into my basement,” she said softly. “With stairs going up to the main floor. With any luck, they won’t have found this place yet. I usually keep it locked.” She shrugged her metal-wrought shoulders. “I guess you’ll have to go first.”

“Let me,” Vi said, already snaking up the ladder effortlessly. Once at the top, she slowly and carefully began pushing the grate aside, listening for sounds of movement above. When there was a big enough path to make it through, she flashed them all a thumbs up and then disappeared through the gap.

There were no gunshots or yells of surprise. Ekko met Jayce’s wary gaze and nodded. 

Ekko took to the ladder himself then, making it up through the grate. Once situated, he reached his hand back down. 

“Pass me her hand,” he said to Jayce. Flo looked uncertain, but put her foot on the bottom rung of the ladder. Obviously, she couldn’t lift her lifeless arms herself. Jayce exhaled slowly and then nodded his head, moving to support her from behind. He took her mechanical arm by the base of the elbow, pushing its limp hand upward for Ekko to grasp. Between the two of them, they were able to push and pull her until she, too, passed through the grate.

Then, Jayce was alone.

He stared down the tunnel, watching water disappear into darkness. Something was crawling just beyond it, he thought, something clawing from the other side of the unknown. His thoughts felt strained, his perception of the world around him softly skewing. 

“Jayce!” Flo hissed from up above. “Are you okay?”

Just like that, Jayce was back in the present. He tried to shake it off enough that he could nod. He went for the ladder.

It should have been simple, muscle memory told him. For the majority of his life, climbing a ladder would have been nothing to consider. It meant he started the attempt with confidence that he probably shouldn’t have had. Because, when he was meant to lift his bad leg, he was met with striking pain that sapped the strength from his entire limb. 

He managed two steps, and then three, fighting with sheer incredulity for the fact that something as normal as this should have been giving him trouble. But then as he was nearing the top he realized that he suddenly just… couldn’t.

His body said no in a way that even willpower couldn’t overcome. His foot slipped past the rung, the wind sucked from his lungs.

But, before he could fall, something grabbed him by the coat. 

“Hang on there, Pretty Boy,” Vi said, carefully hauling him upward. “Just a few steps more.”

Soon, he had sprawled out next to the grate’s opening, his leg throbbing from toe to hip. He was furious, harsh breaths pushed through his gritted teeth. He didn’t have time for this. After all he had pushed through, how could his body give up now?

“Hey, it’s okay,” Flo said softly. She had knelt at his side, her arms pooling limply. “Sometimes things just take a bit longer, that’s all. You’ll figure it out.”

And just like that, some sun peeked through the clouds. Where there had only been suspicion and growing dread… he experienced something like hope. He took a deep breath and nodded his head.

They carried on.

Flo’s basement was filled with the bones of the old factory it had once been, rebuilt up into a functional power system. The collected electricity of the turbines was being funnelled into a central power cell, that then branched off towards the rest of the building. Flo nodded upward indicatively. What she needed was on an upper floor.

They crept towards the staircase, noting the light pouring in through a crack in the door at the top. It had likely been kicked in at some point by Enforcers, but the grate had been hidden at the back corner of the room. If they were aware of this entrance, they hadn’t thought to guard it. 

As they slowly made their way towards the door, Jayce could hear talking in the room above. A question, sharp and demanding. Then, the sound of impact, and a yelp of terror.

“Please stop!” a high voice rose above the muffled sounds. It was young, and feminine, and familiar in a way that Jayce’s brain was racing to connect. “We… We, uh… Ceve sent us, we promise!”

Jayce’s heart jolted at that name. He pushed himself closer. 

“Ceve…?” a growly voice replied. There was a pause. “Why would she send her people here? We told her we had it covered.”

“She… She uh… wanted to keep an eye on things! So… She sent me. And Perce… he just came along. Because… he does that?”

Yazzy and Perce. The two teens from the commune that had brought him to speak to Ceve. Jayce felt Flo begin to move beside him, only stopping when Ekko put a hand on her shoulder.

There was some low discussion that Jayce couldn’t quite make out. Then, that growly voice continued.

“Ceve might have cut a deal, but that doesn’t mean she can send her sump rats to meddle in our business. Maybe she’ll take this incident as a warning.” There was a whine of discomfort. “You sure there’s nothing else you want to say, before we take you in? Maybe if you give us something useful, we'll be a bit more gentle.”

Jayce lifted a hand, and pointed. The others nodded in approval. They made their move. 

Vi slammed opened the door. Ahead of them, Jayce could see three Enforcers–one leaning over Perce, whose hands had been bound behind him with handcuffs, and two others that were swiftly drawing firearms. Jayce raised the shield. 

“It’s Hextech!” Yazzy squealed, squirming against her own bonds at Perce’s side. Both her and Perce’s faces were bruised and bloody.

The first of the bullets were caught in the web of Arcane light, pinging off the barrier’s surface. Then, as the Enforcers balked at the inexplicable appearance of magic, Vi took her opportunity to act. 

She wove around the side of the barrier, springing in and slamming her souped-up brass knuckles across one Enforcer’s face. The impact alone was enough to send them flying. Then, before the other one could even consider taking another shot, she had rocked them with a brutal uppercut. They caught at least three feet of air before crashing down again. 

But it had taken just a bit too long. The one that had been intimidating Yazzy and Perce was straightening up, his handgun now pointed in Vi’s direction. She raised her fists.

Before they could test who was faster, though, a crystalline pellet struck the Enforcer in the chest. It expanded explosively, coating his body in an orange mineral. He fired his pistol, but his arm was already locked into place. The bullet missed. 

Instead, Vi’s fingers wrapped around his throat. He could do nothing to stop her, his body locked in Ekko’s crystal snare. 

“You like beating up kids, huh?” Vi snarled through her voice-altering mask. “You know, it’s funny. The old Chem-Barons get taken out, and you people go rushing to create new ones.”

“What the fuck?” the Enforcer rasped, his face swelling red.

“So, it’s Ceve, huh? She’s the one Ferros has you working with?”

“Slow down,” Ekko said, his own voice hidden by his mask. He took a few steps towards Vi, but she flashed him the middle finger. 

“Forget it,” Vi said. “We don’t have time for this.”

She held on until the Enforcer fell limp. Jayce felt unsteady. He let the barrier drop, his head swimming with the reality of what they’d just done. Fighting Enforcers. Possibly killing them. He couldn’t tell if the ones Vi had hit were still breathing. He tried not to be invested, but the thought of it stuck in his brain like needles.

This was only the start. He was on the run now. The Enforcers were his enemy, and Vi was only defending people from them. He limped forward, his words stuck in his throat. 

“Perce! Yazzy!” Flo cried, now that the dust had cleared. She moved towards them, but without working arms to free or hug them, she could only show her relief on her face. “What are you two doing here?”

“I was looking for you!” Perce croaked, his eye and lip swelling from the apparent blows to his face. “Obviously!”

“Oh yeah?” Ekko asked, directing his attention away from Vi as she started dragging the motionless Enforcers around. He looked at Yazzy. “What was that you were saying about being here for Ceve?”

Perce made a disgusted sound. Yazzy flushed with panic.

“I… I, uh…” she stammered.

“She was lying ,” Perce groaned. “And badly. I’ve been trying to convince her that Ceve is a tyrant for ages, and that it was obvious that she was trying to take Flo out of the picture. I guess this means she actually believes me, now.”

“I… couldn’t think of what else to tell them…” Yazzy said, deflated. “But I thought… since you said that Ceve was working with them, that maybe saying it would work. I guess… you were right after all.”

Yazzy was clearly miserable about that fact. She averted her eyes to the ground. Meanwhile, Vi had found the keys to their handcuffs, and tossed them over to Ekko. He started freeing them, a heavy sigh on his lips. 

“It’s okay, Yazzy,” Flo said gently. “Ceve wants people to believe she’s on their side, that she can help them. It’s how she operates. It’s not your fault for daring to hope.”

“I just… thought that her treatments were really working,” Yazzy said. “I felt better for a while, and other people did, too.”

“Shimmer has medicinal properties,” Ekko said, backing away as the two of them rubbed at their reddened wrists. “But it can really mess you up, too.”

Shimmer , Jayce thought, the word sending a chill through him. If Shimmer was part of the Void, then what did that mean for all the people who had taken it? He met Vi’s glance for a moment, who looked similarly uncertain. 

She started pulling apart the crystals that were holding the third Enforcer in place, and then dragged him over to the other two. Jayce thought to ask if they were dead. He didn’t.

“This could get us in a lot of trouble,” Ekko said to Vi, having similar thoughts. 

“What, more than you already are?” Vi snapped, looking up from her work. “These people are hunting you, on the Council’s command. They’re working with druglords. And they sure as shit aren’t listening to the Sheriff.” She shook her head. “And after what we’re about to do, you really think any of this will make a difference?”

It was the uncomfortable reality that they were all facing, but didn’t want to acknowledge. This was more than just tension between the two halves of the city. With Ferros in control, this was going to become a war, and the undercity was not going to win.

Zaun was facing annihilation from two fronts, now. In both cases, Viktor may be their only chance at survival. If he’d even have the strength to fight, after all of this.

Ekko fell silent for a few moments, before punching a nearby counter. An assortment of tools and half built devices rattled. Now that Jayce had the chance to look around, he could see the pieces of machinery that were being worked on, in various stages of disassembly all around them. 

“Let’s go get your power cells,” Ekko said to Flo, who sighed and nodded in weary agreement. The two of them disappeared upstairs, to where the charging dock presumably was. Vi started hauling the unmoving Enforcers to a back room. 

A sense of dread was thickening, both among the others and within himself. Jayce tried to shake it off. This was all so big, so complicated. He needed to focus on something simpler.

“Are you two going to be okay?” he asked Yazzy and Perce. Neither of them were in good shape. They’d both been obviously beaten, but they were holding up admirably despite that. “We can have someone look at your injuries.”

“Thank you,” Yazzy murmured. She couldn’t make eye contact with him at first, but then when she did, she was on the verge of tears. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I helped Ceve hurt you. I… I didn’t know.”

“It’s alright,” he said, and it was sincere. “I think we’ve all been wrong about a lot of things. Me more than anyone.”

He would have to take them to the Firelights to look after, he thought. If the Enforcers were hunting for Flo’s associates, then there was a chance that they might get caught again, if left on their own. He was thinking about his next move, about how many Firelights to take with them on the boat, when the ground started to tremble. 

“Shit,” he breathed.

Soon, the trembling became a violent surge, sending metal clattering and half-built vehicles skidding across the floor. He struggled to keep himself from falling, clinging to one of the support beams holding up the roof. This building was so old, he thought. Would it even survive an earthquake like this?

His stomach flipped, acid pooling in his throat. Something was happening, he realized. He could feel it, scratching in the earth and in his brain—

Then, things finally fell still. 

Jayce tried to pick himself up, but his heart was pounding, and his leg was screaming. He looked towards Yazzy and Perce, to see if they had been hit by any of the falling debris.

Yazzy was on her knees, choking. Perce was at her side, begging to know what was happening. Was she hurt? Was it bad?

But then, she lifted her head, her dark hair parting as she and Jayce locked gazes. Her eyes were circled with pulsing, violet veins, her irises shining with the bright purple of Shimmer. He recognized the hunger behind them. He tried to move, but it was already too late.

She lunged at him, her strength far surpassing her size. Next thing he knew she was on his chest, pinning him down, her fingers grown sharp like claws and digging into the flesh of his shoulders.

“What a curious specimen you are ,” she said in someone else’s voice. Then, she bared her fangs to bite.

 

---

 

As a human, Viktor had sometimes worried that Piltovan red tape would be the thing that finally killed him. Now, it seemed like that was actually going to be the case.

Camille had sent a messenger to her father some time prior, only for the eventual response to be a request for her to come speak to him. The tension had grown palpable while waiting for that moment, and Viktor had the sense that she was not particularly pleased with the results, either. When she conceded to the invitation and left, it was terse and controlled, with an uncomfortable glance back in his direction.

The Void’s influence had only been growing thicker. The pool of nothingness gathering around his knees was slowly branching out, covering the stone like lichen. It was a living thing, ravenously hungry for the world around it, each grasping tendril a virulent corruption. Viktor felt the same presence spreading through his chassis inside and out, its roots penetrating deeper and deeper into his mind and soul, eroding him like rust.

He had no sense of how long Camille was away, because his perception of his surroundings was being twisted, replaced with only a hazy echo of the vast emptiness roiling beneath them. By the time she reappeared, with Councillor Ferros at her side, he wasn’t even sure if it was real.

It was the first time he and Rhodri Ferros had laid eyes on each other, and the first time that the Councillor had faced the final outcome of his work. Camille cautiously watched for her father’s reaction–but all he showed was impatience and disgust. The attending Wardens kept their distance, as they had since the moment this began.

“A convincing deception, but nothing more,” Ferros said, as if irritated by Viktor's gall. “You must think my daughter a fool, to make a plea like this now.”

Viktor tried to speak, but it was like he couldn’t remember how. His own interior mechanics were becoming unrecognizable. All he could do now was bleed, and bleed, and bleed.

“But shouldn’t this be properly assessed?” Camille asked, gesturing towards the patch of Void. “We’ve never seen a reaction like this before. This could affect the integrity of the containment system, if nothing else.”

“It will be assessed,” he assured her. “But for us to bring this before the Council now, suggesting that the only solution is his immediate freedom? That the alternative is some thus far unknown threat of his own invention? The Council has charged us with the Herald’s safekeeping. To come back to them with such a reckless proposition will do nothing but cast doubt upon our competency. They would sooner believe that he had somehow taken over our minds.”

Camille swallowed and nodded. Her father went on.

“We need information, first. Evidence.” Ferros’s stern gaze settled on Viktor, utterly dispassionate to his plight. “In the meantime, containment must be our first priority. Bring the spear.” 

Viktor writhed, his body heaving with the distant memory of a sob. He’d known all along that they would never help him, but it was still excruciating as those last vestiges of hope faded, leaving nothing but misery and absence. He couldn’t do this. The hurt was so overwhelming, so complete, that it blinded him to all else. 

He needed out. He needed out. Please, please let him out.

“Stop.” His ragged words were stained with the echo of the abyss, as it smothered every part of him. “D-Don't...”

If he was struck with that weapon now, it would be the death of his ego, of every part of him that was left. There would be nothing to hold the Void back. He would be an empty shell, a vessel for the taking. 

Camille eyed the petricite spear cautiously, and then collected it from where it had been resting.

“He can be made unconscious with that, correct?” Ferros asked. “It will make a thorough investigation much simpler, I'd think.”

Camille considered. 

“...I would recommend against it.” 

Ferros’s eyebrows raised. 

“And why is that, exactly?”

“The damage it seemed to inflict on the Herald was severe,” she explained. “Before we can be certain that there is no truth to his claims… I would suggest a more delicate approach.” Ferros was looking her over now, as if inspecting for previously unseen flaws. “If we push too far, it may compromise our ability to access his connection to the Arcane.”

“Then someone will have to collect samples without that luxury,” he said, “Camille, open the barrier. You.” Ferros looked to one of the nearby artificers. “Prepare to collect a sample of this… material. Ensure that it remains enclosed.”

The artificer was very unhappy to receive that order, of course. He had been there long enough to hear Viktor’s previous warnings, and some element of them had held fast in his heart. And yet, Councillor Ferros’s demand held a weight that was beyond resistance. The artificer bowed his head in agreement and started collecting the necessary tools.

“I expect you to do what’s necessary, Camille, in the event that the Herald shows any resistance,” Ferros said, and she could only nod in wary acceptance. When the artificer was ready, she turned the key.

The front third of the barrier dropped, allowing for the artificer to make his way onto the dais steps. Viktor could only watch as the man approached him, his body broken and wretched, a frightening prelude of the monster he would soon become. He could feel the artificer’s fear, and gained no joy from it.

In a series of strained movements, the artificer extended his long collection tool, dipping its end into the pool of living emptiness. It was welcomed by the Void’s hungry maw.

The abyssal growth latched onto it, the explosive movement of a hunter seizing its prey. 

The artificer yelped and dropped his end of the tool, scrambling away from the dais. The collection device sank into the dark, its original shape growing indistinct and eventually disappearing completely.

At first, all Ferros and his assembled team could do was stare. 

And then, the tremors began.

It was as if the movements of the earth spoke in a language that only Viktor could understand. From the moment of their inception, he could feel the intent behind them. It was not the incidental shifting of tectonic plates, or the aftershock of a distant explosion. No, this was an arrival. This was reality itself giving way in the face of its ultimate enemy. 

Fissures tore across the wall behind Viktor’s prison, the stone gaping wide before finally collapsing into blackened debris. Within the hole it created, there was only darkness. Slowly, something began to form from that fetid wound–smoky, grasping fingers that spread across the walls like mould. 

Above them, the gunshots began. So did the screams.

Viktor’s prison fell into chaos. Some of the Wardens ran out into the hall to see what was happening to their peers. Others could only stare at the stretching maw of the Void, their rifles raised impotently. The artificers fled.

Even Camille could only watch as the world unravelled around her, terror and realization blossoming behind her eyes. 

In some small credit to his character, Councillor Ferros seemed to be the only one keeping his wits about him. He wrenched his gaze from the encroaching dark, singling out one of the Enforcers who was now fleeing back into Viktor’s prison.

“What is going on out there?” Ferros demanded.

“The prisoners–” the Enforcer gasped, hands shaking around their gun. “Something—something’s happened to them. They’re changing—”

Before they could finish, a wild beast charged past the thrown-open prison doors, shrieking and oozing vibrant violet ichor. It threw itself upon the retreating Enforcer, whose discharging rifle seemed to make no difference. They died beneath claws and sharp, chitinous legs. 

It was only when the Enforcer’s blood was dripping from its mouth did the creature look up and reveal the once-human vestiges of their face. It was then that Viktor understood.

This was not a creature of the Void. This was a human shaped in its image. 

Ferros made his move. Seizing Camille by the arm, he dragged the two of them into Viktor’s dais, ducking behind the curve of the Arcane barrier. A volley of bullets were being shot at the Void-twisted prisoner, but they were still thrashing. 

“Close the barrier!” Ferros shouted to one of the remaining Wardens. “Now!”

On some level the Warden seemed to understand what was happening–understood that Ferros was leaving them to die. Still, they turned the key, bringing the barrier back up, and sealing Viktor, Ferros, and Camille inside.

The battle continued, the sound of pain, horror, and bloodshed filling every corner of the room. Meanwhile, Ferros and Camille held to the very outside of the dais, where the Void-growths had not reached.

The chaos was spreading through all of Stillwater now. Viktor could sense it, each abyssal awakening, the enclosing presence of his enemy. Behind them, the maw was growing wider, tendrils of black weaving through stone like roots. Innocents were dying all around him, Viktor realized. The fellow prisoners he had come to know, through the eye of the Arcane. Every life, every forgotten tragedy, would soon come to its unjust end.

And Jayce .

Jayce was trapped here with them.

After everything they had been through, they would die in this hell pit together.

His harrowed stare settled on Councillor Ferros, now only feet away from him, taking shelter in the very prison he and the Council had betrayed Viktor with. Something deep within him finally broke.

In a resurgence of fury, Viktor burned his last remnants of strength. He roared. 

“This is your doing. ” 

It was his anger that stirred this second wind, that enabled his voice to rise in shrieking, ravaged tones that gave life to the hatred that had been festering within him for so long. Ferros jolted away, pulling Camille back closer to the barrier with him, as if he could shield the two of them with will alone.

It was there, in his panicked breaths and pin-prick eyes. At long last, the unmoveable Councilor Ferros was afraid. Viktor rejoiced in it.

“This city was gifted with a second chance, and it was still not enough for you.” Viktor snarled like a beast. “You, and your feckless collaborators. You, who only knows arrogance. Only knows greed. ”

Around them, the battle was already coming to a close. What Enforcers still survived were fleeing. In their place, more of the Voidtaken arrived, mutilated with darkened, chitinous flesh and new, misplaced limbs, sharp and insectoid. Those that had infected themselves with Shimmer and had now been overtaken by it. They moved towards the pit at the cell’s back, indifferent to the cage and those locked away within.

Viktor could feel the call that beckoned them into the dark. It sang to him the same way it had for so long, and were he not chained, he may have followed it by his own will. Instead, he wrenched against his fetters, his rage alone binding him to lucidity.

“I should have put a stop to this.” Viktor was laughing now, shrill and hysterical. “From the very start. It was within my power. To end you. To end all that you represented…! But now, they’ll all die! Everything will die! Because of you! Because of us! ”

Neither Councillor Ferros or Camille seemed to have words. For once in their life, they had no retort, no scheme, no alternative angle. They were staring into the abyss.

Camille raised the spear and pointed it in his direction. It was a meaningless gesture, from the addled mind of the defeated.

“Stay back…” she said, through gritted teeth.

Viktor screamed at her like tearing metal, his Void-soaked form twitching with unrestrained malice.

“Or you'll do what? Destroy me? You already have! ”

Though the pull of his chains made it hard for Viktor to look behind him, he could feel the thickening darkness consume each one of its Voidtaken offerings. He could see the way it grew, in the desperate eyes of the two trapped there with him. But it wasn’t until the stone shook again, until something heavy fell against the support pillars of his prison, that he knew the end was finally there.

Giant tendrils pressed against the cage like the dry coils of an enormous serpent. First one, then a second, then a third. Their touch alone seemed to bear something acidic–something that ate away at the petricite despite the strength it had sapped from its prisoner. Its source was somewhere deep in the tunnel it had broken through from, though he could still feel the stare of something cruel and otherworldly burning against his back.

Viktor’s anger wavered, mingling with the fear it had granted him such a brief reprieve from. 

The Void was here to take him. The darkness he had hid from so long, now made physical.

There was no escape.

One by one the pillars fell, the Arcane barrier dispelling into sparks. The tendrils snaked onto the dais itself, encircling the once-protected space. Almost curiously, one slithered towards Camille and Councilor Ferros.

“Interesting ,” a voice spoke, low and resonating, almost beneath the range of hearing. It was a mimicry of human speech–something unknowable that only wore an animal’s skin. “What secrets might you have?”

“Camille,” Councilor Ferros hissed, pushing her back and behind his shoulder, as the tendril probed the air in front of them. Viktor didn’t know if either of them could hear its words, but it didn’t matter for long.

The tendril shot forward, sinking deep into Councillor Ferros’s left eye. His body went rigid.

“Father—!” Camille cried, staggering back as he was lifted into the air. It was as if all blood and breath was being sucked from the man’s body, until only empty, arid flesh remained. Once the Void being’s work was finished, it let the husk of Councilor Rhodri Ferros drop to the dais as carelessly as discarded waste.

“Hmn,” it murmured. “Nothing of note. And this one…?”

Camille could only eke out a truncated scream, before the tendril changed its focus. Yet, instead of simply allowing it, she struck. She slashed her spear across the tendril, forcing it away if only for a moment–and then she leapt over the coil blocking her way, disappearing towards the far side of the cell.

Viktor only caught one last fearful glance from her before she dashed for the exit. The Void-being did not actually seem all that interested in pursuing.

Instead, it turned its focus to Viktor.

A tendril coiled around him now, from his knees up to his waist. The scaly surface of its limb was impossibly abrasive to the touch, as if simple contact was enough to erode the structure of whatever it grasped. Viktor could only squirm in discomfort as it took him into its hold, wrenching him upward violently enough to dislodge the chains that had bound his neck to the broken pillars. 

It was only then that he could turn to see the true face of his hunter.

Four slit-pupilled eyes leered from the shadows, all centered squarely on him as its grip slowly tightened. Despite the hopelessness of it, despite being bound in more ways than he could fathom, Viktor found himself fighting for every inch.

He didn’t want to die, he realized more vividly than he could have imagined, beneath the weight of all that had happened. He didn’t want to disappear into this abyss. He wanted to save his people. To save Jayce. To save himself.

And yet, as the tendril reached the open wound of his face and pressed inward, all he could do was scream.

Notes:

I hope that first part wasn't too confusing, what with Perce and Yazzy last having been present in chapter 16 (so long ago, sob) but here we go! The climactic struggle is here! (Also I'm almost at 900 kudos, yay!)

In celebration of this moment, here is my Void hype song I've been listening to for months at this point: Scream.

Thank you so much to my commenters. The response to these climatic chapters has been so wonderful.

Chapter 33

He was being devoured–swallowed whole by a fanged maw that stripped away his shattered armor between its gnashing teeth. Despite his desperate struggle, his mind and heart had been flayed down to their cores, stripped of anything that could have protected them from what was to come. They were crushed within that smothering gullet, slipping farther with every movement.

His body was held in the grip of a Voidborn monster. But he, what remained of his sense of self, was no longer cognizant of that place. All that was left was this. 

The strangest thing was the familiarity of it. He recognized the belly of the beast he was now inside of, because it was another version of himself–a monstrous twin that had been growing within him since the moment of his evolution. Soon, he would be subsumed by it, digested down to base components and reforged into the world-eater he had always been designed to become. 

There was almost a sense of peace in this final defeat. As even his memories began to shrivel and die within that caustic realm, the nature of his fear lost all meaning. Something was being taken from him, he realized–something he had wanted so badly he would have given anything for it, when he was still himself. But now that he was to be reborn, he was less and less sure. The edges of his regret were being worn down, the nature of his loss grown alien and indistinct.

A creature like him should have only craved destruction, he thought, only sought out the quiet release of the endless dark. And yet, he was still chained to something far in the distance, bound to its light by heart and by soul. He held tight to that sense of longing, to the flickering memories of love and desire.

The other half of his spirit was still out there, somewhere. He called for it, again and again, until its absence was the only thing he knew.

 

---

 

Yazzy’s teeth grazed the exposed flesh of Jayce’s neck, just barely held back by the defensive swing of his elbow. He was trying to push her off of him, to kick his legs and resist, but his braced leg was all but non-functional, and her grip far too powerful for her size. Perce was crying her name, begging for her to stop, but the boy was in a state of shock and hadn’t yet managed to intervene.

Finally, Jayce managed to lock his hands around her neck and jaw, shoving her away from his throat with a roar of exertion. As he did, she only grinned, bearing a mouth full of new fangs.

“Who are you? ” Jayce growled, his stamina already nearly depleted. The voice had never been this clear before, had never been so imperfectly human. For the first time, the Void was speaking in his language, and Jayce didn’t know how it was possible. During his own possession, the commands had been a matter of pure instinct. There was no sense of self, only hunger and rage.

This couldn’t possibly be Yazzy, the defeated girl he’d just been speaking to. And so who was it watching him through her eyes…?

“It would be so much more informative to examine you in person,” it said, its voice eerie in a way only subtly inhuman things can be. “To take you apart with the rigor that your novelty demands. But I am currently preoccupied.” It strained against Jayce’s grip, leaning in close, as if to taste him. “Though… Perhaps you will return to your patron, where you could be analyzed together?”

It was almost like it was making an offer, or a request. It wanted Jayce to come to where it was, to where his ‘patron’ was, whatever that meant. Unless…

“Viktor,” Jayce breathed. 

He snarled and attempted to knee it in the gut with his good leg, but it had practically no effect. Instead, the thing behind Yazzy’s eyes only looked more intrigued. 

“Your souls are so deeply enmeshed… I am surprised you have not succumbed alongside him.”

Jayce’s heart clenched, the word ‘succumbed’ reverberating in his head. Did it mean that… that Viktor had already…?

“No!” Jayce snarled, pushing back with a renewed burst of reckless force. Just as he was finally gaining some traction, the focus in its alien eyes began to stray. It cast one last glance in Jayce’s direction and smiled.

“But will you survive what is to come?” Its grip loosened around Jayce’s shoulders. “I look forward to finding out.”

As those final words left its mouth, all semblance of self-awareness went with it. After only a moment of confusion, Yazzy’s possessed body flew into a mindless rage, clawing at him wildly and trying to bite any part of his flesh that it could reach.

She was too close for him to get the shield between them. She was latched onto him now, their limbs entwined, and he just wasn’t strong enough to displace her. Perce tried to grab at her from behind, but a slam of her elbow sent him falling back with a freshly bloody nose. Jayce fumbled to unlatch his hammer from his belt, but even if he’d been able to, the thought of striking her with it sent his addled mind spinning.

He remembered the Zaunite child that he’d struck with the Mercury Hammer, how the life had faded from his eyes. He thought of Yazzy’s skull breaking open, in front of her terrified friend. He thought of the way he had torn Viktor’s chest wide with his teeth and claws, the wound gushing Arcane blood. 

How was he meant to fight the Void if they were all helpless victims like he had been?

“Fuck! Jayce!” 

Vi was there now, digging her hands beneath Yazzy’s arms and hauling her back–the only one physically capable of matching the Voidtaken girl’s strength. Yazzy’s focus stayed on Jayce, though, even as he was able to start getting up, wiping away fresh blood from his face. She’d gotten him with her claws, and she was frenzying for more. 

“Yazzy! Stop! Please!” Perce cried, nearly hysterical with confusion and grief. Vi was trying to get her into a chokehold now, to shut her down nonlethally, but the violence of the struggle was making it impossible. 

Jayce was fumbling with the shield generator, but his shaking hands were too slow. Yazzy had already broken free. 

She was mid-lunge when a length of metallic cord snapped across the room like a whip, wrapping around her ankle. Electricity surged down its length. Yazzy gurgled, body stiffening with shock. 

A moment later, she collapsed. On the other end of the whip was Flo, her mechanical arms back in motion. The cord was being projected from one of her wrists–a built-in taser. 

“...Yazzy?” Flo choked, eyes wide with horror and burgeoning guilt. “Why was she…?” Her eyes settled on his fresh wounds, blanching. “Jayce!”

“It’s the Void,” Jayce managed, through the fear and the pain. “It’s coming. We… We have to stop it. We have to go! Now!” He was trying to get up, his weak leg sagging beneath him. “We… We have to save him…! ”

Ekko had returned at Flo’s side, the crystallization gun clenched in his hands. They exchanged glances. Vi looked down at Yazzy’s unconscious body helplessly. 

“What about her?” she asked.

Jayce froze. He didn’t know what to say. If she woke up, it was entirely possible that she would still be possessed by the Void. She’d be a danger to herself, and everyone else, just like all of the Void’s victims had been.

But they couldn’t wait there to find out. Viktor was… he was…

Jayce’s head started to swim with vertigo, as if he was tilting over the edge of a depthless pit. There wasn’t time, was all he could think, again and again. He had to get to Viktor. He had to get to Viktor…!

“Here,” Ekko said. With a grimace, he fired his weapon at Yazzy–its crystal projectile expanding and coating her with orange stone. Only her head and part of her arm was exposed in the end. Perce stared on in horror.

“W-Wait… you can’t mean…” he babbled.

“I’ll call over some of my team to keep a look out.” Ekko holstered his gun, looking deeply unsatisfied, but without other options. “They’ll do what they can… for her, and for anyone else they find like this.”

“I’m so sorry, Perce,” Flo said, hugging him properly this time. There were tears budding in her eyes. “I… I can’t stay. But if we can free the Herald… then maybe he can put a stop to all of this.”

Jayce didn’t know if it was possible. He didn’t know what Viktor could do for anyone else, at this point. He only knew what he could do for Viktor… the life he could give anything for.

“Here,” Vi said, slipping an arm under Jayce’s shoulder and supporting him as they made their way out of Flo’s lab. “Keep it steady.”

Ekko delivered the message to one of the Firelights that had gathered outside. And, with that, they were racing towards the docks, as quickly as Jayce could carry himself. They could hear screaming in the distance as they ran–terror from innocent civilians who were facing the horror of the Void for the first time. Yazzy wasn’t the only one changing.

Some part of him was wasting away, hearing it–hearing the misery he could do nothing to stop. But the rest could only be drawn in by the thick waves of dread that were radiating from Stillwater’s direction. He could smell it, somehow, like smoke on the wind. It was all spreading from there. 

And then… 

…Jayce felt their time run out.

It came suddenly, like a gunshot. It was as if a hole had been gouged in his brain and in his heart, the wounds gushing acrid filth. He collapsed forward, grasping through the haze of darkness that seemingly only he could see. The others stopped, looking back to him in terror as he writhed on the streets of Zaun, feeling like he was about to be sucked down beneath them, into the abyss below.

“Jayce?” Flo cried.

And it was only that name that reminded him. That he was Jayce. That he wasn’t actually the person that was experiencing these feelings. Not completely.

It was Viktor that was dying, on the other end of their bond. It was Viktor sinking beneath those foul waves, the last bit of light slipping away. His partner was disappearing, and he could feel it happening moment by moment.

“Viktor!” Jayce screamed. “Viktor!”

It couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be too late. He’d promised. He’d promised. 

The agony was too much to bear. Maybe Jayce would succumb alongside Viktor, just like that creature had presumed. There was no way out. There was only blackness ahead of him, with nothing to reach for, nothing left of Viktor to pull back from the brink. It was over.

Until… he felt the faintest thread of light fall between his spirit’s fingers, its glimmering trail leading deep into the encroaching darkness. At its touch, he saw the physical and cosmic realm at once–a path that would lead him away from his body, and into the maw of hell itself. His soul was free to follow, if it was strong enough.

Jayce grasped the thread tight between his hands, and let everything else go. 

The abyss swallowed him.

 

---

 

Jayce was suffused in darkness, unable to see, unable to think. The screams of the Void were all around him, their claws raking across his soul as he passed, as if trying to drag him off course. The only way he knew he was progressing at all was the tug of the thread in his hand, cutting through the emptiness. It was all he could do to endure the pain and hold on.

But then, finally, impossibly, he came out the other side. Where there had only been agony and absence, some semblance of reality reasserted itself. Jayce coalesced back into being.

He found himself sagging down onto his knees, his vision a haze of shadows and shimmering blue light. He recognized it dimly, through the echoes of the Void’s assault against his mind. He’d been here before, somehow. He recognized the glint of the mirrored floors, the hum of Hextech Gemstones in containment.

He was inside the central chamber of the Hexgates. Or something like it, at least.

The overhead lighting had all been deactivated, with only the faint glow of the Gemstone chambers persisting. The shadows were thicker than they should have been, tangible in their menace. This wasn’t physical reality, it was the instinctive memory of it.

And standing several feet away from him was Viktor, as Jayce had known him in a different life. He was wearing the same vest and pinstripe work-shirt he had on so many occasions, his body frail but held proudly, unmistakably human.

That Viktor seemed just as startled as Jayce was. He exhaled a shaking, disbelieving breath and limped forward. Jayce noticed then that his crutch had been replaced with a length of scrap metal, held awkwardly like a walking staff. His clothing was strangely blackened and frayed, as if worn by the elements.

“Jayce,” Viktor said, reaching down to carefully help him to his feet. The moment Jayce accepted, he was pulled into Viktor’s arms, who embraced him with the kind of wonder one would a distant fantasy. 

“Viktor…!” Jayce gasped, and he could already feel himself shaking with emotion. Such a short time ago, he had felt like everything was already lost, and now Viktor was right here with him. He hugged Viktor back desperately enough that it caused the other man to wheeze. “I thought you were gone. I felt it…!”

It was at those words that Viktor pulled away, his face flushing in embarrassment. He raised a hand, holding Jayce at a distance.

“My apologies,” he said. “I… am not the ‘Viktor’ that you are accustomed to dealing with. I am an aspect of the system. I am not… complete, in the way you might expect, on my own.”

Jayce exhaled slowly. He had anticipated that might be the case, from the moment he had seen this Viktor's appearance. But he still found himself entranced by the sight–a warm memory, come to life. A version of his partner that had been lost to time.

Meanwhile, Viktor kept explaining himself, as if he was clearing up some kind of awkward misunderstanding.

“We were never meant to be forward facing technology, really. Only a means to keep order in the face of our mind’s new burdens. I am sure this is… difficult.”

“Viktor,” Jayce breathed. “I don’t care.”

He stepped forward and took hold of Viktor’s free hand, clasping it tight. He could feel tears flooding his eyes all over again.

“A second ago I thought I’d never see any part of you, ever again. I’m just… so relieved.” Jayce had to take a moment to steady himself. It was like he had just been through a near death experience. Maybe he actually had been. “How did you bring me here? I’ve been trying to reach out this whole time, but I couldn’t get to you, no matter what I did!”

Viktor swallowed. He clearly had his own confused feelings to contend with. Eventually, he cleared his throat. 

“Well. I had felt that communication with you was our best hope of survival. And so, I was investigating methods by which the system could subvert the restrictions on Arcane flow that House Ferros was imposing on us.” Gently, he pulled his hand away from Jayce’s grasp, as if it was a level of intimacy he could no longer endure, but didn’t want to be mean about it.

Instead, he gestured towards the core of the Hexgates–or the metaphorical rendering of it created by the system, Jayce assumed.

“I was considering the Hexgates, and how they employed variations of the acceleration rune to bend the expected limitations of matter and momentum,” Viktor explained, with the musing, curious sort of tone that had become so scarce with the repressed version of himself that existed now. “I thought that I could divert a very small amount of energy, and project it through a similar method, to the only knowable destination…” He looked in Jayce’s direction, looking taken back all over again. “...Which was you, of course.”

For a moment, Jayce could only stare at him in awe. Being there, seeing this, was like a pleasant dream after the worst of nightmares.

“...And then I would use it to find my way here,” Jayce finished. 

Viktor’s expression fell. He looked downward. 

“The system may be beyond repair, Jayce,” he said softly. “There is still no telling if our plan will succeed, or if… it is only a matter of time before the end. By bringing you here, I may have damned your soul alongside us.”

Jayce shook his head. He felt the dreamlike hope of his relief be tempered somewhat… but this version of Viktor really didn’t remember him clearly at all, if he thought that would be enough to stop him. 

He put a hand on Viktor’s shoulder.

“Whatever it takes. There is no price I wouldn’t pay to save you.”

As he said it, Jayce could feel the words ring through time, an echo of a scene that had taken place so long ago. They had both been here before, with the goal of saving Viktor's life, the phantom of hope just beyond their fingertips.

Then Viktor looked back at him with the same, cautious belief that Jayce had witnessed so many times before, and he knew that, this time, he had to make it a reality. There was no other outcome he could accept.

“Then come,” Viktor said. “We must act quickly.”

Viktor led him down from the Hexgate’s tower and into what Jayce could only interpret as a series of maintenance tunnels. They were worn down and derelict, infested with shadowy webs that threatened the presence of something much worse. It was strange that they had to walk like this, Jayce realized. What did it mean to walk, in a place that existed fully within Viktor’s mind?

This aspect of Viktor was clearly struggling with the effort of it, too. Now that Jayce had the time to look closer, his partner was haggard-looking even by the standards of the period of his life he represented. He looked like he’d dragged himself through a warzone to get here. It suggested foreboding things about what they might face ahead of them. 

“What’s happening to you?” Jayce asked as they moved. They didn’t have time to stop and talk, but he could at least learn the basics. “I felt something… shift. The earth shook, and… people started being taken over. Worse than it’s ever been. One of them spoke to me, and told me you were…” He trailed off. He couldn’t bear to say it. “I thought I was too late.”

“House Ferros implemented new bindings… ones that made even basic manipulation of the Arcane impossible.” Viktor’s explanation was quick and quiet, as if he didn’t want to draw any more attention to their location than he had to. “Our soul was injured in the process… and between those two burdens, we could no longer defend ourselves against this… against the Void.”

Jayce saw the way Viktor flinched when he said that word. Even thinking about it was gnawing at his mind, the same way Jayce had experienced so many times before.

“You remember.”

“I am no longer able to forget. Piece by piece, the system has fallen to its influence… and a short time ago… its beasts found us in our cell. Helpless.” Viktor could only stare ahead, haunted. “Our body is being assaulted. With the petricite chains still in place, there is nothing we can do to defend ourselves. And the Core…” He shook his head, wavering in his step. He was obviously fighting the pull of exhaustion, and had been for a long while. “We have lost touch with him completely.”

Jayce felt himself spinning again, the pressure of the situation almost too much to stand. How could he be there for Viktor in two places at once?

“I was coming for you!” he pleaded. “I figured out the key, just like we planned. I found people to help me, and we were going to fight our way down to your prison… to free you once and for all.” Jayce looked down at his hands–at the glimmering unreality of his spirit. “But if I’m here… I can’t…”

“As it currently stands, you would not make it in time,” Viktor said, firm in his estimation. “And if the system falls completely, there will be nothing left of us to save.”

Jayce forced himself to breathe.

“What do you need me to do?”

“I’m taking you to the Archivist,” Viktor explained. “He is the caretaker of the system’s memories. He and I are the only aspects that have remained uncorrupted... It seems that the sheer volume of material within his partition has done something to conceal his presence.”

“What… do they call you?” Jayce asked, unsure how to phrase it in a way that wasn’t rude. “Your… designation?”

“The Machinist.” Viktor glanced back at him, and if he was offended, it didn’t show. “I was designed to perform repairs, and to restart the system in the event of a catastrophic failure. Though… the present situation has certainly pushed the limits of that protocol.”

“Wait,” Jayce said, stopping in his tracks. His heart began to pound. “If all the other aspects are corrupted, then what about the Voidw—”

Viktor spun around, planting a hand over Jayce’s mouth before he could finish speaking. He shushed him harshly.

“Do not say it. Not unless you want to summon its attention here.”

Jayce thought back to his last interactions with the Voidwarden, with the way it had instructed him to call its designation if he ever needed it to find him. It had been the one aspect best equipped to fight the Void. If it had turned against them…

His gaze wandered upward in a daze, trying to process the weight of the internal threat they apparently both faced. Yet, as he did, he saw something odd. A small slit had opened in the ceiling of the maintenance shaft–one that contained a luminous purple eye, watching them hungrily from above.

“...Viktor,” Jayce whispered. Viktor followed the path of his stare, his entire body going tense as he saw the eye as well. 

“No,” Viktor breathed, shaking his head. “No, not yet…” He grabbed Jayce’s hand. “Jayce… run! Now!”

Jayce did not pause to ask why.

They raced through the maintenance tunnel as quickly as Viktor could go, more and more eyes opening on the walls around them. The otherwise stone-like material of their surroundings was warping, becoming corded like muscle, and clenching like something alive. Behind them, the same transformation was taking hold. A new reality was asserting itself, and there was nothing they could do to stop it. 

Suddenly, the floor gave way, declining into a steep slope of wires and purple sinew. Though Viktor tried, his wearied form could not handle the change in terrain. He tumbled down the widening path with a cry, slipping from Jayce’s grasp. 

Jayce did the only thing he could. He followed.

When Jayce got to the bottom, he found himself in a cavernous, cathedral-like space, crafted entirely of metallic purple muscle, golden teeth and bones. Sharp pillars of the material shot up all around them, segmented like the limbs of insects. Thick clusters of shifting eyes adorned the walls, shining like stained glass.

At the center of its proverbial altar there was a figure, hanging from the wall, consumed by the mechanical flesh up to its waist. It dangled there limply, long hair concealing its face.

“Jayce!” Viktor pleaded, sprawled out on the floor ahead of him. His walking stick had been lost on the way down, and he was struggling to get up. 

“I’m coming,” Jayce said, stumbling across the distance between them.

At the altar, the figure raised its head. 

“There you are,” it said softly, its voice unmistakable. 

Jayce turned towards it, and was faced with the Viktor of the commune, but twisted into a nightmarish phantasm of himself. His artificial body was naked and split open with hungry eyes, his lower body woven into the same flesh-like material as the walls. He held out his hands in welcome.

“It’s the Witness,” Viktor cried. “He’s been corrupted! You must go! Now—!”

“Your desperation causes us such senseless pain, Machinist,” the Witness said. “You have not felt the truth, as I have. There is quiet in the Void. There is peace. Boundless. Eternal.”

All around them, the pillar-like legs of the cathedral began to shift, their sharp ends twitching and reaching towards them. As Jayce tried to make his way to Viktor, one of them struck the ground in his path, blocking the way.

“Its masters wait for the day that we all join them.” The Witness spoke with the same purity of purpose that he always had before–an obsession seen through a new lens. “That is the nature of their impatience. On the other side of their wrath, there is only the tranquility of absence. But we are too afraid to understand it.”

“Please,” Jayce begged, already knowing it wouldn’t work. “You don’t want this. You already know you don’t want this.”

“I only know the importance of our task.” His inhuman gaze fell upon Viktor. “And that it is time for the Machinist to join his kin in its service.”

As Viktor attempted to crawl away, an insectoid leg lashed in his direction. Its sharp claw pierced through his good leg, pinning him to the floor below. He screamed.

Jayce screamed, too. 

He charged forward, despite the lashing claws blocking his way. One after another, they attempted to cage him in, but he forced his way around him, determination guiding every step. Yet, just as he was reaching Viktor, another claw struck–this time, piercing his partner through the back. 

Viktor’s cries were silenced by the sickly gurgle of blood. 

As Jayce finally made it to Viktor’s side, he started pulling at the sharp legs that were piercing him. Slowly, the one in Viktor’s leg was being moved–but Viktor had fallen still.

“Go,” Viktor choked. “There.” Painstakingly, he extended a hand, pointing to the far side of the cathedral. There was a door–polished and finely carved, like the ones of Piltover’s Academy. “You can still save us, Jayce. I… I cannot.”

Jayce could make it to the door, he thought. He could run, while Viktor was slowly torn apart, turned into another creature like the Witness. But he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t.

“I’m not… leaving you! ” Jayce roared, heaving against the claw. In a surge of inhuman strength, he wrenched it from Viktor’s leg, its chitinous form cracking and giving way. In Jayce’s grip, the claw broke clean off.

He didn’t pause to consider the hows or whys. Instead, he went for the claw in Viktor’s back, forcing it out as well. Above, the Witness watched, somehow perplexed by Jayce’s capabilities. 

“I see,” the Witness said, frowning. He gestured in Jayce’s direction, and the pillar-legs surged in compliance.

But Jayce wouldn’t be stopped now. He hauled Viktor’s frail form up into his arms and ran for the door. 

Jayce heard the claws strike the ground behind him, but he was moving too quickly for them to anticipate his actions. The door threw itself open for him as he arrived–and as he passed through, he could hear a scream of actual frustration from the Witness, wretched and inhuman.

Then the door closed behind him, and was gone.

He was standing in a hallway nearly identical to the ones in the Academy, Viktor breathing shallowly in his arms. Black veins were spreading from both of his wounds, slowly corrupting his flesh with webs of shadow. 

They were signs the same infection that marred the corners of the halls ahead. Even here, the decay continued.

“Hello?” Jayce called out with renewed urgency, realizing where they must be. Viktor had said that he was bringing them to the Archivist–the last remaining aspect, untouched by the encroach of the Void. Jayce moved down the hall, passing door after door, searching for any sign of habitation.

Which one did he need to go through? How could he possibly know?

“I… I have the Machinist with me,” he called again. “Please. I need your help. He’s… he’s hurt.”

Jayce looked down at Viktor again, at his hollowed out face, at the black blood now seeping from his lips. He didn’t know if saving this version of Viktor would matter at all. But he couldn’t just leave him to be taken by the Void, to have him be converted into a horror like the Witness had been. He knew that much. 

“Archivist?” 

Mere moments after he uttered the word, Jayce felt the head of a cane hook around his shoulder, pulling him back. Before he knew it, he’d been tugged into an open doorway–into a room that was a near replica of his and Viktor’s Piltover lab, from their glory days as the city’s top scientists. 

He looked around in surprise, realizing that he, himself, was suddenly dressed in his old work clothing, tailored perfectly for the scene.

Ahead of him stood another Viktor–but this one was young and bright, unaffected by the years of strain that would follow. He was wearing a tidy academy uniform, his cane braced between his hands.

“Jayce,” said the Archivist. He offered a slight smile. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

Notes:

Back on track with updates! The action scenes are killing me, but it's just that time in the story. I've been looking forward to writing Jayce going through Viktor's haunted house void brain for a long time.

(Sorry to all the Machinist fans, you know I had to do it to him.)

Chapter 34

Jayce laid Viktor down on the lab’s daybed, feeling a tingle of strange nostalgia. It wasn’t an action he had actually done before, in truth. Viktor never would have let him carry him like this, during their years spent as partners in discovery. But Jayce had thought about doing it many times–thought about scooping up Viktor in his arms and taking him to rest, during the long nights they had worked in the lab.

But this was different. Here, Viktor was on the verge of oblivion, unable to walk by his own power, or even open his eyes. He more closely resembled the version of himself that Jayce had fished out of the Council Room ruins. He hated how familiar the image of Viktor’s death was becoming to him. 

“I don’t think this is recoverable,” the Archivist said, kneeling down at Viktor’s side. He wasn’t precisely unbothered , but his tone was steady and professional–as if this was an academic interest above all else. He was examining a piece of broken machinery. “The Machinist was already pushing the boundaries of his function. He was not built to endure something like this.”

At first, Jayce could only stare, taking in the Archivist’s form all over again. In sharp contrast, this was a version of Viktor that was still vibrant and new–as full of life as he had been on the day they met. He may as well have been a vision from another life entirely. Jayce could barely remember what it felt like to live as they had then.

“Were you?” Jayce asked. His gut was still turning with frustration and regret. These aspects could look at each other as disposable, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop thinking about the Witness, and what it must have felt like to be twisted into that abomination. Would the same thing happen to the Machinist now, despite his attempt to preserve him?

“Eh.” The Archivist waved his hand uncertainly, getting back onto his feet. “The archives have been being selectively pruned for some time, but now that the memory of this corruption has returned, I can make certain deductions. I think that my creation was an intentional precaution. The Core knew that our memories would need protection, if this condition were to advance.”

“Yeah, I’d say it looks pretty fucking advanced,” Jayce said, bracing his forehead with his hand. It was a bitter feeling, how his hope was already flagging. He’d been so relieved when he first arrived… but had he been brought here just to witness his partner’s obliviation in more excruciating detail? 

The Archivist furrowed his brow, though his look remained patient, even kind. It was the sort of expression that made Jayce immediately rethink his behaviour.

“...What do we do now?” he asked instead, in obvious contrition. Viktor… the Machinist… had said that he was bringing him here for a reason. 

“I have something to ask of you,” the Archivist said. He glanced back at where the Machinist lay, observing the way the other aspect had begun twitching in his sleep. “But first… I don’t think it’s safe for him to stay here.”

“What do you mean?” A shiver went through Jayce’s body. He planted his feet more securely, as if bracing for an attack.

“If the Void takes control of him, it will know where we are. What safety we still have here will be compromised. His descent is inevitable… it’s only a matter of how long he takes to fall.”

Jayce was already shaking his head. He didn’t want to hear it.

“No. No…” he mumbled, preemptively trying to defy the truth.

The Archivist frowned. “The Machinist’s primary goal was to bring you to us, Jayce. He would be glad to have succeeded! He was prepared to accept this outcome, as long as it would ensure the system’s survival—”

“I didn’t want him to sacrifice himself!” Jayce erupted. “I wanted to save him! How many more times am I supposed to watch you die, Viktor?”

His head felt light, and his heart far too heavy. Jayce sank down against the side of the daybed, the Machinist shifting restlessly behind him. It was like he was having a nightmare. Jayce was having a nightmare, too.

He buried his face in his hands, just trying to breathe. What did it mean to breathe, in a place like this, anyway? Shouldn’t he have just been happy, knowing that he was here, and that there was still something he could do?

But what if Viktor’s heart and mind couldn’t be saved either?

Jayce was pulled from that downward spiral by a hand coming to rest on his shoulder. The Archivist was looking down at him with a rueful smile.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “All of this still feels… distant from me. Something I have observed from afar but never experienced. A byproduct of my design, I’m afraid.”

Jayce met the Archivist’s apologetic gaze, and found that he couldn’t look away.

“In a way, I am just another entry in the Archive,” the Archivist explained. “A memory of who I was before all of this. I… never got to meet you, Jayce. And yet, I feel I know you very well. Like a character in a well-loved book.”

It took Jayce a moment to internalize what that meant.

“Then… you’re from before the explosion in my lab,” he managed. “Before Hextech. Before… me.”

The Archivist nodded sadly.

“In some ways, it has allowed me to avoid the strain of our circumstances. No matter what the system endures, I still see things from the perspective I did at the Academy. Forever living in the past.”

“Why… did he do that? Why didn’t he want you to remember me?” 

As selfish as it was, that was the thought at the forefront of Jayce’s mind. Why would Viktor immortalize a version of himself that had never met him? Did that mean he wished they had never met at all?

“An unbiased perspective, perhaps. From a time when he still believed that he could live without you.” The Archivist sighed. “Evidently, that is no longer the case.”

The Archivist lifted his hand, and moved back across the room, his cane clacking against the floor as he went. He looked towards the door, and the decaying world outside of it.

“The Heart and Core believed that you were captured by House Ferros,” he said. “That no one was coming for them. The Machinist’s efforts have disproven that… but they have now been pulled so far into the abyss, there is no way for me to reach them–not without being taken by the same corruption.”

“He thought that…” Jayce trailed off, feeling like he was going to be sick. This whole time, Viktor had believed that no one would save him. That Jayce had already failed. 

Jayce swore, clutching at his head. They’d lied to Viktor, and for what reason? Just to break his spirit?

Viktor had been alone and hurting and helpless when the Void came for him, and all because of that goddamn family’s delusions of grandeur. The hatred Jayce felt was enough to make him delirious. In his mind, they were as responsible for this coming apocalypse as the Void itself was.

“Soon, this place will be consumed by rot, along with the rest of the system,” the Archivist said, his expression steady. “Though our body will live on, it will be the end of our identity… a true ego death.” 

The words made Jayce feel like he was going to die, too. But before he could sink into despair, the Archivist smiled.

“...But now that you are here, I truly believe that fate can be averted,” he said. “You are the other half of our soul, Jayce… and I have devised a failsafe that only you can bear. Here.”

Through a mechanic that Jayce couldn’t quite make sense of, the Archivist produced a book from within his being. Jayce recognized the cover. It was the same style of notebook that Viktor had recorded his findings in, year after year. He stood without thinking, moving forward as if in a trance. Whatever was within his pages, he knew instinctively that it was precious.

The Archivist held it out for him to take.

“This is a backup of the archives, Jayce,” he said. “As complete as I could create. Keep it with you, and we will persist, no matter what our mind endures.”

With shaking hands, Jayce took the notebook in his hands–the entirety of Viktor, stored within a singular volume. He could barely comprehend the immensity of it, but he could feel the weight of history between his fingers. This book was his partner, as much as the Archivist was. Perhaps even more so.

Jayce held it to his chest. The notebook sank inside of him, at rest in a fragment of its own soul. The rush of its presence filled Jayce’s head to bursting, before slowly suffusing into an aura of familiar warmth.

“The Core has already lost much of himself,” the Archivist said, watching Jayce carefully. “But… I believe he will remember you. He only needs the chance to try.”

Jayce threw his arms around the Archivist, locking him into a desperate embrace. He could no longer resist it.

“Thank you,” Jayce said, again and again, tears spilling from his eyes. “Thank you, thank you.”

The Archivist went still at first, unsure of how to engage with such a display. Eventually, though, he placed a hand on Jayce’s back.

“There is no need, really,” he said. “After all, I am only trying to save my own skin, aren’t I?”

Eventually, Jayce held himself back, looking the Archivist in the eye. 

“Can you take me to him?” Jayce asked. The Archivist nodded.

“I will do everything in my power to try.”

But first, there was still one loose end to deal with.

 

---

 

Jayce carried the Machinist in his arms, as the Archivist navigated a path through the halls of Viktor’s memories. Jayce didn’t ask what the Archivist’s original plan had been–whether it was to toss his fellow aspect out into the abyss before he turned, or whether it had been something slightly less cruel. Either way, he seemed to have had a change of heart. 

He said that he would take the Machinist somewhere on the fringes of his memory, where he could wait the situation out. It would be far enough away from where they needed to go that any risk would be isolated.

“At worst, I suppose I could expunge the memory entirely,” the Archivist explained, a touch of bitterness in his tone. “I would not be missing much.”

They passed through a room that reflected the image of the Piltover dam, the rhythmic thrum of machinery mingling with the sound of falling water. It was the same place that Viktor had so often come to sit and think–and also where Jayce had found him, looking down into the waters below with death in his eyes. 

Jayce wondered which version of it they were in now: the place of tranquility and privacy, or the one where Viktor had come to contemplate his end.

Neither, apparently. Because, to Jayce’s surprise, the Viktor inhabiting the scene was much younger than he had ever seen him. He couldn’t have been older than sixteen, and was dressed in the well-worn clothing of a Zaunite.

That teenage Viktor didn’t react to their presence. Instead, he just continued staring towards a distant sunset, his cane laid at his side. The Archivist didn’t pay him much mind, though, instead passing through with a soft hum of thought.

“We’re almost there, I think,” the Archivist said. “One or two crossings away at most.”

Meanwhile, Jayce couldn’t stop staring.

The Archivist had explained when they began, that all of the archive’s memories were connected by a web of tangled threads, bound by psychological association. To reach a certain memory, one only had to find a path of logical links. He hadn’t , however, explained where they were actually going.

There was something deeply melancholy in this young Viktor’s eyes, as if the emotional resonance of the memory was one steeped in unforgettable loss. Jayce couldn’t imagine that the final destination was anything good, if it was associated with this.

“Don’t be rude,” the Archivist said, watching Jayce with a furrowed brow. “I did not bring you here for your pity.”

“Sorry… sorry,” Jayce said, wrenching his focus pack to the path ahead. In his arms, the Machinist’s brow was creased with strain. They needed to hurry.

They passed through the dam, and straight into the interior of a run-down building. It had to be in the undercity, Jayce recognized immediately. It was jarringly familiar to the place Jayce had stayed in after the earthquake, where Vanessa had provided for her community with what charity she could. This, however, seemed like more of a hostel, with rows of bunk beds and drawers filled with the sparse personal belongings of an assortment of transient individuals.

It must have been the middle of the day, though it was hard to tell down in the fissures. He could only guess by the fact that there was nobody currently using the beds. The Archivist led him to the bed at the end of the row, where the stained sheets were still pushed aside.

“Lay him here,” the Archivist instructed, still giving no indication of what this scene meant to him. Jayce could only guess.

This wasn’t a family home, this was a place where strangers congregated that had nowhere else to go. Somehow, in all of his life, he’d never really considered that Viktor might have lived in a place like this, growing up. There were so many questions he’d never asked, and the weight of that unseen history was bearing down on him from all directions.

He looked at the Archivist, the words on the edge of his lips. What was this place? Why was he staying here? Was he a teenager, like they’d seen at the dam? Where were his parents?

Jayce had lived with the pain of losing his own father. How much worse would it be to experience that, while not even having a home?

As Jayce laid the Machinist down on the bunk bed, he vowed that someday soon he would ask Viktor all of these things. He would know every part of him, even the ones that his partner had never dared expose to the light of day. But now wasn’t the time. This was just another facet of Viktor that he couldn’t afford to lose.

“If the Core is freed, there is the chance that he can still be repaired,” the Archivist said. “Until then, this is all I can give him: a place to rest and the hope that he will endure.”

The Machinist was still fighting, it seemed. Jayce could tell, from the strain in his expression, even as he slept. Jayce tidied his hair a little, wiping away the black blood from his lips. Please keep going, Jayce thought, again and again. Please stay, even if it doesn’t feel worth it anymore.

“Jayce,” the Machinist murmured, his eyes fluttering. It caused Jayce’s heart to leap. “Why do you never listen…? I told you to go...”

“I know,” Jayce said, tearing up. “I’m sorry. It’s a problem.”

“Exhausting,” was all the Machinist managed to say in response, trailing off back into deliriousness. Jayce sighed shakily and leaned down, gently pressing his lips to his forehead. 

“I know it is,” Jayce said again, tracing the lines of Viktor’s face. “But please… please keep fighting.”

As the Machinist fell back into silence, Jayce wiped his eyes and straightened up. He looked to the Archivist with a fresh sense of resolve.

“Let’s go,” he said. The Archivist hesitated for a moment, and then nodded.

There was a fast route back to the future, it seemed. They only needed to return the way they came, using the dam as a central point of reference. They passed Viktor’s teenaged self, the scene just as they had seen before. But, then, they crossed through the same space again… only for Heimerdinger to be there, seemingly discovering a young Viktor for the first time.

The Archivist did not pause long enough for Jayce to hear what they were saying, but it was a story he’d heard from their shared mentor before. It was in that same space that he and Viktor had first met, and where Heimerdinger had realized his obvious brilliance. How strange it was, to see it come to life.

As they crossed through a third time, it was Heimerdinger and Viktor again, though it must have been very close to the final days of Viktor's illness. Jayce could see it in his exhaustion, in the way he sagged against his crutch. Heimerdinger was speaking to him ruefully, as if imparting some final lesson. 

“Those who shine brightest burn fastest,” Heimerdinger said. Jayce couldn’t help but feel a flutter of resentment, hearing that said now. Heimerdinger had been so ready to let Viktor go. If he’d had his way, none of this would have ever happened.

Would they all have been better off?

This time, as they passed through, they arrived in a different place entirely. It was the Council Room, on the day that Jayce had petitioned to have Heimerdinger forced into retirement. Jayce found himself back in his gilded Councilor tailcoat, while he watched another version of himself make a desperate attempt to save Viktor’s life.

The connection through Heimerdinger made sense, for a moment. But then Jayce realized: Viktor had not been there for this.

“Interesting,” the Archivist said, watching the scene with raised eyebrows. “This one isn’t mine. I suppose I’ve never travelled this place with someone who wasn’t myself…”

He glanced to Jayce curiously, who felt a chill go through him. Jayce’s skin was crawling, being here, dressed like this. He wanted to keep going, and fast.

“Right,” Jayce grumbled uncomfortably. “How do we get back on course?” 

“You’ll have to make a connection back to the archive,” the Archivist mused. “A time when we were together, perhaps? Hold the memory in your thoughts, and take the exit over there.”

He gestured to the big doors at the head of the Council Room. Jayce nodded, and dug back into those bitter feelings. He pushed open the doors and headed through.

They were in the lab now, and he was back in his work clothing. Across the room, he saw himself arguing with Heimerdinger, Viktor at his side, and the ominous shadow of a giant, wilted plant looming over them both. Neither of them had cared about the consequences then, least of all Jayce.

Heimerdinger said he would have the Hexcore destroyed, and Jayce said that the Council would decide. And they had, for better or for worse.

Yet, despite the familiarity of the scene, something wasn’t quite right. Moment by moment, the burned-out husk of the plant was growing larger, wreathing the space in shadow, its corrupted presence spreading to every corner of the room. Jayce could feel something horrible lurking in the winding coils of its branches. Something crept within the dark, clawing to be free. Ahead of it, the Viktor of the memory did not seem to notice.

A shrill cry of longing echoed in the distance. Moment by moment, it only grew louder.

“Ah,” the Archivist said. “Perfect… This is the last crossing we will need.”

As the Jayce of the past left, leaving a confused Viktor behind him, the Archivist led him towards the Hexcore. It swirled with blue magic, eager to share its gifts with the world, uncaring of the consequences they would have. Around it, the shadows only thickened.

The Archivist reached forward and placed his hand against it. Something sparked. The world warped and twisted, reality itself unwinding, until it had decayed into something incomprehensible.

Those distant cries grew louder and closer, the sound seeping with desperate need. Jayce felt himself waver.

Then, they found themselves glitched back to the same doorway again, with a new memory unfolding.

Viktor was sitting in front of the Hexcore, stripped down to his underclothing, with a small blade in hand. He was painstakingly carving runes into his flesh, blood dripping down his pale skin. Ahead of him, the Hexcore danced, as if in celebration. Jayce could feel the wildness of the Arcane within it, straining to be free. 

Jayce had read about this, in Viktor’s notes, but he had never truly been able to imagine it. Viktor had bound himself indelibly to the Arcane that night. Yet, as Jayce watched it unfold before him, he was faced with a question that he had long since tried to ignore.

If Jayce was able to make these decisions again, was able to stop this chain of events entirely, and live in a world where Viktor let himself die… would he? 

“The Core’s connections to the archive have been decaying,” the Archivist said grimly. “Thread by thread, they have broken, like the strands of a fraying rope. This was the only crossing I was sure would still be intact. The mistake that will outlive memory itself.”

“You mean… using the Hexcore?” Jayce asked, staring ahead. This Viktor was so tired, so full of pain, but still fighting to live with every part of himself. 

What Jayce wouldn't give to see him fight like that again. 

“Not just the Hexcore, nor the Arcane,” the Archivist said softly. “But the poison we introduced to it.”

Ahead of them, the Viktor of memory produced a vial of Shimmer.

Cold dread thickened in Jayce’s gut. He knew what Shimmer represented. He had known for a while now, how it was able to infect people with the influence of the Void.

Once, Viktor had theorized about a corruption Shimmer had introduced to the Arcane. One of hunger and reckless growth. Was this what he’d meant? Had he spoken of the Void, even without remembering its name?

“That’s why the Void was connected to you,” Jayce said, already understanding. “Just like all of the other people being controlled by it, now. It used Shimmer as a way in.”

Memory Viktor screamed, Shimmer-filled veins pulsing across his body. Jayce was torn between scenes.

“I’m afraid it’s a bit more dire than that,” the Archivist said, a nervous waver in his voice. “I wasn’t just touched by the Void… I was reborn in its essence. Everything I am now… is because of the Hexcore. Because of the thing I turned it into.”

There were more screams. Viktor had touched his hand to the Hexcore, fusing it and his Shimmer-rich blood. They both underwent a transformation. The Hexcore, once bright with Arcane light, became twisted into the exact same patterns that Jayce had seen within the Void so many times now. Jayce had only seen this version of the Hexcore so briefly. He hadn’t known what else to do with it, besides give it what it wanted.

“The Void was inextricably bound into my creation, Jayce.” The Archivist’s gaze was distant. This was a memory he’d had no sway over, but was trapped by all the same. “I am not just its victim. I am one of its children.”

Images of skittering, hungry, hateful beasts flashed through Jayce’s mind. He shook his head helplessly. The Archivist kept talking.

“Now, the Void seeks to complete my evolution…. into what I was fated to be from this very moment. An instrument of its will in Runeterra. A Voidborn with the power to conquer even the Arcane.”

Around them, those desperate calls were becoming more wild and hopeless. They resonated through everything, sending shivers through stone and flesh, as if their source was just beneath their feet. 

“You’re not,” Jayce murmured. The Archivist seized the fabric of his shirt and dragged him close.

“You must understand this, Jayce!” he insisted. “If you are to face what is ahead. This will never leave me. It will be a part of us, forever!”

“You’re not,” Jayce said again. He reached out to brush his fingers down the Archivist’s face, looking deep on those familiar, intelligent, and oh-so-vulnerable eyes. “You’re not fated to be anything you don't want to be. Not anymore.”

Jayce could resist the voice calling to him no longer. Tearing himself away, he charged towards the Hexcore. He reached out for it, thinking of Viktor, in his totality. The Hexcore, and the Void within it, expanded to swallow everything.

And then he was gone.

 

---

 

It was dark, on the other side. 

The only light ahead was a faint purple haze, enough that Jayce could make out broad shapes, but not details. The ground was gnarled, like flesh and twisted metal. Jayce stumbled over it, wavering, collapsing down to his knees. Just being there felt exhausting, like living perpetually on the edge of succumbing to unconsciousness.

Wherever this was.

The entire space was pulsing like it was alive, wretchedly throbbing like the heartbeat within a fresh wound. The cries were loud here, but still somehow smothered. Jayce could feel their source just beyond his reach, beneath the muscle-like knit of fibers forming a giant lump in the center of the space. It was like a cocoon. There was something inside of it, thrashing weakly.

He didn’t like it here, Jayce kept thinking. He was going to die. It kept recurring in his mind, urging him to escape, to the point that he was struggling to remember why he’d come in the first place. 

Viktor.

He pushed back against the psychological erosion. He knew why he was here. He’d come intentionally, because there was something he needed to do.

Viktor, Viktor, Viktor.

Jayce dug his fingers against the outer web of the cocoon, willing it to open. It was stringy and unyielding. Every strand he tore free seemed to worm its way back into place the moment he paused to breathe. Beneath, he could still feel something moving. It wanted out, he felt instinctively. He needed to help it get out.

“Viktor,” he said out loud, scrambling against the slow decay of his own form. This was so hard. He needed to keep going. He was so tired. He had to find Viktor. He wanted to die.

Around him, the cries again grew louder, like the creak of metal structures shifting in the wind, threatening to collapse. 

Jayce remembered a different Viktor, remembered the part of himself the system had tried to hide away. The part that didn’t want to be seen. The part more deeply bound to the darkness than any other. He remembered what the Machinist had said.

Don’t say its name, unless he wanted its attention.

He did.

“Voidwarden.”

The scream transformed, from longing to fury. Jayce persisted.

“Voidwarden!”

The ground beneath him convulsed, parted by giant claws, pushing upward and outward. The fibers of the cocoon stretched and groaned until it was finally torn asunder, sending Jayce tumbling back. Slowly, painstakingly, the creature emerged. Its towering body was swathed in tethers, like the roots of a tree, like cables and wires.

Jayce recognized it, but only as a distant resemblance. Its body was long and gaunt, like what was there had been stretched far beyond its limit, its angular edges sharp with gilded chitin. Overgrown hair hung around its shoulders and down its back in oily, tangled clumps. Six new limbs had sprouted from its back, spreading like a mutant amalgamation of mantis claws and insect wings. A halo of writhing violet ringed its head.

But its face. God, its face.

Where there had once been a wound, there was now a cluster of asymmetrical, unblinking eyes. The points of its crown had grown, twisting into gnarled horns. The innermost plate of its mask was lined with fangs.

And, as it screamed, its entire head unhinged along that line, widening into a gaping jaw. Jayce could only stare into its depths. It was big enough to swallow him whole.

Any signs of Viktor’s human face were gone, worn away to nothing.

“No,” Jayce whispered. Clarity had returned to him, sharp and ice cold. This was everything he’d been afraid of. Viktor was gone, he thought. This was only the Void watching him through his eyes. It looked inside of him. It saw that he was weak. 

It thrashed blindly with its claws and wings, a howl emerging from its fanged mouth. Jayce was struck, hurled again the boundary that he could only conceive of as the outer wall of the space. He sank down, breathless and shaking. But then, something within him hardened.

“No.” He struggled, rising, staggering back onto his feet. “Viktor!” 

Those echoing cries of longing returned amid the fury. Jayce felt the pull of connection, a fragile golden thread still stretching between them. He was wrong. He was wrong. There was still something there.

“I’m here, Viktor!” Jayce called in response. “I’m coming for you!”

One of Viktor’s wings sliced towards him, a hunter striking at its prey. Jayce caught its point between his arms. Somehow, he could not be moved. 

“I’m going to find you in there.” He spoke through gritted teeth, straining against the wing’s pull. “I will always find you.”

Viktor tore his limb from Jayce's grip, sending him sprawling as it did. Then, before Jayce even had a chance to collect himself, gravity itself fell upon him like a boulder, forcing him flat to the ground. Behind Viktor’s head, the halo was shifting, runes forming from violet light. 

At first, Jayce could barely move at all, the force of Viktor’s magic squeezing the breath from his lungs and only getting worse with time. But then, somehow, he got up.

He didn’t really understand it. He should have been crushed into oblivion by Viktor’s power, but instead, he wanted to get up, and so he did. He wavered, choking and coughing, until he was on his feet again. He raised his head and met Viktor’s gaze.

“And I’m not leaving, ever again.”

Viktor screeched. 

In a delirious rage, he brought his massive palm down against Jayce, slamming him back onto his knees. But, Jayce didn’t break beneath it. Though its weight bore down, he remained.

“Viktor!” Jayce screamed back, pushing against its crushing pressure with everything he had. He could feel his form threaten to collapse, but somehow, he held on. He didn’t have any other option, did he? He had to hold on. There was still so much he needed to say.

“I love you,” he spoke into darkness, and the hand recoiled.

Jayce sagged forward as the pressure released. Hope swelled in his heart. Yet, as he looked up, Viktor was writhing. He was clutching his face, his many eyes looking in all directions in abject panic. 

And then, the light of his halo consolidated inward, the gnarled corruption of the hexclaw rising, preparing to release the same violence Jayce has witnessed devastate stone and steel alike. Viktor’s eyes focused on Jayce through clutching fingers, staring with vacant horror as it unfolded.

The hexclaw’s beam cut a swath of devastation across the space, incinerating the ground at Jayce’s feet. He felt like he was being burned alive, dissolved into ash. But then…

…Jayce stared down at his own hands and found he was still there.

As Jayce was paralyzed with surprise at his own continued existence, Viktor fell into a fit of self-destructive despair. He clawed at the root-like cables threaded into his flesh, into his skull, into the nodes of his spine. Even as he slammed himself against the ground, screaming and struggling, it was like he could not release their hold on him, as if he could feel their pull but not see or touch them. 

Jayce realized what he had to do.

“It’s okay,” he pleaded, racing through the devastation and to his partner’s side. “I’ve got you, Viktor. I’m going to get you out of there.”

Jayce seized the first cable he found between his hands and pulled with all of his strength. 

It wrenched free from Viktor’s flesh, snapping like a violin string. Viktor growled with sharp, deafening static and swatted a hand in Jayce’s direction. Impossibly, he was able to dance around the blow. Jayce stumbled towards the next cable and wrenched it free as well.

With each tether removed, Viktor’s assaults grew more sluggish, more confused. Eventually, Viktor could only scratch at the ground with his hands and wings, moaning in agony, but doing nothing to actually stop him. His body tensed and shook with the strain of willfully holding something back.

Viktor was fighting alongside him, Jayce realized with a flood of euphoric hope. Viktor finally knew that help was coming. 

And Jayce would not let him down.

“Jayce.” 

Viktor’s voice echoed in layers of grating, distorted sound. Jayce had never been so happy to hear his own name.

“I’m almost done,” he assured his partner. “I’ve got you, Viktor. I’m here.”

Finally, Viktor was shorn of his bonds, leaving Jayce heaving with exhaustion. With the immediate, frantic need to act passed, he sunk down to the ground, shaking with effort. Above him, Viktor’s massive form sagged, still squirming against the ground in obvious discomfort. None of his limbs were cooperating, his joints stuttering and malfunctioning.

“It’s my fault," Viktor moaned brokenly. “My fault. My… My fault.

“No, it isn’t,” Jayce said, crawling towards his partner’s mutilated face. 

“The Void. It changed me. I invited it. Became it.”

“I know,” Jayce said, reaching out a hand. Finally, he could press his fingers against the slope of Viktor’s cheek, so small in comparison. 

“I am an infection. Jayce. Poison. The death… of worlds.” Viktor wretched, shuddering, trying to pull away from Jayce’s touch. “I’m sorry.”

Jayce followed Viktor as he fled, and threw himself against his mask, the closest thing he could manage to an embrace.

“I don’t care,” Jayce said, tears streaming down his face. “I don’t.”

Tears began to trickle from Viktor’s cluster of eyes as well, glimmering and dark like oil.

“I can’t escape. Can’t. Unmake.... What I’ve become. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not letting you go.” Jayce rested his head against Viktor’s, shaking with desperation and need. “No matter how you were born. No matter what you are now. We can never go back. We can only go forward.”

Finally, Jayce managed to smile. He hoped that his warmth would find its way into Viktor, to spark something in his breaking heart.

“And we still can,” Jayce said, his confidence in his own words soaring. “We can keep going, together. And everything that brought us here will just be a new foundation to build on. It isn’t over, for us. I won’t let it be.”

At those words, Viktor's massive body began to shift. Jayce was scared for a moment, scared that Viktor was rejecting his offer, that the fight was going to begin all over again. But, it didn’t. Instead, Viktor only raised his body to expose his chest.

Down Viktor’s front and towards his belly, there was a row of golden fangs, like a vertical mouth the same shape as a coroner’s incision. Viktor dug his claws into its maw, wrenching it open with the violence of cracking ribs and parting bone. As the fangs parted, darkness bled out, until finally Jayce could see inside.

Within Viktor’s ribs, there was a tangle of veins and wires. At its center, there was an organ, almost like a heart. At least, until Jayce got closer.

As he did, he realized that it wasn’t just an organ. It was Viktor himself, the version that Jayce still recognized. The evolved but self-possessed form that the system knew as the Core. His limbs had unravelled, woven into the body around him like veins, until only his head and chest remained. He was immobile and hurting, but still alive.

Within his face, where his wound had been, and in various other cracks and breaks in his flesh, there was the glimmer of starlight. A sliver of a human face and body exposed. 

The Heart. 

Except, the Heart wasn’t trapped within the Core, as he had been before. Instead, the Core was his armour, and though that protection had been shattered and broken, he had still preserved something inside of himself.

Those two halves of Viktor looked towards Jayce in a haze, dim recognition in their eyes. They were being absorbed into the monstrous body around them, but they were still there.

Jayce climbed in after them. Among the ichor and gore, he pulled what remained into his arms, holding them close. The connection between them strengthened, the space suffusing with gentle light. 

“Jayce,” the Heart and Core murmured together, in tones both human and evolved, like they had just remembered something important. “You’re… here.”

“I’m coming for you, Viktor. I’m almost there,” Jayce said softly. “I’m finally setting you free.”

“You are…?” They sounded genuinely confused. They pulled against their own decaying and bound body, shivering with pain. It made Jayce’s chest ache. 

“Yes.” Jayce kissed his forehead, and something sparked between them. The light in Viktor’s eyes sharpened with understanding, and then with hope. Jayce prayed that he would hold onto it. “I’ll be there soon.”

Jayce pulled back only so he could stare into those eyes a moment longer, dwelling on the memories shared between them.

“So, please, hold on. Just a little bit longer.” Jayce pressed their foreheads together. He was so afraid of waking, but Viktor’s mind would never be fully free while his body was still chained. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Viktor breathed, a shimmering tear rolling down his cheek.

Jayce wiped it away, and its light melted into him, casting golden ripples through his soul. 

He woke beneath a setting sun.

Notes:

That final scene was one I have been thinking about for so long... I'm really nervous posting this, honestly. I've had so many big ideas, I've been worried about the writing not living up to it, now that the moment is here. I hope you guys enjoy this one, and that I got at least part of my vision onto the page!

And now, there should only be four chapters left.

Arcane-only readers may not be aware, but the Void is a thing from League of Legends proper, and back in season one there were fan theories about it and the Hexcore/Shimmer being connected. I found those ideas so interesting, I wanted to write a version of post canon where they were real. Evolution is a major feature of the Voidborn aesthetic, along with the elimination of the suffering caused by existence. It all fits with Viktor's themes so nicely.