Chapter 1: The Fall of Piltover
Chapter Text
Seagulls streaked through a sky red with an ash-choked sun. Jagged peaks of smoke rose over the city, the thick air lurid with embers. Orange flames bobbed and flickered on a small skiff on the river. Dark clouds rolled in from the northwest on a brisk wind, their bases just a few hundred feet off the ground, the wind shear tearing off filaments of the storm, contorting and merging with the scent of chemicals, burnt metal, and bleeding flesh.
A seagull landed on the pier, its beak gripping the end of a severed thumb.
Jayce Talis knelt on wood slick with soiled water, wrists crossed behind his back with fibrous rope because his captors must have run out of handcuffs and chains. They used the same rope plus a rag stuffed in his mouth to gag him. His back to Piltover, he faced the river and the Undercity. A stream of people were herded by Noxian soldiers through the bridge linking the two cities, dads holding on to the hands of their daughters, toddlers crying in their mothers’ arms. The soldiers paraded through the frightened throng, lofting great crimson banners high in the air, their motion easy and unhurried. There was no one left to resist.
Last time that he had seen Viktor, the lab was on fire. That was forty-six hours ago. He couldn’t be dead. If he was captured, he could be imprisoned in any of the hundreds of Noxian camps in Piltover and beyond.
The high council had just granted Zaun independence a week ago. Jayce and Silco had come to a deal that finally had a chance to work. Jayce had been up all night drawing up the paperwork for peace, or at least the first round of red tape to get out of the way so that the twin cities could mend their broken relationship and start afresh. What went wrong?
Thirty feet ahead of Jayce, Silco threaded past Noxian guards to stand by Ambessa Medarda, an imposing silhouette of metal armor against the city set on fire. She had taken precious little time subduing the City of Progress, sacking its institutions of commerce and knowledge and placing its citizens under house arrest, into camps guarded day and night, or to the sword if they defied her will.
And then she had brought Piltover’s leadership bound and gagged to this pier, kneeling in an anxious line before her as a storm blew in.
Councilor Kiramman stood on her knees at the far end, alert and stiff-straight. Her fierce eyes never once left Ambessa, as if at any moment she’d break out in a scathing critique instead of begging for her life. Shoola was next, remarkably calm and observant, probably missing very little in what went on around her. Bolbok fidgeted endlessly and groaned every once in a while; Jayce didn’t want to think what the Noxians had done to prevent him from speaking. Hoskel was trying to be strong, sniffling back tears, but he slumped further into himself, looking miserable. Salo knelt beside Jayce, jutting his chin out petulantly and working his narrow jaw on the gag. He shook his head and rolled his eyes in Jayce’s direction, as if he were trying to communicate how absurd it was that the conquered nobility were being treated like cattle getting shipped to market. Jayce couldn’t give a shit about whatever personal argument Salo was having with himself.
Mel wasn’t here. Was that a good thing? Surely Ambessa wouldn’t hurt her own daughter?
A few drops of rain fell on Jayce’s forehead. The wind kicked up his hair and chilled his right side, rustling up his white suit. But he stood up straighter on his knees, as a broad-shouldered soldier strode along the line of imprisoned councilors. Heavy set and armored, with a beard fanning out from his noble chin, he kept watch on them with a steady gaze, resting on each as he passed. His eyes lingered on Jayce.
Jayce returned the eye contact, strong enough that heat flushed into his cheeks. It was one of the few choices afforded him, the least that he could do that wasn’t yet another act of compliance. He had seen this soldier accompanying Ambessa before; the two seemed inseparable. The man’s mohawk looked aggressive but his expression appeared neutral enough. A few piercings and a small tattoo on his face, a face that still peered back at him.
Jayce finally looked away, turning his attention to water pooling on the pier. He breathed heavily as the man walked past. The soldier’s weapon splashed the pool, a spear with a blade as thick as a sword. It glistened with fresh blood.
The soldier parted to the side. Ambessa strode up, arrayed in a crimson sash that rippled over her armor and muscled body. The wind barely budged the kinks in her dark gray hair. Her eyes roved over the line of prisoners before her who just days ago had been her hosts in a welcoming land. If she felt any guilt for this breach of trust, she betrayed no hint of it. She carried herself with all the grace of a victor who had yet another unpleasant task to perform. Her jaw set, as she stood before the councilors.
“Rictus.” She nodded to the soldier, who walked to the end of the line where Councilor Kiramman knelt. Something flickered in the councilor’s eyes, as he came to stand before her.
Then he swung his spear at mid-level, the large blade whistling through the air. There was a crack. Her head fell to the ground.
Just her head.
God no.
Choked screams through gags, bodies shoving, but that didn’t stop the blade splitting through more vertebrae. Shoola’s head fell.
An execution.
Jayce couldn’t move. Blood pounded in his brain. He blinked, and Bolbok’s mechanical face rolled onto the wet planks of wood several feet away.
He watched, transfixed, as Salo and Hoskel bolted up. The blade beheaded Hoskel before he made it to his feet. Salo kept running. Another soldier threw a spear, impaling Salo in the chest straight through his back. He collapsed with a squelching sound, pools of red under his body. The water inked around Jayce in deep crimson.
Rictus turned his way. There were no more councilors between them.
Jayce just stared. A knot heaved into his throat, but he didn’t throw up. His pulse throbbed like he’d been screaming at the top of his lungs, but he didn’t make a sound. Adrenaline flushed through his body, aching like hell, but he didn’t use it.
He just took a breath and stared at Rictus as he walked up to him. The man was sprayed with blood; he adjusted the spear in his hand.
The image of a casket came to Jayce. His mom would have to bury a headless corpse. He never would get the chance to tell Caitlyn how her mother died.
He closed his eyes, breaths sharp and labored. Cries of seagulls circled above. Mel would be alone. She could never go back to Noxus, and Piltover was finished. She–
Flames licking up walls, glass vials breaking in the heat. Viktor held out his hand desperately, body behind a wall of fire that smelt of evaporated lab chemicals. Jayce couldn’t reach him. Surely everything they had built together was burnt to the ground. There was only Viktor, and he couldn’t even save him. The Noxians dragged Jayce away. If the fire didn’t get Viktor, then his terminal illness would, dooming him in some squalid camp as he lay on a cot by himself, coughing up blood. There would be no one to hold his hand, as he breathed his last, falling asleep, never waking.
Jayce’s chin was lifted. He flinched – eyes flying open.
Rictus was staring down at him. God, what now?
The soldier was searching his features, the curl of his thick forefinger under Jayce’s throat with enough pressure to keep his head angled up, enough for the man to get a good look at him. Jayce’s body heaved with each lungful of air that he was still allowed to take for who knows how many more seconds longer.
At the edge of his vision, bodies were being dragged and dumped in the river. Ambessa stepped closer.
“I want him,” Rictus said. He let go, Jayce’s head bowing as the pressure left.
“You sure?” She sounded more curious than critical.
Rictus nodded. Ambessa turned around and strode back to the line of soldiers at the edge of the pier. “Move out!” The line instantly tightened and rippled with activity.
“Get on your feet,” Rictus told him. He slid his hand under Jayce’s armpit, pulling him up, then guided him toward the coach that had brought him here. Jayce glanced back. He couldn’t tell where the current had taken Councilor Kiramman’s body, or if she had been dragged under the turbulence of the coming storm.
He was shut inside the coach’s dark interior, heavy screens blocking out most light. The seats around him were empty. The carriage jostled with a start, the rattle of the road thrumming deep in his bones. He sat there, eyes wide open despite the darkness. They really were dead. All of them.
The sharp crack rang in his ears again. His throat tightened. No—just, no. Think about something else, anything.
He sat there, in the dark, focusing on the rumbling of the wheels below, more rough than smooth. Poor paving, which meant a less-favored district of Piltover. Pebbles pinged off the metal siding. Pings and jitters, on and on.
Rictus wanted him. For what? And after whatever that was, then he’d kill Jayce?
Maybe his fate was merely postponed. Surely Ambessa Medarda wouldn’t leave a single leader alive of a nation that she had subjugated? Can’t risk a rebellion, right?
No one would know where they would dump his body, if it was still in one piece at the end of all this. Just like the others, a nameless grave. How much would it hurt? Quick or slow? Could he be as strong as Kiramman? Those bright blue eyes, so fierce and unyielding, so hard to read. Surely underneath that strength, she knew that she was going to die.
His jaws clenched on the gag. He let her down. He let all of them down. Somehow his peace deal unraveled and destroyed everything. People were dead because of him, and he didn’t even know why. Was he just a patsy, Silco planning to ally with Ambessa all along, or did he say something wrong that soured negotiations? He must have missed all the signs.
Thunder grumbled above, and suddenly a thousand little hammers pounded on the roof of the carriage as the sky unleashed its downpour. Wheels slid and squelched loudly, getting sucked into the muck, traveling off the main road. They sounded too much like Salo’s chest imploding.
He didn’t know most of the councilors well enough to identify their next-of-kin; surely the Noxians hadn’t destroyed all the records of the noble families. He likely would never get the opportunity to notify their families of their deaths.
Tears moistened his face, but he didn’t sob. He wished that he would. The knot in his stomach hurt, and his head throbbed with a headache. His throat was so dry; he couldn’t remember when he last took a sip of water. Yet his mind raced with esoteric matters of duty, succession, and rule under invasion. Until he knew what happened to Mel, he was the last councilor standing. Leadership fell to him, for as long as he remained alive. If his own death was imminent, he needed to find Mel to take over or, if she was already dead, to identify the successors to Piltover’s leadership. These individuals would need to know how to govern under duress, to give hope to a people suffering and demoralized, and to organize a resistance strong enough to overthrow a Noxian invasion force.
He leaned back, head against wood, jostling with the rough pace of travel. Rain pummeled his world from above, leaking through the screens, turning dark wood even darker. Everything – so impossibly frenetic, all directions all at once, demanding his attention every single second. He would have no rest.
If only he could see Viktor again and make sure that he was safe.
He adjusted his bound hands, wincing as he rubbed his own wrists against the constraint of the tough rope, just so that he could feel the smoothly worn surface of the rune on his wrist. Before everything went to hell, he had planned to take that rune out of its leather casing and cut it down into a gemstone. A jewel fit for an engagement ring.
How many times, in so many different ways, had he imagined coming up to Viktor, clearing his throat –
In the lab amidst blueprints for Hextech, surrounded by the dream that Viktor allowed him to believe in once again. Viktor sitting at his stool, crutch leaning on the table, eyes blood-shot as he pulled another all-nighter. Jayce would get down on one knee, and every thorny calculation would melt away.
Or somewhere in the Undercity that meant something to Viktor’s younger self, the place that molded the man through suffering and endurance, carrying memories too tender-wounded to be spoken aloud. Jayce would take both his hands and whisper a life-changing question, and maybe even that kind of memory would be forgotten.
Or an alpine field of flowers and melted snow, where Jayce once had his life saved by a stranger who gifted him his purpose. Jayce would lift Viktor high in his arms, getting him to laugh and feel the sun on his face. He would fall into the grass with him, gazing into eyes that ached like the sweetest poison. He would drink of Viktor until his corpse was numb and dreamless. Words would fade entirely, intention and desire conveyed through heart alone.
It took Viktor’s fatal prognosis for him to see the light, and now it was too late – for everything.
Too late to share that light with Mel, to sweep her into his and Viktor’s world. He had fallen for her so early – an impossible height that dazzled him like ascending a mountain at sunrise. Nothing felt impossible cresting that peak and glimpsing the world on the other side – teeming with life and promises below your feet. She had been patient as he adjusted to the rarefied air at this elevation, guiding him past fatal crags and sharing the joy of discovery and accomplishment, to do and see what so few have done before. And she held his hand, as night fell and harsh winds twisted trees into ghosts of themselves. He stood firm because she was there first, a wanderer alone on the mountain.
Viktor made him feel seen, and Mel helped him to see. Without either, he was blind and invisible.
The rhythm of the carriage jerked to a halt. A gust of wind slammed into the compartment, the cold cutting into Jayce. His body went rigid. This was it, the next phase of the endless nightmare, where dreams no longer mattered and choices ceased to exist. The world had been shot to pieces, and it was either his job to put it back together or none of his damn business in the first place.
Rictus opened the door; even this weak light took adjusting to after spending time in darkness. It was evening, deep orange rimming the western horizon, a sliver of brilliant rays breaking out below the low clouds. The rain had stopped for now except for a small dusting of droplets from a murky gray sky. The wind was still kicking up a fit, chilling Jayce to the bone as he was pulled out of the carriage.
“Careful, don’t slip,” Rictus said, large hands gripping Jayce on either side of his shoulders, steadying him on the sloshy mud of what was presumably an unpaved road. Maybe he thought Jayce was the fragile sort of Piltover elite that never set eyes on dirt before, but at least he said it politely.
Was this the middle of nowhere? City lights and untamed fires twinkled in the distance, and everywhere else was open wet land covered in tents and soldiers and people. Refugees — or prisoners — formed a line at the shore of the river, hemmed in by guards holding spears. Most of the people looked hungry and bone-tired, their clothing soiled with dirt and dried blood. Several individuals crouched or held their limbs close to their bodies – clearly in pain. Each had an open wound gashing through their torso, their leg, their face. Did Noxus run out of bandages and medicine, too, or was this just how they did war?
The flicker of anger died quickly, as Jayce was led carefully through the maze of tents, Rictus gripping his arm and avoiding the deepest pools of muck. Jayce wished that Rictus would get him sprayed with mud; at least he’d fit in with the rest who were forced to suffer here. His gold-trimmed white suit was just one more reminder that Jayce Talis was the person responsible for getting everyone into this hell.
Rictus halted at a large tent surrounded by nameless other tents, soldiers and servants milling through the paths between them. Some children lay in the mud outside another tent, asleep with exhaustion. Maybe they hadn’t eaten all day.
“Come in.” Rictus brought Jayce into the tent, securing the flap closed behind them. He left Jayce standing near the entrance as he started a fire in the cold campfire under the center of the tent, its apex perforated with several slits to allow smoke to escape. The stones were wet, but Rictus found dry kindling in a pile of supplies that took up most of the space of the tent’s right side, leaving room only for a basin of water. Still, the rest of the tent was surprisingly roomy, enough for Jayce to stand upright, which made sense since Rictus was taller than him and wouldn’t want to stoop in his own home-away-from-home. This was Rictus’ personal tent. There wasn’t really any furniture, except for a thick layer of furs sprawled on the floor to the left in what was presumably a bed.
Jayce really didn’t like this. Heat crawled up his collar, and he chanced to look behind. The flap was shut with a simple knot, the lower part of the fabric stirring with the wind outside. If he made it out there, he would face dozens of soldiers from here to the river. Were there any boats? Could he steal a carriage and make for Piltover at top speed? That assumed that he could get out of these bonds first, that he wouldn’t get speared in the back, or that he wouldn’t face immediate capture upon his return to the city.
Hastily, he looked forward again, but he found that Rictus already had eyes on him. The fire crackled alive, glinting off the dark hulk of his silhouette. He rose up. Jayce didn’t move. His pulse jumped as Rictus walked up to him, towering above, and brought his impossibly large hands around Jayce’s back. He was embraced, his chest against the jut of Rictus’ armor. Jayce almost swallowed the rag in his mouth as those fingers reached into his hair, carding through the strands and smoothing out what the wind had tangled.
“You are beautiful,” Rictus spoke calmly. He cupped Jayce’s jawline, encouraging Jayce to look up and meet his gaze. “I know you are frightened. Don’t be. Try to relax. Just take a deep breath, that’s it.”
Rictus looked pleased, as Jayce inhaled deeply, lungs filling with smoky air and the man’s warm breath. Adrenaline shot through his body. It was happening again. Why was he completely blind to signs of sexual attraction? At least Mel was a pleasant surprise; this wasn’t. He couldn’t get out of this.
Rictus stroked his face. His large forefinger tried to tame Jayce’s cowlick, but it was too stubborn. Rictus stepped back, letting Jayce go.
“Please, lie down on the bed.”
Jayce’s jaw tightened on the gag, hands fisting behind his back. He almost didn’t hear Rictus over the blood pumping in his ears. Shit.
He shook his head.
Please don’t make me do this.
Rictus didn’t go after him or force him down. He kept up the warm eye contact and the steady voice. “Jayce,” he said his name, like it was a new and delicate type of weapon that required careful handling, “you know you will be in my bed eventually.”
Eventually. Rictus may have spoken softly, but there was no mistaking the intention behind his words. The man who had beheaded Piltover’s council had no need to raise his voice to get what he wanted.
Jayce walked over to the furs spread on the floor and knelt in the center, the second time today on his knees. He brought his elbow down and pushed his legs out. He eased down on his back, soft hairs of the pelt enveloping him. A small choke escaped him, muffled through the gag, as he settled in, every instinct screaming at him that this was a terrible mistake. The biggest in his life. Once Rictus was on top of him, there’d be no going back—you can’t undo this type of nightmare. Watching people he knew get killed—that was him as a bystander to disaster. This was the real thing. Maybe he didn’t have much time after this, maybe he was destined to die soon anyway. Why sacrifice himself to this debasement, why—
He forced himself to breathe through his nose, the gag growing unbearable. Rictus was on the other side of the tent, removing his armor, the chest plate clinking to the ground. When did he set eyes on him? At the spa, while Ambessa intimidated Jayce as she emerged naked out of the pool? Or was this a last minute whim on the pier, hot off the blood of Jayce’s fellow councilors?
As Rictus rose up, moving in his direction again, he couldn’t stop thinking of the class on history, part one, that he tried to swap out for another mechanics class, to no avail. He dozed through some of the lectures on battles long before his time, none dated in Piltover’s period because Piltover never faced something as backward as war. Invasions of conquest happened to other people. But he remembered a couple old drawings from his textbook, women and men of the local land gathered together and forced to pleasure the invading army. It was more about power and domination than anything as innocent as attraction.
Rictus still wore his tunic, leather loincloth, and leg wrappings, having only removed the armor. From this far below, Rictus standing over him was like a mountain peering to the bottom of a ravine — terrifying in height and breadth, rocks falling down any minute to crush and suffocate Jayce.
And all Jayce could conjure up were pages from a textbook. Knowledge couldn’t save him now, nothing could. He snatched a breath, as Rictus stooped over him and began removing his boots. Jayce lifted his feet instinctively, feeling dirty with the simple act of compliance. Next, his socks were pulled off. Those fingers lingered on the fabric of his trousers, pressing into the muscle of his calves. “Very nice,” Rictus approved. “You work with your body.”
Jayce nodded stupidly. Most inventors and scientists didn’t put the time and effort into building up their bodies like Jayce did; he was a bit of an anomaly at the Academy and sort of proud of it. But he was no warrior. Muscle to him was a means to creation — to kick metal into shape and craft dreams out of molten fire. It was never meant for destruction or harm.
Rictus crawled up along his body, hooking hands under his waistband. Jayce jerked, but did nothing more as Rictus pulled his trousers down. The furs betrayed him with their softness against his bare skin but the air told the truth—cold and bitter. The campfire did nothing to temper its sting. Night was falling, and so was he.
He blinked back moisture from his eyes, heat rising into his cheeks. He wouldn’t cry when nothing had even started yet. His briefs were still on, for fuck’s sake. Not in front of Rictus.
Unfortunately, Rictus noticed and left Jayce’s legs behind as he walked on hands and knees, either side of Jayce, until they were face-to-face. Even with a neutral expression, viewing this man this close up just reeked of pure intimidation. The hairs of his mustache stirred with his hot breath. Clearly visible were the fine lines of the small tattoo between his eyes and the studs above his right eye and below his mouth. Such intense light brown eyes, rimmed below with black eyeliner.
Viktor wore eyeliner. Why would Jayce be thinking of that at a time like this?
Somehow, Jayce felt his pulse levelling off as the eye contact deepened, breath growing steady. He met Rictus and didn’t look away. He must have looked ridiculous gagged, but he squared his shoulders anyway. Despite everything, he still had that choice.
“That’s it,” Rictus whispered, “just relax.” He laid a hand on Jayce’s chest, stroking over his tie, then moving to his heart. “You are a noble thing and very proud.” Rictus smiled down at him, eyes glancing over his features, the breeder to his purebred stallion. Is that how he saw Jayce, something beautiful to be tamed?
“We both had a long day,” said Rictus. “It’s getting cold outside. We can keep each other warm tonight.” He broke his gaze as he stood up. “You won’t wait long.”
Rictus went over to the supply-side of the tent again, rummaging through metal containers, wooden boxes, and frivolous items like empty glass bottles and quills. Jayce broke out in a sweat, the tension fraying his nerves. Long day was an understatement for his experience, though he supposed that killing off his general’s enemies all day would tire Rictus as well. True to his word, Rictus soon returned holding a squat, clear glass jar filled with something pale yellow-cream. Lard – for lube. He came back down on his knees, laying the jar to the side, as his attention fell to the last meager obstacle remaining between him and Jayce.
Jayce felt strong fingers grasp his briefs. He was at a crossroads on how best to react. Vulnerability only meant humiliation, but apparently any trace of resistance turned Rictus on. There was no winning. He hated that he came up with the stallion image, because now he couldn’t get it out of his head. He worked on his gag like some frustrating bridle. He had realized, always too late, what a sucker he was for the roles that people gave him, whether as the poster boy of Hextech or a councilmember embroiled in politics, a role that he was still stuck playing. Once handed a role, he could get lost in it. That sort of power over a person can change how they see themselves.
His briefs were pulled down his legs, momentarily pulling at the ankles before slipping off his toes. Jayce kept his legs pressed close together. He wasn’t going to make it easy. Rictus didn’t dwell on the victory of rendering Jayce half-naked but crouched with renewed intent, fresh hunger infusing his energy. “Spread your legs,” he commanded, but Jayce kept still.
Rictus reached over and fondled his cock. Jayce sucked in air, eyes widening as the pressure of two stout fingers pinched around his tip, then the whole hand closed in – and squeezed. Jayce gasped through the gag, chest rising, fighting the urge to squirm or move away, anything not to give away the pain. He stared at the tent slope above as it jerked with the wind. His thighs were pressed open by a hand, then forced further apart by a knee, and he couldn’t stop it.
Rictus let go of his cock and used both hands on Jayce, grasping his thighs and pushing him apart until Jayce’s legs were spread far on either side, readied like a woman giving birth. Rictus drew in close, grinding his thighs against Jayce to keep him open. Jayce ached with this fruitless quest, muscles tense attempting to deny Rictus access that he was already destined to gain. He shivered slightly, refusing to look but frightened as hell as Rictus unscrewed the jar cap.
A thick finger pushed into Jayce, knobby and slick with fatty lubricant. Jayce refused to groan as his walls were forced open. Rictus had made it inside him and was preparing him for a more difficult task ahead. Just one of his large fingers was already uncomfortable; he dreaded the prospect of swallowing more of Rictus.
His breaths were shallow and fast, wet beads under his eyelids, as Rictus stuffed him full of lard. The oily fat caked in a thick layer inside him as the finger thrust in-and-out, pushing the lube deeper in his canal and testing Jayce’s suppleness. He lay as patient as a corpse tended to by an embalmer with eager hands. Rictus leaned over him. “Are you good?”
Why Rictus maintained this farce of politeness was anybody’s guess. He was kind enough to prepare him, not kind enough to stop the rape. Jayce nodded, because what other response could he give?
He was already arched due to his wrists bound underneath him. Now he willed his tense body to loosen. What was the point of resistance if it only hurt him and made this shitty day even shittier? He concentrated on his anal muscles, easing them to relax each time Rictus reached further into him. It wasn’t easy, but it was the only way that he was going to survive this night.
“Have you done this before?”
The rape or the anal sex? Black humor aside, Rictus seemed to be asking an honest question, eyes studying Jayce intently. Jayce nodded, and he watched his brows rise in surprise.
Jayce must have had that kind of face that just screamed heterosexual. Everyone in his life assumed the same thing about him; hell, he didn’t even know himself that he was different until a year ago. Viktor opened his eyes, almost too late. Everything in their relationship was too little, too late, and too damned by fate to lead anywhere except tragedy and separation. Viktor was dying, and Jayce was here in a tent outside Piltover having sex with a stranger. If he ever escaped, it may not be enough. Viktor may already be gone.
Jayce felt a fire lick up his spine. He sat up, bracing himself on his crossed elbows. He stared down Rictus between his legs. So he wanted to know if he’d done anal? That – and then some. He tried whatever gave his partner the most pleasure. Sex was an act of mutual exploration and adoration. He gave his lovers everything in his soul and body, until they felt more loved than they may have ever felt in their lives. Their happiness meant everything to him. His life was made whole by two of the most remarkable and kind people whom he had ever met, and may Jayce Talis be cursed by the Arcane if he failed to find and protect them from this hell.
He nodded vigorously, heaving with breath, anger coursing through his body. Rictus better make his move, because this was as ready as Jayce was ever going to be.
Rictus drew in close to Jayce and cupped his jaw in his large hand, his finger still inside him. His eyes lit up, and he spoke a phrase that Jayce didn’t understand, words in the native tongue of Noxus. Then he pushed Jayce’s chest down. He kept the pressure, as he removed his finger and pulled up Jayce’s left leg over his shoulder. This position opened direct access to the anus for deeper thrusting. Jayce kept his breathing steady, hoping the lube and his own adrenaline would help him get through this. He couldn’t see the size of Rictus’ penis, since his leather loincloth blocked it from view, but he could feel Rictus guiding himself into position.
There—he found the hole. Jayce tried to calm himself, as he was pressured by the hand on his chest and the tip entering him – unsurprisingly big but still somewhat tender, which meant he had room to grow. Rictus knelt and steadily penetrated, licking his lips as the lube allowed him to slide into place. He glanced in Jayce’s direction, as if anticipating a reaction. Jayce was tense in his facial muscles even as he worked to loosen himself for Rictus. It was a really big dick. He probably had taken something of this size before, when he and Viktor experimented with Hexstrap double penetration, but they had given the task weeks of gradual preparation so Jayce could accommodate larger sizes. Viktor was gentle and communicated through every step. Now Jayce worried that not only was he not prepared enough, but that Rictus would care little about his level of pain or the limits of his body. Jayce could tear, which would be really painful and could lead to infection if left untreated.
Jayce forced passivity into his muscles, laying himself completely in the open for Rictus as the man expanded into his body. Rictus let go of his chest and brought a hand to pull one butt cheek further apart, widening Jayce’s hole for himself. His other hand held Jayce’s leg over his shoulder. He sunk deeply into Jayce.
Jayce gasped, eyelids fluttering. His chest bobbed three times for air. He felt impaled to the ground, the weapon pulsing hot and sharp inside him, the immense strain to hold it in gradiating into pain. He couldn’t help it – his ass screwed tight, which had the effect of his canal sucking closed around Rictus like air escaping from a vacuum. It must have felt fucking good to Rictus, because his lips parted and his hands clenched into Jayce. Crucially, his cock grew thick and hard inside him.
Shit. Jayce felt tears forming in his eyes. He was just so damn full, the invasion cutting deep as tremors ran through his body. He swallowed and blinked back the moisture, trying to rein in his vulnerability.
Rictus watched him, a new, ragged hunger heaving through the man above. His eyes narrowed as he leaned over Jayce. “This is how I like you, councilor.”
His hands gripped flesh tightly. He slid his dick out, then executed a clean, sharp thrust into the body below him. For Jayce, he may as well have been lying on the battlefield as the enemy cleaved him in two. He was on that pier, getting his throat slit. Except that he didn’t die with the first blow, or the second, or the third or fourth or fifth. Rictus was a professional, and he knew how far to push his victims to keep bearing the pain and still survive.
Jayce moaned through the gag, throat tight and ass even tighter. Rictus rode him like the stallion that he was, captured and put to work. And the work was punishment for the crime of standing in the way of Noxus, for being a human body in its path to power and glory, everything cut down and bent to its will. Lust and cruelty burned in those eyes, sex indistinguishable from violence.
He thought of his mother and hoped she was safe under house arrest, worrying for her son, instead of suffering like Jayce was right now.
Whatever small mercies that he received earlier, were gone now. Rictus grunted with the brute effort of fucking Jayce, powerful hips plunging in and out like a piston. Jayce shook his head, desperate for the pace to slow down, but Rictus grabbed his hair and held him down, immobilizing his last means of communication. Fucking dammit. Tears squeezed out of him as he was forced to swallow his tormentor over and over, to stare into a face that wanted to see him bleed.
When Rictus hit his prostate, Jayce choked on his gag, vision blurring and body seared with agonizing heat. His hips bucked, trapped underneath Rictus. The next thrust rammed into his wall, the misalignment tearing through tissue. Jayce whined but couldn’t scream. His mind went numb with pain. He stopped breathing, body shaking, utterly helpless as every nerve ending lit up at once. The fucking did not stop, the cock carving him up like raw meat on a slab.
He refused to breathe. The self-imposed asphyxiation was his only distraction, first with the fretting pressure of his lungs crying for air, then the soft fog that followed, seeping through his brain until the sex blurred together, just a jumble of sweating, jostling bodies, his own self far away and somewhere else where agony was dimmed like a sun behind smoke.
Rictus slapped him. “Wake up!” Jayce gasped for air, choking and gagging, as Rictus cut off his futile attempt to escape even for a little while. He knew that he was bleeding. He didn’t know how much more that he could take.
Rictus was sweating over him, mouth clenched tight and eyes zoning out. He let out a loud groan and pushed himself deep into Jayce as his dick jerked with life. The stiff shaft began to vibrate, pumping out cum. Jayce felt a new pressure filling him and a new form of degradation. It was such a small thing, but now this man would merge with him and become a part of his body, and he never had a choice in that. It was an ugly symbol of everything that he was forced to endure. He was stripped, barren, exhausted, and alone.
He didn’t make a sound, as Rictus elbowed his chest and emptied himself into his captive. That powerful body relaxed, even whimpered in some realm of pleasure far removed from Jayce’s world. Jayce kept silent. Let the man enjoy his damn orgasm in peace; after all, that’s what this was all about.
Rictus took his time. He let his softening cock sit in his own juices inside Jayce as he wiped his forehead of sweat. He exhaled and sat back, staring off into the ceiling of the tent, mind somewhere, on the battle, his home, or the last dregs of desire. Wherever he was, he looked at peace and satisfied.
He finally got up, laying Jayce’s leg to the side and pulling his cock out. He went over to the basin of water on the far side of the tent, splashing his face.
Was it really over? Jayce pulled his legs together, but a sharp pain stabbed through him. He rolled to his right side, facing Rictus, too uncomfortable to lie on his buttocks. He was so tender and aching all over, but the pain was deeper and more persistent in his bruised anus. It felt as if someone had pushed a row of little spikes into his rectum, and there was no way to get them out. Just how injured was he? Would his wounds be left untreated, like with the people by the river?
Jayce rocked himself quietly. The cool night air chilled his exposed lower body. The wind sighed through the fabric of the tent. It was impossible to tell how late it was. Would everyone be asleep? Now that Rictus had gotten what he wanted out of him, had Jayce’s usefulness come to an end?
Rictus stamped out the dying campfire, plunging everything into darkness. His footsteps neared the bed of furs. For a frightening moment, Jayce thought that he would get fucked a second time. Rictus laid down behind him and drew in close, embracing Jayce’s body in his arms. Jayce’s bound hands slotted into the warm confinement of the large body enfolding him, fingers curled against the leather loincloth. He waited for the leather to be lifted, for Rictus to feel him up again and enter his ruined hole once more. But the man tugged at a loose pelt instead, finally pulling it free and throwing it over both their bodies. He settled in, holding Jayce captive against him. His breath warmed the back of Jayce’s skull.
“I liked that, Jayce. I like being inside you.”
His fingers moved down Jayce’s naked buttocks and slid into his hole. Jayce breathed sharply as Rictus tested his torn rim, the flesh sparking raw and loose under his hand. Rictus backed off, bringing his hand back to embrace Jayce’s chest. “Got carried away there,” he admitted. “Your injuries will be dealt with in the morning.”
Rictus slipped his large hand around Jayce’s throat, pressuring his windpipe gently yet insistently with his thumb. His voice spoke softly into Jayce’s ear. “You are warm and safe in my bed tonight. The rest lie at the bottom of the river, feeding the fishes. Count yourself lucky, Golden Boy.”
His grip tightened. Jayce could hear his teeth clenching as he spoke. “You never had it hard in life. People like you, all pampered and parties and prestige. You are all the same.”
The tone grew cool, the grip easing just enough to imply that he wouldn’t strangle Jayce right there in his bed. “Now you have earned my satisfaction, and I expect you to keep earning it. Do you understand me?”
Jayce felt anxiety and fear knot in his throat, the fast thrum of his pulse that would never slow, the prospect of the never-ending nightmare stretching out before him as far as the horizon and beyond, overtaking every dream and hope and conscious thought. His world – reduced to nothing but pain and terror. He must earn his survival, and the cost was this. He nodded his head.
Rictus let go of his throat, the hand returning to rest on his chest. “Good. Now go to sleep.”
Chapter 2: The Sun, the Moon, and the Stars
Summary:
After Rictus rapes him, Jayce wakes up to a new life under bondage in a Noxian war camp where he faces painful choices, a bittersweet reunion, and the courage to resist.
Notes:
Warning: Self-blaming, victim-blaming, drug use, and non-consensual kissing and touching. This chapter is posted for Jayvik BDSM Week for a prompt for Day One, apparel (leather and collars). I had created this story for BDSM week and was hoping to finish the whole thing by mid-July, but alas I only managed to complete the first two chapters before BDSM week. You need to squint for the BDSM in this one, as most of my Jayvik BDSM occurs in upcoming chapters. Thank you to everyone who has read, liked, bookmarked, and commented on my story, it’s so appreciated!
Chapter Text
Neither sleep nor rest came to Jayce. The wind picked up, murmuring through the tent with unease, chilling the air in the aftermath of the storm. Would the clouds break and the stars come out? Was the moon rising, casting its pale light across the sea of tents and the huddled bodies left out in the cold, turning flesh and blood into shades of gray?
If only he could glimpse the moon and the stars, to know if their orbits still held steady and their light remained undimmed. Surely the celestial bodies in the heavens prevaled as they always did, unmoved by the chaos below.
He had heard a story from an elder once, in a village surviving in the far northern glaciers of Ionia, of a cosmos that whispered its secrets from above, the sky that made the world below and gave it form and power. Every once in a great while, the moon would cry, and a star would shed a drop of light. The tears of the celestials fell to the world unseen and unremembered, except for the few who waited and watched.
Jayce was a scientist, trained to be skeptical of myth and superstition. Yet the folk stories of those farthest from civilization held more truth than him or his colleagues were willing to admit. Perhaps there were meteors that fell from the sky, of strange composition and unknown source, that crashed and forged a new element in Runeterra – a crystal capable of magic.
A long time ago, in another lifetime, Jayce had traveled the world in search of that magic, through bustling ports of commerce to the howling wilderness of the northern forests. He met so many people and so many cultures, found hospitality from strangers and returned the kindness to the next person he met, even if he didn’t know their name. All for a single vision that blew his world away in a moment, saving his life and the life of his mother and he never knew how or why. And it could save a million more. It could change the course of the future.
That future died tonight.
He felt it in his heart, a physical sensation that was different from pain but just as pressing. It passed through him sometime after Rictus’ breathing had levelled off into the steady rhythm of sleep. Jayce could feel it coming. He told himself not to listen. He tried to pray but there was no one out there except the dark and the cold.
He gasped, as the flood rushed through his heart and was gone. Decades of belief, ceasing to exist.
Jayce shivered. He listened to the rhythm of breathing of the body behind him, heat rising and falling as constant as a bear deep in hibernation. When he was sure that the coast was clear, he let himself go, torso jerking as his abdomen muscles clenched tight. He sobbed, wet salty tears streaming down his face and throat buckling with the strain, parched without water. His brain and heart and body hurt, and there would never be any relief.
What a foolish little boy, weeping over some pie-in-the-sky dream when a thousand other people had far bigger problems. This was the real world, no room for idiots like Jayce Talis. He probably got what he deserved for getting everyone into this mess. People had died; there was no going back. The council was dead, and Jayce Talis went to bed with their murderer, bargaining for his life and pleasuring their killer with his body. He sold himself just to stay alive – a whore and a traitor to everyone who ever mattered.
He clenched his eyes shut, then flicked them open, darkness the same. The hand on his chest was like a weighted chain, holding him down, as the body behind him fenced him in. There was a non-zero percent chance that he could wriggle out of the grasp of his rapist without ever waking the man up, tip-toe through the sleeping camp, and steal away in the night on a boat far away from here – beyond Piltover. Jayce had been a traveler, and he wasn’t afraid to wander again, no country to call home, leaving behind everything.
Viktor, Mel, Cait, his mother. Piltover and Zaun.
No, he couldn’t. He owed too much. Their fates, his fault, and he had to find a way to make this right.
Was he a god? Could he undo invasion and turn back time? What a foolish boy.
And he knew how this boy’s life would end. One night, after hours of enduring yet another rape at the hands of Ambessa’s right-hand man, Jayce Talis would attempt an escape that would utterly fail. He would be forced to his knees, kicked in the head by the butt of a gun, and then executed. The manner of execution was the only thing he couldn’t guess, because he was sure that he was destined for something truly gruesome if he was able to elude death this long. The longer he remained alive, the worse his final end would become.
If only he could live long enough to see the sky cry, like the stories say they do for those who watch and wait.
A hand reached up for his face. Jayce went stock still.
Rictus groaned a jumble of words, fingers fidgeting, body restless. He shifted Jayce in his arms, holding him tight like a child’s toy during a frightening nightmare. Something was going on inside that head of his. Jayce had no idea what battle-hardened Noxian warriors were afraid of enough to have nightmares, though perhaps no one was truly hardened by battle. Maybe everything that was soft and vulnerable in a person just retreated deeper inside when the outside was beset by the unthinkable.
Jayce hummed a quiet tune that his mother taught him when he couldn’t sleep. A lullaby from before their harrowing immigration to Piltover, before she married into House Talis. Not many knew that he was adopted into one of the lower houses of Piltover. His mom and stepdad paid the clerk to change the dates on their marriage license so that the press would be led to believe that their son was born a true Talis. He didn’t know how he felt about that; it had bothered him for years, but he never said anything because it meant so much to his mother that her son would have a good life in Piltover.
The lullaby seemed to be working. Rictus quieted down, body leaning into Jayce and chin resting on Jayce’s shoulder, mouth blowing hot air into his ear. Jayce breathed out, adrenaline slowly draining away.
The name of his House had opened doors that would have shut in the face of anyone else of lower status. His friendship and patronage with the Kirammans, that led to funding for his research, that eventually led, despite a few horrific hurdles, to the breakthrough with Hextech and its acceptance by the High Council. Risk or no risk, they would not have entrusted building the Hexgates to anyone except one of their own. He was infuriated when they removed Viktor’s name from all the blueprints – he went all the way to Heimerdinger, but he said his hands were tied. Technology as vital as what they were building could not be seen as shaped by an unknown from the Undercity. The council had to ensure municipal security and safeguard the trust of its citizens.
Never mind that half their citizens were Zaunites. He had learned that lesson to his own embarrassment on the bridge, when Viktor slapped some sense into Jayce. For so long, he had lived blissfully in the lie of his adopted identity that he had forgotten that there was any other way of viewing the world.
The Noxian invasion brought an end to the lies. Hierarchies collapsed and social status evaporated, leaving the poor and the elite to suffer alike.
Would Viktor ever forgive Jayce for failing to stand up for him and letting more assertive voices have their way, quietly erasing his partner’s vital contributions to the Hextech revolution? Viktor would die in obscurity because Jayce was a moral coward. Why couldn’t he stand by his principles for just once in his damn life?
Jayce felt tears soak into the soft fur beneath him, the dam of his conscience broken. He choked on the flow, the rag constricting his throat, but he willed himself to shut up. He wasn’t waking the sleeping bear no matter how much his heart ached. Oh, Viktor.
Viktor … in his arms, small and warm to the touch, bones tangible underneath thin skin and slender flesh. His face gazed back as pale as the moon and just as beautiful, sharp angles between day and night on his lunar surface. Astronomers at the Academy speculated that the moon was ancient and without atmosphere, having neither wind nor water to change its face for untold eons. But he suspected that even the moon got up to mischief when no one was looking.
Two months ago, for instance. Viktor was doing one of those rare throaty laughs that shook his whole frame, the kind that only occurred at Jayce’s expense. Jayce had turned one of the runes on their equations upside down. Don’t break a leg on my account, he had snapped, but even he couldn’t stay angry. Served him right for spending every waking moment in the council room scribbling meeting notes on clipboards. Mel walked in and even she agreed that his scientific acumen was getting rusty. Condemned by two witnesses, he hung his head and let his judges take him outside to the finest restaurant on Mel Medarda’s clients list. He blushed as she insisted on treating them both to several courses of the most delicious seafood in Piltover. And she remembered that Viktor was vegan, too, so she had chosen the one establishment on this side of the river that served potatoes and kupus, one of his favorite dishes.
He had never seen Mel and Viktor hit it off so amiably. Viktor was slouching into a metal chair buttressed by several seat pillows that Jayce and Mel had salvaged from other empty tables. Viktor’s back was to the river, his ash-brown hair catching the light. Mel sat up in her seat, a stream of customers as the backdrop to her alert and regal pose. Viktor animated the shape of a complex rune with his hands, bony fingers tracing circles and sharp lines in the air. Mel stood rapt. She interrupted with questions, pointing out various scenarios for possible applications of the newly discovered rune, teasing out the logic behind its magic. The gold tattoos on her shoulders glimmered with her inquisitive spirit. Viktor matched her, eyes bright and piercingly intellectual, with a voice confident in the esoteric story that he told through mathematics. It had been a while since Viktor’s diagnosis that Jayce had seen Viktor like this – breathless with passion, unfettered from judgment or pity.
For several timeless hours, they were just three people discussing magic on a late summer’s afternoon by the riverside.
Viktor’s back began to ache, so they headed back uptown. Mel said that she had some orthopedic pillows in her apartment, so the trio took up residence there, putting up Viktor on Mel’s bed ensconced in silk bed sheets and piles of pillows under his head, back, and bad knee. Jayce pouted when Mel sat with Viktor and started giving him a massage around his shoulders, because that was his job. Sue me, she teased. The competition was on. Jayce took off his suit and vest and got on his knees between Viktor’s legs. He stroked Viktor’s cock through his trousers and whispered sweet endearments into those fiery gold eyes. Viktor was a little bitch of course. Why don’t you make me happy like I know you want to?
And that’s how he found himself shirtless and swallowing Viktor’s cock deep in his throat as Mel Medarda watched. Not to be outdone, she smirked and kissed Viktor in his open mouth, cupping his head in her slender fingers like a cup of honey. The lucky man trembled with the abundance of adoration falling like dewdrops on his body.
Somehow that eventually led to all three of them naked under the sheets in Mel’s bed, legs tangled over each other messily and, in Viktor’s case, carefully. The night was filled with sweat and laughter.
Early in the morning, as only seemed appropriate, Jayce was collared and on his knees doing his best switching between sucking Viktor and eating Mel. They had holed up in Viktor’s apartment now, or more accurately the room that doubled as his personal office and sex dungeon filled with all manner of inappropriately-applied Hex innovations and inventions. Jayce had suffered with pleasure a few more times than he was willing to admit in that room. Here, Viktor wasn’t a sickly Zaunite with battered lungs, a mutinous leg, and a date with death. He was lover, teacher, master, and equal to Jayce Talis – any identity that he wanted to be, no emotion or desire off-limits, nothing but absolute freedom and trust in the hands of his partner.
Sharing that place with Mel for the first time felt like opening a door with brilliant light on the other side, whether a sunrise or a trainwreck, Jayce didn’t know.
Everyone wanted to try the chains and take turns with the Hexstrap. The room filled with moaning and giggles and awkward explanations for no this buckle really did break off and be careful with the Hex-bundt! Because every sex dungeon needs something that looks like a cake that his mom bakes every year for his birthday.
All he knew was that this was one of the happiest days of his life.
“Boys, count me impressed,” Mel smiled, leaning back in a chair as sunlight caught on the gold flecks of her cheeks and the dark curves of her body. She glittered like stars on a dark morning twilight.
Viktor brushed past Jayce as he sat cross-legged on the floor, too weary to get to his feet. He lingered long enough to tousle Jayce’s oily hair before sauntering away. “I thought you had a bad back,” Jayce accused.
The man turned around, reflecting the sunrise across his pale skin, not a strip of clothing nor a care in the world to his name. He had the audacity to stare Jayce down. “Next time I will ensure it is even worse.” The room erupted in hoots of laughter.
Laughter echoed across the walls and rippled through the fabric of the tent, singing like music. It was the last sound that Jayce Talis imagined as he fell asleep beside Rictus in a tent on the outskirts of Piltover, a storm blowing over at last.
* * *
“Councilor Talis–don’t be alarmed–”
Why was someone in his bedroom, and why was he still asleep? The sheets felt itchy yet soft and much too thick, like the fur of an animal–
Jayce awoke with a start. He leaned on his elbow, propping himself up as a young woman held out a tray of food. She was dark-skinned and couldn’t be older than fifteen or sixteen years old.
Wait a fucking minute. The pain was coming back to him, a deep ache in his ass, persistent across his groin and thighs, plus a throbbing headache and a throat so parched that it hurt to swallow. His muscles ached and tingled uncomfortably from lying down in one position for far too long.
He was in a bed in a tent. The war had gone badly – scratch that, it was over. Noxus had won. The council was dead and he was–
There was a young girl in the tent. Did she see him–
He looked around hastily. The pelt covered him completely, but near the base of the furs were scattered his trousers, socks, and boots. It wasn’t hard to guess what this was with that kind of evidence lying around.
He looked back at her. He was no longer bound by the gag or the rope. His lips were chapped and tongue very dry, but at least he could speak. The only thing tethering him down was a new form of bondage, a solid steel handcuff on his right wrist connected by chain to a metal stake in the ground beside the bed of pelts.
The girl put down the tray. She stooped and peered at him with full attention, her face darker than Mel’s and her kinky black hair streaked in green and bursting out of its ponytail in severely tight ringlets. She wore simple dark boots, trousers, and a deep red vest. The shirt under her vest was striped, like Viktor’s. “I am so sorry,” she said softly.
Jayce tried to muster a smile, but those muscles weren’t eager to be used today, either, just like the rest of him. “You really shouldn’t be here, not someone your age.”
Her small smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Trust me, I’ve seen worse.”
She doubled over suddenly, coughing into her fist. There was a streak of something dark red across the back of her shoulder, freshly glistening in the dampened light of the tent.
“Are you hurt?” he asked. The shape of the wound matched a blade striking from behind or perhaps the slash of a whip for not following orders fast enough. It was sick that a teenager was injured at all, let alone abandoned to have her wounds fester without treatment. If this was any other reality, he would get up and look for bandages and have a sharp word with Ambessa or Silco or whoever was responsible. As it was, he settled for reaching out and holding her steady until the coughing subsided.
“Just asthma,” she swallowed. Her irises appeared to be streaked green, too, like her hair. She glanced at him sharply. “And I don’t have an inhaler, if that’s what you were going to ask.”
She was from the Undercity, that much he could figure out. Did she get asthma from breathing the same air that gave Viktor his terminal illness?
Jayce nodded towards her shoulder. “There might be a doctor around here who can get you some medicine.”
She stared at him, deadpan. “The only medicine around here is shimmer, and that’s only for important people. Here, eat up before it spoils.” She pulled her arm out of his grasp and got up, turning to leave.
“Wait, what’s your name?”
She bounced on her feet, hesitating at the flap of the tent. From behind, the gash across her back was vivid, staining her vest deeper red. He didn’t know how she was carrying meal trays in the state that she was in, because it had to be painful. Jayce just didn’t know her tells the way he knew Viktor’s.
“I’m Zavrielle, but I prefer Zavri,” she said, apparently deciding to trust him with that meager data point. “I’m Jayce,” he offered back, at which she rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows your name. I saw your first speech as head of the council.” She turned to the side, not quite facing him. “Guess that gig is over now.” Quietly, she pulled a long, thin cylindrical tube from her trouser’s pocket, filled with a bright purple liquid. She walked up to him. “Almost forgot, but this is for your injuries. The healing works immediately, but it gives a bit of a kick.” She held out the vial for Jayce to take with his free hand.
The revelation that shimmer could heal was minor compared to the cruel slap hitting Jayce in the face: He would get the treatment for his wounds instead of Zavri.
Apparently it takes more than an invasion to kill the lies at the foundation of society.
“I can’t take this,” he said and meant it. “You should have it.”
“Don’t be stupid,” she scoffed, “if I was found out stealing shimmer meant for a councilor, they’d give me far worse. Besides,” her tone softened just a little, her glance reaching the foot of the pelts. “You don’t want your type of injury getting worse.”
Did it really have to be like this? Of course he wanted to be healed, for the tears in his body to close and the pain to stop. Rictus had promised him that this was his life now. Jayce would get raped again, and now, his body will only suffer more if he didn’t take this.
But he just couldn’t do it. It was wrong.
He glanced around the room, mired in defeat. All the stuff stockpiled on the other side of the tent annoyed him, random junk like ornate lamps and paper and colored quills, undoubtedly items plucked from households across Piltover and dumped here as part of the spoils of war, completely useless now, just like Jayce Talis, another item collected off the battlefield and doing nobody any good.
He couldn’t give up. There had to be another way. “How about we share it?” he ventured. Zavri shook her ponytail nervously, glancing towards the tent’s entrance. Her right shoulder, the one slashed, lifted ever so slightly as she carefully rolled it. There it was, one of her tells. “Shimmer doesn’t work like that. They’ll still accuse me of siphoning it off for myself. Look, I’ll level with you,” her eyes narrowed in on Jayce again, strong and steady. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’m used to …” she trailed off. “I’ll be fine. Worry about yourself, councilor.”
She set the vial down on his food tray, between the chipped cup of water and the plate of bread, beans, and cheese. She got up to leave, but Jayce spoke again. “I know someone like you. He didn’t like asking for help either.”
She stared down at him. “I bet he thought you’re really annoying.”
“Yeah, don’t really know,” Jayce conceded, “I’ll ask if I ever see him again.”
Zavri quieted. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” But Jayce wasn’t listening, because he got an idea. He motioned towards the stockpile on the far side. “Can you get me a piece of paper and a quill?”
Her look quizzed him, but she went over anyway. “What for? You’re not going to do something stupid?” When she knelt beside him and handed over the items that he asked for, she also slipped several colorful quills into her back trouser pocket. Jayce didn’t comment on that, but quietly went to work on the piece of paper. After musing for a spell, he took his time finely printing some text before signing his name with a flourish. He handed the paper back to Zavri. “Show this to whomever you answer to.”
“This is stupid,” her brow creased with worry, “your name is no good anymore.”
“Apparently still good enough for me to get special treatment. They can’t blame you for anything if I give my permission and consent. Now, please,” Jayce picked up the vial, purple sloshing softly within the tube, and held it out for her to take. He was taking a chance, maybe she’d still get in trouble and then she, too, would be on his conscience. He desperately needed this not to be a lose-lose situation.
Zavri eyed the vial as if it were a coiled snake. A brief calculation passed through her eyes before she took it from Jayce. She nodded, wordlessly, before getting up and leaving Jayce alone in the tent.
His heart sank slowly, more a feeling of resignation than anything else. Hopefully he had done the right thing. Finally, he registered the savory smell of good, solid food and the fresh scent of water. With a trembling hand, he brought the cup to his lips and drank it down in one gulp, his throat squeezing thirstily around the liquid and begging for more. He lapped around the rim, holding the cup over his mouth until it was dry. It barely quenched anything, but it still felt good. The meal was simple yet hearty. He sopped up the bean mush with the bread, whose texture was softer than he was expecting, with a nice crunch to the crust even if it was a little burnt. He didn’t recognize the type of cheese, pale yellow with a hard brown rind, dense and springy texture, and a smoky aroma. It was sinfully delicious, equal parts smoky and salty, and left Jayce forlorn as he popped the last crumb into his mouth. His appetite, while not as intense as his thirst, still yearned for more like a yawning pit in the ground. Who knows if this was breakfast or the only meal of the day. Still, perhaps it was more than whatever the other captives were getting.
His heart sank a little more. How could someone be suffering and yet privileged at the same time? It made him feel ashamed of even the few graces that he received, but he would rather feel like that instead of remaining ignorant all his life. His eyes were opened, as they say, not that it would do anybody any good. The magnitude of suffering out there was immense, and it scared him, how easily it was to break what took years to build, body and soul.
An uncomfortable thrumming grew acute within him, deep in his body. He shifted to his other side, pulling his cuffed right hand over his head so that he could rest on his left and avoid lying on his back. There wasn’t a point in ruminating on the pain.
It was a shame that he never knew of shimmer’s healing properties back when he was a councilor. Viktor could have used a dose. What could it cure, chronic disease? Perhaps it drew the line at terminal illness, otherwise elites like him would have heard of something like an elixir of life in the Undercity and beaten a path to its refineries. Piltover would be tripping over itself to manufacture the substance, not stamp it out. God, there was so little that he knew, so much that was kept from him, whether through an inadequate education in the Academy or his own failure to look beyond his field of study. He really could have used a couple social science classes or a lecture on history that kept him awake.
Jayce smirked to himself. What a dork to have regrets over his curriculum when the world was on fire.
The tent flap rustled open, light streaming in. He scrambled to roll over and lean up to face–
There was Zavri, a large notebook in one hand and the vial of shimmer in the other. She was breathless. “It’s okay. We can share this.”
She walked up to him and knelt by his side. “I didn’t think they’d approve your request.” She changed position, sitting cross-legged, uncorking the cap on the tube.
Jayce didn’t know how to react. “It’s supposed to be for you.”
“And you don’t have to go be a martyr. Want to go first?” She handed the vial to him.
He held it in his hand, the smooth liquid swirling gently, glowing with an unearthly light as if possessed of its own power source. “You said shimmer doesn’t work shared?”
“It won’t heal either of us, but it’ll help the pain.”
Guess that would have to do. Ironic that he worked so hard to go after Silco’s shimmer empire only to be taking the drug himself. Would it have side effects?
Jayce held the lip of the vial to his mouth, tipping it carefully so as not to swallow all the liquid, a bit tricky to pull off. The dizzying spark was almost immediate. He pulled it away quickly, handing it back still more full than empty. His vision fogged slightly, something fluttering in his chest as a strange fretting sensation passed over him. He opened his mouth, breathing heavily. As the fog began to clear, the fizzing sensation melted into a weird feeling of serenity throughout his body. It took the edge off the pain.
She waved the vial at him, but he shook his head. “No you have it, I don’t want to accidentally take your share.” He watched her as she downed the rest of the contents in one gulp; he should have used his cup for his portion so they wouldn’t share saliva, but maybe niceties like that didn’t matter anymore. She partly turned away, fist clenching, as the drug did its work. Then her shoulders eased, her eyes flashing purple before returning to their warm streaks of green.
“Thank you,” she said simply. She picked up the notebook from the ground that she had carried with her, a ratty thing dog-eared and stained like it had been run through more than its share of scrapes. She thumbed through pages of watercolors and bright pencil drawings, surreal scenes of fiery reds and smoky blues and countless figures in the midst of chaos. Though the work leaned on the abstract side, Jayce recognized places in Piltover, wrecked from war. Finally, near the beginning of the book, she paused at a bright piece of white and gold. “Here,” she tore off the page at the binding and handed the artwork to Jayce. “This is for you.”
It was a watercolor of himself at the podium, hands outstretched in an animated moment in one of his speeches. The brushstrokes were large and generous but with enough fine pencil detail to make out the identities of figures in the audience. He recognized the backs of several heads in the front row, including his mother.
“It was my first time Topside,” she said, “for a school essay in my civics class.” She waved her hand dismissively. “We were all assigned different politicians.”
Jayce pursed his lips in a small smile. “I take it I wasn’t your first choice.”
“Nobody in Topside is my choice,” she admitted. “Still, it was great to draw the event, capture it for posterity, you know?”
“Is that what you’re doing with these?” Jayce nodded towards the book. Zavri held the book a little closer to her torso for a moment, something running through her face that he couldn’t read, before she opened up the pages to him. Almost half of them were scrawled over messily, unfinished; these she quickly flipped past, landing instead on the finished pieces, incredibly vibrant hues lavished on so many sad scenes of war: A woman and man holding each other, their bodies crumpled against a wall and splattered in red; families in tattered, soiled clothes waiting for food from dozens of Noxian soldiers, forming a line somewhere dark and claustrophobic in the Undercity. “Near my home in the Lanes,” she remarked, as he leaned closer to the piece. The next artwork showed a place he recognized, much of Mid Town charred by fire and encamped with soldiers. “I counted one hundred and seven a night ago,” she said, and judging by the number of small dark points of paint on the canvas, it appeared that she had recorded each one right here.
“This is remarkable–your art and what you’re witnessing.” He looked at her, a moment of silence stretching between them.
Zavri nodded, closing the book. “Me and my classmates, when the invasion began, got this idea. The adults were just standing around, worrying and doing nothing like always. All these people marching into our homes, nobody holding them accountable. My brother was scared and I was angry. I’ve always wanted to be an artist-reporter, so I got some of my friends and we went all over the city, drawing everything we saw. But I got caught.” She tucked the notebook under her arm, getting up. “Sadie snuck this under the fence for me, it’s the only thing I’ve got.”
Footsteps were approaching outside. She hurried to the opposite side of the tent and pulled up the fabric. “Thanks–for this!” Jayce whispered after her, not sure if she heard. In a moment, she slipped out and was gone. He just had time to swiftly fold the drawing that she gave him into a small, cramped rectangle and stuff it into his vest when the tent flapped open.
Rictus came in, fully armored and carrying his spear and a pair of handcuffs. He glanced at the empty tray on the floor. “That girl needs to pick this up,” he huffed, before turning his attention to Jayce. “It’s time to get up.”
He leaned the spear against a pile of bundled supplies and knelt on one knee, unlocking Jayce’s cuffed right hand. He lifted Jayce by the hand to a standing position. Jayce winced as he used the tender muscles in his groin to rise up, which he tried to hide, but Rictus apparently had a key eye for signs of pain. “Did you drink all your dose?” he glanced down at the empty vial, suspicion crossing his features.
Jayce stood there, still half-naked and holding hands with this man who had dealt him so much suffering. He was a bad liar, so he decided to tell the truth and hope it wouldn’t lead to worse. “The girl who gave me food was badly injured, so I shared it with her. It was my idea.”
Rictus shook his head, mouth clamping in agitation. “Fool,” he muttered under his breath, alongside a string of hard Noxian syllables that probably were curses. “If I give you something, you take all of it. Go put on your clothes, I’m taking you outside.”
Jayce hurriedly picked up his things from the foot of the fur bed, grabbing his socks first. Rictus stood and watched him as he changed. Before he could slip into his briefs, Rictus interrupted him, “Leave those off.” Jayce felt his insides sink. Reluctantly, he left them on the floor, tucked underneath a pelt, as he put on his trousers and boots. He didn’t want to think of the obvious reasons for the request, because his chest already tightened with anxiety. He tried not to look up and catch where that gaze landed on his body, or think of all the ways this felt incredibly demeaning. The only upside was the satisfaction to be fully clothed again as he stood up to his full height.
Rictus kept his eyes on him. “Come here.”
Jayce walked up to Rictus, feeling increasingly uneasy underneath that gaze. Who knows what the man planned for him outside the tent. Was he leading him to an execution? No, that couldn’t be right, not if Rictus planned to have sex with him again.
Jayce paused next to Rictus, eying the handcuffs. He hated this, but he held out his wrists in front of his captor anyway. He didn’t want to look up, but Rictus lifted his chin so their eyes met. His face softened, searching Jayce. “Did you have enough to eat?”
Jayce swallowed and nodded, even though it wasn’t true. Rictus slid a thumb over Jayce’s lips. “You’re chapped. Do you want something to drink?”
“Yes,” Jayce admitted. His throat was more parched and tight than he had ever felt in his life, and the dehydration was probably driving his sustained headache since yesterday afternoon. With a thirst like this, it was hard to tell if he was even hungry.
“Good,” Rictus said, looking pleased. He clamped the handcuffs around Jayce’s wrists, the metal sharp against skin bruised purple. Jayce hadn’t noticed those bruises from the rope until now, not when so much of the rest of his body demanded attention.
He assumed that he would be led outside, but instead, Rictus drew in close, armor jutting into his chest. The man cupped the back of Jayce’s head with his large hand and, before Jayce had time to react, leaned in and captured his mouth in a kiss. “Mmmph!” Jayce tried to pull his face to the side, but Rictus had a strong grip on him. He brought his other hand to hold Jayce’s jaw secure as the kiss deepened. Jayce’s eyes were wide open, heart beating fast. His mouth was pried open like an oyster hiding a pearl of much value; Rictus would stop at nothing to acquire his precious gem. Jayce stiffened as the man’s tongue pushed into him, tasting Jayce and leaving him empty and used. His skin tickled with the man’s beard, and he could reconstruct the man’s breakfast, a meal of smoked pork and the same cheese that Jayce had eaten.
Rictus broke off the kiss as abruptly as he had initiated it. Jayce immediately looked down, the dead weight of shame filling him. His boundaries were shattered, and he could be made to perform anything at any time no matter what he felt, leaving him feeling worthless. Moisture pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he cursed himself. He better not cry, because there were far worse things than a kiss.
“Very good, Jayce. There is no need to resist next time. You belong to me now.” Rictus lifted Jayce’s bound wrists and laid them against his chest plate, his eyes narrowing with interest. He held up the leather bracelet on Jayce’s left wrist, turning Jayce’s hand over so the rune glimmered in the dim light, its facets a deep, pure shade of blue. “What’s this?”
Everything seemed to close in around Jayce, his heart beating so fast, fragments of memory of snow and butterflies and brilliant light and Viktor’s face until only a yawning void was left in their wake. His mouth was so dry; he barely managed a small, “It has sentimental value,” before watching Rictus open the bracelet clasp and slip it off his wrist. The soldier stuffed the item into his belt. “You won’t need it anymore.”
Rictus led Jayce out into the bright morning light, the sun already climbing through a hazy rust-tinged sky. The fires of the city must still be burning. The smoke mingled with filaments of gray cloud, the remnants of the storm merging with the products of war. The ground was still moist from last night’s rain, Jayce’s boots sinking in just a little as he limped forward, trying to keep up with Rictus’ brisk pace. Rictus grunted impatiently with Jayce’s slower, uneven progress. As far as Rictus was concerned, pain was a Jayce problem now.
But as much as his body and soul ached, that felt insignificant with the scenes greeting his eyes. The camp teemed with people in far greater numbers than he remembered from last night, people waiting in line for food or huddled on the barren soil in dirty blankets trying to keep warm. In one corner, a gaggle of soldiers surrounded some hapless individual, kicking them with the butts of their spears. Children were everywhere, of all ages, standing around, sitting, lying in the mud, crying, hiding behind each other, or huddling in a corner by themselves. A couple of them trotted up to him and grabbed his coattails as he walked past, chorusing: “Some food please.” “Food.” “I’m hungry.” Rictus took him away before deeper shame and anger built inside him. Was there anything that he could tell them, any relief at all to give? Why so many children?
Judging by the prevalence of striped, patched clothing among the captives, it also appeared that most of them hailed from Zaun. Why would Silco give up the peace deal and Zaun’s independence to ally with an army that has done this to his people? Unless Jayce had underestimated just how ruthless Silco was; perhaps liberation was never the goal, only domination. Jayce was too naive to see it. Silco was out there now, cutting deals with Ambessa to rule over the ashes together. Though, to be frank, he found it difficult to believe that Ambessa would share power with anyone.
Was there anyone left to resist, except a couple of teenagers drawing art? Zavri and her friends were the few people left trying to make a difference, but Ambessa’s war machine would slowly pick them off one-by-one. Jayce couldn’t let that happen. He had already let down so many as it was, and he couldn’t let them suffer the same fate. What the hell could he do?
Zavri’s notebook, bursting with images of war, a piece of recorded current events that was censored from the public. Hidden underneath the liberties of her surrealist style, she had dutifully recorded troop numbers and locations and atrocities committed by the invaders. This was a first-hand eyewitness account, and there were more like it, scrawled on notebooks in the hands of her friends. If only he could do something with this information – if he could even remember any of it with the fleeting glimpse that he got of the book. There were images that he wanted to understand, such as the chaotic pencil drawing of an individual in a white owl mask raising a rod in a defiant gesture – or the psychedelic watercolor of a skinny girl pointing a gun at the viewer and sporting the longest, bluest braids that he’d ever seen.
He arrived at a covered section of the camp that functioned as a makeshift open air market, where large tree trunks were impaled into the ground, still bearing broken branches, and tent fabric was stretched between them to shield stalls from the weak sun. It reminded him of the times that he ventured into the Undercity looking for spare parts for his Hextech experiments, adventures into dangerous quarters and establishments of disrepute that Caitlyn loved hearing about whenever he returned from one of his exploits. At least, it felt daring back then when he was young and the place felt more exotic. Now, it just reminded him of the class divide between Piltover and Zaun, the creative thriftiness and lack of proper building materials of the Undercity providing evidence of failed council leadership instead of merely idiosyncratic cultural differences.
Rictus led him by the arm towards a stall embedded among the others, threading past soldiers using their week’s pay for extra rations of flour and pork. “You there!” Rictus addressed somebody sitting on a stool in the stall, a skinny–
Viktor. Viktor was in the stall.
Jayce stood stock still. He was alive – fucking alive. The left side of his face was scarred by the fire, pink and red swollen skin inflamed along the side of his cheek and jawline and down his neck, his clothing charred. How much pain was he in? The bastards probably didn’t treat him, either. But at least he was still breathing.
Viktor spoke with Rictus in a calm, business-like voice, discussing something about leather collars? Come to think of it, Viktor was surrounded by the material, long reams of leather stacked in a corner of – his – stall, different shades of brown and black, plus an assortment of tools on his workbench. He looked every bit the leather-working artisan, getting specs for his next job from a client.
Jayce’s brain finally caught up with the conversation. “I will need to work on him in a more private location,” Viktor was saying, body stiff as metal.
“No,” Rictus countered, “do him here and get to work immediately. I will get the gemstones to you soon.” He leaned over Viktor, large armored body making a show of intimidation to a skinny man with a crutch. The sight sickened Jayce. He took a chance to step closer; Viktor didn’t even look at Jayce but kept continuous eye contact with Rictus.
“I’m okay doing it here,” Jayce said, even though he wasn’t sure what it was.
Rictus ignored him. “Show me some samples.”
Viktor obviously was under a lot of stress, as his motions were strained and compact, whether from pain, fear, or anger, Jayce wasn’t sure, but those lips were pressed tightly into a thin pale line, which threw points towards anger. Viktor selected several swatches of leather, ranging in color from tan to mahogany, which Rictus shuffled through with strong interest. He picked out a rich brown. Apparently, Rictus must have never seen Viktor before nor knew that he was the partner of Jayce Talis.
Rictus turned his head and called to one of the soldiers standing nearby. “Bentor! Watch this prisoner until I return.” A shorter man in similar garb and weaponry to Rictus posted himself beside the stall with a sigh, an annoyed look on his face since he had just been pulled from the line to the fresh pork of the day. Rictus guided Jayce to the side of the stall and unlatched the chain dividing merchant from customer so that they both joined Viktor inside the cramped space. Rictus recuffed Jayce to a thin sapling holding the ceiling at the corner of the stall. He leaned into Jayce’s ear, “Don’t do anything foolish.” What Jayce could do with both wrists bound behind his back was anybody’s guess. With that, Rictus seemed satisfied with the arrangement, letting himself out and striding off into the crowd, not even a backward glance as Jayce was left with Viktor.
For a tense moment, they stared at each other, and finally, Jayce saw those hard eyes crack, a film of moisture rimming Viktor’s eyes. The man looked so small and fragile in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by violent men three times his size with none of his wit and grace. He sat on that stool just a few feet from Jayce and never acknowledged his name, but his whole face said volumes, wide eyes near to tears but brows furrowed with fury. His cheeks were blushing red, and probably not just from the burns. The sight was enough to break Jayce’s heart.
Did he have enough to eat? Did he sleep well? Were his captors abusing him in any way?
Did they really have to pretend not to know each other? All Jayce wanted to do was give him a hug.
Instead, Jayce tried to put on a neutral, if not slightly pissed, tone: “Well, aren’t you going to get on with it?” The soldier nearby eyed the proceedings, if not enthusiastically, at least with enough attention to keep both of them on their best behavior.
Viktor pursed his lips, hand gripping his crutch. “I need to make some measurements first.” Which was a lie, since Viktor knew all Jayce’s measurements by heart. Viktor got up with a small wince, and it took everything in Jayce not to instinctively rush over and offer his arm for support. Angry red welts puckered his burned skin, with more reddened skin peeking out from strips of his shirt and vest that were charred black.
“Did you get any, um, medicine for those?” Jayce asked, trying to sound like a sympathetic stranger, but the words caught in his throat.
“I’m fine.” Another lie. He was so much better at it than Jayce. Viktor walked over to him, measurement tape in hand. He left the crutch leaning against the workbench as he stepped up to Jayce. He kept looking over Jayce’s body, his brows pinching in the center with deep concern. Everything about him filled Jayce with yearning, from the whorls of his rich brown hair to the careful and measured way that he approached Jayce and everything else in life. Finally, Viktor was up close to his face, searching Jayce’s soul, as his deft fingertips wrapped the measurement tape around Jayce’s neck. He smelt of burnt chemicals and flesh.
In a barely audible whisper, Viktor asked him: “Did he rape you? Nod or shake your head.”
Jayce swallowed, heat gathering in his chest. Slowly, he nodded.
Viktor’s jaw set as every part of him screwed tighter. “I’ll kill him.”
“No, please,” Jayce whispered fiercely. The soldier perked up. Shit.
Viktor tugged at the tape, speaking loudly, “This is necessary, please hold still.” But his golden eyes filled with ache as the corner of his lips trembled into a frown. He gripped Jayce’s left arm tightly, on the opposite side of the soldier, caressing his thumb over Jayce’s sleeve. Jayce just stared at him, helpless. All he could imagine was Viktor’s head rolling on the floor, blood still dripping off Rictus’ blade. Viktor couldn’t take any chances – not for him.
Jayce spoke in a low voice that betrayed his exhaustion. “I won’t resist. I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.” He stared pointedly at Viktor, trying to convey the magnitude of this danger.
Viktor took him in, attentive to his every move and facial expression. He pressed the tape against his neck one last time, fingers warm against his skin. For a moment, his eyes mellowed into something softer and unspoken. “I need to make you a collar,” he said simply.
He let fingers slip away, as he returned to his workbench and prepared his tools. He took the rich brown leather and laid it out, to be cut and trimmed into a shape worthy of Jayce’s neck. Viktor worked quietly, diligently, like he always did with anything that he made for Jayce. He had made all of Jayce’s collars. As a vegan by ethical choice, he hated leather and had innovated several novel synthetic designs as leather alternatives. In fact, Jayce had asked him to make him a new wristband for his rune, not that that mattered anymore. It hurt to see Viktor forced to work on something that burned his conscience in so many ways.
Jayce remained quiet, taking eyes off Viktor to glance over his surroundings, since they were supposed to be strangers and he didn’t want to look too obsessed staring at Viktor’s back. The makeshift market bustled at its outer edges, where most of the food stalls were located, warriors crowding and raising their hands trying to grab the attention of a hapless stall-worker. Some of those manning stalls looked like soldiers themselves, but most of them appeared to be civilians from Zaun – scratch that, prisoners like himself and Viktor. Nobody was here willingly. Viktor must have been taken with the lot and put to work.
A couple people looked Jayce’s way a bit too long; his suit was a dead giveaway of his status as a former councilor, making him feel incredibly self-conscious. He quickly looked elsewhere. At least the soldier standing guard over them had found a conversation partner, another warrior whom he was eagerly complaining to on the lack of this-and-that in the supply line.
As their conversation grew more animated, Viktor stole a glance back at Jayce, a sharp glint in his eye. Quietly, he slipped a pocket knife from the workbench to the inside of his wrist, holding the limb close against his body. He used his other arm to grab the crutch and move towards Jayce. No – this couldn’t be happening.
Adrenaline shot through him as Viktor pressed close to his left side, holding the knife against the bark of the sapling that Jayce was bound to. “Once the tree is cut, slip out, run to the edge of camp,” Viktor whispered, “steal a horse and get out of here.”
“Not without you,” Jayce hissed. The conversation between the soldiers had moved on to family issues back in Noxus. Jayce leaned into Viktor, who was staring off into the distance behind him. “Even by myself, I’ll never make it.” Viktor never saw Salo and Hoskel struck down in an instant, barely an arm’s breadth away.
Viktor turned to him, mouth pinched tight and eyes piercingly desperate. “He is hurting you, Jayce. I can’t let that happen.”
“Better than watching you die.” Jayce felt his lungs constricting, never enough air as he grabbed Viktor’s hand holding the knife. “Please,” he begged, “for your sake and mine, don’t do anything foolish.”
Jayce realized he was on the verge of tears. Viktor’s breathing was labored, ragged, those frightened eyes also shining with moisture. God forbid if they made a scene right here in the middle of a Noxian camp. He thought seeing Viktor again was worth more than all the freedom in the world, but now it felt like a dagger in the heart. If he wasn’t careful, his presence would kill Viktor long before his illness did.
The stare lengthened, each of them swallowing and trying to get control of their emotions. If this was how things would be from now on, their time together was short indeed. Jayce took in the presence of his partner standing right here, impossible aching love in a face scarred and worn by war and mortality. Jayce would miss those pouty lips and little moles that he liked to watch when Viktor fell asleep. More than anything, he wished him peaceful nights in a bed that didn’t kill his back with the little time he had left.
Viktor’s lips trembled, parting open. “You must get away somehow.” He glanced back at the soldiers deep in conversation. “He did not just ask for a collar, Jayce,” he glared back at him, “but also a chastity belt. These are symbols of Noxian prostitution and slavery.”
The air seemed to chill around him. A chastity belt, no wonder Viktor was trying to get him someplace more private. The dryness in his throat grew thick as sweat slicked his palms. Something squeezed inside his chest before unfurling unexpectedly. He whispered, “It’s okay.”
“It is not!” Viktor spoke a little too loudly, spit flying out of his mouth. The conversation between soldiers stopped mid-sentence as Bentor perked up in their direction. “Any trouble with the councilor?” he asked languidly, “I can hold him down for you if you need him to behave.”
Viktor bristled, whipping his head in the soldier’s direction. “I am perfectly capable of handling him myself.” He broke off from Jayce, folding the knife flat against his thigh as he used the crutch to return to his workbench. Up ahead, the tall, muscular silhouette of Rictus was approaching, one of his fists clenched. Jayce deflected his eyes to the floor, brain buzzing with a headache as he kept completely silent.
Rictus strode up to Viktor. Viktor slipped the knife just under the workbench, stabbing it into the underside just in time. “Here are the gemstones,” Rictus handed over several shimmering objects into Viktor’s free hand. “As we discussed, two in the collar and two in the belt. I have some business to attend to, but I need him done before I return.”
For a terrifying moment, Jayce thought Viktor would stab Rictus with his crutch, his knuckles white as bone around his potential tool of outrage and justice. Rictus narrowed his eyes; a man his size could snap Viktor in two.
“I will do my best,” Viktor spoke evenly, barely containing his contempt. “Beware rough handling of the final products; if there are any damages, please come to me for repairs.” He stared off as Rictus muttered something affirmative and left.
For the next hour or so, Viktor worked in silence and Jayce kept to himself, head bowed and eyes on the ground. He ignored the chatter of the marketplace, the soldiers on guard resuming their talk, everything. He listened to the sounds of Viktor’s tools, the sigh of leather cut and sewn into shape, a shape that would mark Jayce as property to anyone who saw him. Every time he thought that he had hit rock bottom, he was proven horribly wrong. But he had to be grateful still, because even now there was still more room to fall. Viktor was still alive and free enough to operate semi-independently in captivity; his life was not in immediate danger, so long as Jayce didn’t fuck things up for him. Basically, he was the biggest threat to Viktor’s continued safety. He had better come up with an actual plan to get them out of here or to fix this mess or something before Viktor did something crazy like stab Rictus in the balls.
The last step was sewing the gemstones into the leather. The four stones glinted almost the same hue, a pale warm amber-brown. Was their meaning cultural or personal, or were they just something pretty to decorate Jayce with? He couldn’t stop thinking of the rune that he had lost, the pledge that he had made to himself to give that stone to Viktor as a promise for marriage. That future was dead now, lying desecrated in fur pelts soiled with blood and semen.
Viktor rose up at last, limbs weary with the effort to do what his heart abhorred. Jayce threw kindness his way, soft brows and eyes that welcomed those tired arms that tried so hard to protect him. He limped towards Jayce with the leather items in one hand, using his crutch to nudge the stool in Jayce’s direction, but the angle was off and it tipped over. “Blasted,” he cursed, dropping the crutch entirely to pick up the rebellious piece of furniture.
“I would offer to help, but I’m a little tied up here,” Jayce shrugged and ducked his head, instinct from years of Viktor slapping a newspaper on him for making corny jokes.
Viktor only looked up with exasperation. “How can you?” he trailed off, fighting gravity, finally managing to pull himself and the stool up with his last bit of grit. He sat on his Pyrrhic victory, resistance fading away like heat on a cold night. He looked so much older when he was sad.
A tremor ran through Jayce. Slowly, he got down on his knees, cuffed hands sliding down the rough bark behind him until he looked up at Viktor, ensuring that Viktor’s arms would suffer no strain as he collared him. Viktor eyed him with alarm, fingers white against the leather in his hands. Jayce tried to smile, his voice cracking, “You know the drill.”
“Don’t–” Viktor’s head did the tiniest shake.
“Humor me,” Jayce breathed, chest aching, “I might never laugh again.” And dammit, his dam began to break, throat choking as tears spilled down. He shook his head. “Ah, sorry.”
Viktor leaned down, hands holding either side of his face, horror and strength contradicting each other. “Shhh, I’m here Jayce.”
Footsteps, the soldier approaching. Jayce managed to choke out a whisper, “I miss you so damn much it hurts” before Bentor stared down at the pair of them sitting and kneeling and crying.
“What’s going on?”
“The man does not want to be a slave, can you believe it?” Viktor shot back. The soldier cocked his head, going remarkably silent. Viktor spoke more politely, but still with firmness. “Give us a moment.”
Bentor backed off, giving them more room without taking eyes off them. It was Jayce’s fault that they had an audience now. Viktor didn’t look upset, though, as he rubbed Jayce’s temples and wiped at the liquid leaking out of the corners of his eyes. Shit, how was he supposed to convince Viktor not to worry about him after all this ?
He mouthed the word sorry and sniffed back his composure. Viktor gave him a long, soft look, before settling into his work. “Tell me if it is comfortable or not,” he said, almost professional. Viktor left the belt on his lap as he brought the collar around Jayce’s throat, gemstones shining in his hands until Jayce couldn’t see them anymore. The inside was lined with a softer leather, smooth and pliable; the stitching was very fine and unobtrusive, per Viktor’s usual craftsmanship. Viktor closed the metal clasp at the back of his neck, a ritual that Jayce had grown accustomed to on so many hot summer nights and cold winter days. Snug as sin, free as magic, they would say. “It’s perfect,” Jayce said.
Now for the hard part. Before his composure slipped again, Jayce stood up and took a deep breath. He made sure the coast was clear, besides their guard. “Okay,” he glanced down at Viktor, now eye-level with his chest. Viktor scooted his stool in front of Jayce, providing him as much privacy as possible from onlookers. He stroked Jayce gently, before grasping his waistband and peeling his pants down enough to expose the groin. He didn’t comment on Jayce’s lack of briefs. His breath felt ticklish and tenderly warm on Jayce’s skin. Jayce swallowed as he spread his legs a little, enough for the chastity belt to go on more easily. He tried not to look at the soldier or think of how humiliating this must appear in public, to be exposed like this. He felt embarrassed by the number of bruises blooming across his thighs and crotch; Viktor was exceedingly gentle, easing his flaccid dick and balls into the leather pouch.
“So, how did you find yourself here?” Jayce asked as casually as possible. Viktor’s face was screwed up with intensity, facing the damage that Jayce couldn’t hide, and now Jayce was asking him to banter on some shared suffering between strangers caught in the same war. Viktor appeared to understand. He shrugged, feigning neutrality once again as he stood up to pull a strap under Jayce’s legs. “I’m a scientist by trade. The Noxians pulled me out of a lab fire that destroyed much research and experimental equipment, but some of the key work was salvaged.” The strap sunk into Jayce’s cleft and was fastened to the leather belt secured around the top of his pelvis. “That work meant everything to my partner. Are you comfortable? Let me know if I need to loosen the straps.”
“It feels alright,” Jayce said. He wiggled his hips a bit without any pinches. His crotch felt tucked into bed, secure and cozy if not a little claustrophobic due to the circumstances. There were three small locks, two on the sides of the belt and one at the back, plus the two amber gemstones embedded at the front. Viktor quietly snapped each lock shut, palming the key. He pulled up Jayce’s trousers to cover the device and return Jayce to decency. Jayce let out a sigh of relief to be fully clothed again. As Viktor stood up from his work, he gazed solemnly at Jayce. “I took up leather work for the Noxians because I thought I would find my partner here.” His eyes trembled like broken glass. Jayce answered softly, “I hope you do.” And, if he could be bolder, he said, “Thank you for … helping me through this. Please take care of yourself. Get someone to look at those injuries, okay?”
Viktor only smirked with difficulty, his throat bobbing. He tried to say something, but perhaps the words just couldn’t come. Instead he held Jayce’s hands behind his back and gazed back for a moment of silence that stretched on far longer than it should. And then he turned away.
Viktor returned to his post by the workbench, kept busy with Noxian requests to repair leather parts of uniforms, satchels, saddles, and the like. Jayce stood sentinel in the corner, minding his business as the sun climbed to its apex, the brisk chill of morning turning into the warmth of noon. A lifetime ago, in the games that he and Viktor used to play, the physical confinement of the most vulnerable part of his body felt like a gift, a moment of release from burden and responsibility as he succumbed to submission, restraint, and peace. Viktor was his guide into a beautiful world that he longed to return to after hours of meetings and visits with investors. All of him was Viktor’s, and there was no place that he didn’t trust to be taken to on the leash of his master.
But this confinement was meant to hurt Jayce. Now was the time for pride instead of surrender, to fight instead of submit. Jayce would need to resist the role thrust upon him if he were to survive intact through this ordeal, however long it took.
Shortly after noon, Rictus returned for Jayce. He felt a knot of anxiety tighten inside him again, and Viktor glanced worriedly in his direction, hastily getting up to his feet. Jayce nodded ever so slightly, hoping that he looked confident enough—or at least composed enough—for the next phase of this trial. That’s what they were, weren’t they, trials? If he could just keep passing them, maybe he’d find a way to the other side, break the cycle, so to speak. Each trial promised to be more difficult than the last, like now. It wasn’t easy saying goodbye. Every bone and sinew in his body needed to wrap Viktor in his arms and never, ever let go. He settled for soft eyes that lingered on his beloved far too long, now that he belonged to someone else.
Jayce felt himself blush as Rictus looked him over, eyes on the collar, a smile blooming on his face. “Very good. Give me the key.”
Viktor stared Rictus down. He fisted the key in his hand, stalling as Rictus glanced down at Jayce's groin. “Let me see your work on the belt.”
Jayce felt his mouth go dry, heat crawling up his spine. The area was bustling with soldiers streaming in for a late lunch, with more than a few taking a casual interest in the man in a white suit tied up to a tree.
Viktor dug his knuckles into the workbench, voice cutting through the din. “With respect, sir, you may inspect my work back at your tent, but not here. I will not expose this man a second time in public. He has been put into your service, he deserves some respect.”
The fuck, Viktor? Jayce suddenly didn’t care if he had to disrobe in front of the entire Noxian army. These were just clothes, not a life that couldn’t be replaced for all the decency in the world.
Rictus just stared at Viktor, the soldier’s face growing uncharacteristically red.
Viktor intoned evenly: “If you are dissatisfied with my work, you know where to find me.”
“I can vouch for his professionalism,” Jayce hastily added, finding his voice again.
Rictus turned his attention away from Viktor, unlatching the chain of the stall and striding up to Jayce, towering over him. “So you know him.”
The man looked down at him, expecting him to fold, as if throwing enough intimidation and humiliation at a problem made it crack. Jayce remained calm, swallowing self-consciously as the motion bobbed his collar. He kept eye contact. “Enough to know that he never lets anyone down.”
Rictus said nothing. He observed Jayce for a second, brows pinched as if turning things over in his mind, before breaking out in a grin. “How sweet,” he mocked as he uncuffed Jayce from the sapling and pocketed the handcuffs. Jayce rubbed his freed wrists, glancing up with confusion. “You won’t need them for now,” Rictus explained, “but know your place.” He cradled the back of Jayce’s neck, keeping Jayce’s eyes on him. “Three rules from now on: Call me sir, do as I tell you, and prepare yourself for me every night. Think you can manage that?”
“Yes sir,” Jayce said. He followed Rictus out of the stall, arms stiff at his sides and unable to look at Viktor. He did catch Viktor thrusting the key into Rictus’ open palm. “Your service is appreciated,” Rictus told Viktor. Jayce couldn’t bear to look at the pain and anger on his face.
He didn’t look back as Rictus guided him to a stall offering food and drink, specifically various forms of alcohol. Rictus ordered a golden-amber-hued spirit, and when he offered to get Jayce something, Jayce declined the alcohol for a tall glass of water. He was already very dehydrated as it was and didn’t need the diuretic on top of that. He tried not to gulp it down too greedily. He got some funny looks, whether from the water or his new collar, so he stared back until the onlookers left him alone. He nursed the glass quietly, listening to Rictus trade barbs with several comrades. He couldn’t see Viktor from here, too many heads in the way. Why didn’t he look back one last time?
It could be the last time that he sees Viktor. He didn’t even tell him he loved him.
Jayce willed his head to stop thinking those thoughts. He downed the rest of his glass as Rictus signaled for him to get going. He wondered what Rictus had meant by Jayce “preparing himself” every night. The instruction wasn’t very specific, but he didn’t look forward to finding out.
They took a detour to a shrubby area of the river. The line of people from last evening was gone now, just a few soldiers leaving the scene as a boat with red sails pushed off from shore towards Piltover. Was it supplying Ambessa’s soldiers in the city?
Rictus positioned him behind a bush with brown, wrinkled leaves still clinging to the tips of its branches. “I recommend that you relieve yourself here.”
“Oh, right.” Jayce hadn’t felt any urges during his captivity so far since he barely had anything to eat or drink until this morning, but he would hate to squander this opportunity. He began to pull down his pants, but Rictus held his arm.
“I’ll take it off for you.” Rictus took out the key and began unlocking the belt. “It has slots, sir,” Jayce explained fruitlessly. Viktor designed Jayce’s cages to be convenient devices that he could wear to work if he so chose, not cumbersome models that required somebody to unlock them every time he needed the bathroom. But why be reasonable when you could be sadistic?
He endured Rictus unlocking him and watching him relieve himself in the grass. Once he was done, Rictus packed him up again, nice and cozy, fingers briefly exploring the strength, tightness, fit, and feel of the chastity device. Maybe that would finally satisfy the man’s urge to control.
Finally, to Jayce’s relief, they were leaving, but he couldn’t help but detect the smell of human waste along the riverside. “Sir, doesn’t your army offer restroom services for the people camped here?”
Rictus looked at him like he was born yesterday. “It’s a war,” he said, as if ‘war’ were a satisfactory explanation for all manner of shocking, unreasonable, cruel, and downright disgusting actions that nobody in their right mind would implement during peacetime.
Rictus dropped him off at the tent, chaining him back to the metal post by the fur bed. Jayce was left alone for hours in the semi-dark, the only light streaming through a crack in the tent flap. He became restless lying in the pelts, turning over to his right and then his left and back again, careful still not to put pressure on his buttocks. It was only a matter of time before nightfall and the inevitable. He couldn’t just lie here waiting for Rictus to return and have his way with him.
Of course he wasn’t idle. He already tried dislodging the metal rod five times to no avail, the damn thing anchored deep in the soil; he suspected that it was an old industrial pipe leading down into a forgotten underground network of pipes from a factory torn down years ago. He also tried his hand at lockpicking his handcuff using the quill lying in the pelts, the one Zavri had gotten for him that morning. Unfortunately, the quill tip was neither thin, long, nor flexible enough for the job.
He crawled off the bed as far as the chain would let him and did push-ups for an hour, working up a sweat and feeling a nice grind in his muscles from the refreshing exertion, oxygen flooding his brain with energy and clarity. It was like being in the forge again and having control of his body, pushing himself to feel something real and familiar. He let his mind numb into emptiness as he lifted himself off the ground over and over, the pleasant burn in his biceps distracting from the dull pain in his groin. Viktor’s chastity belt helped give a different sensation to concentrate on in that area, the tight fullness of leather rubbing against his thighs and trousers as he moved. It was somewhat uncomfortable against his bruises, but that couldn’t be helped. Viktor made the belt as comfortable as was possible for the circumstances, though if Jayce got hard, the experience would become far less pleasant.
Jayce paused, a bead of sweat dripping down his nose. His mind whirred with thoughts ever since Rictus left him, interrupted only by intentional moments of emptying his mind of the constant buzz. There were so many variables that played before him like an orchestra still warming up and out-of-tune. Viktor let him know that at least some of their Hextech dream was saved from fire, but now it was in the hands of the Noxians – a potential source of limitless, destructive power, if they had the expertise to wield it. Such a weapon could enable conquest far beyond Piltover; no nation would be safe from a Noxus armed with the power of the Arcane.
He wiped the sweat off his face and elbowed the packed earth beneath him, still smelling of rain from last night. There were so many innocent people caught in the middle of this, especially from Zaun. There were so many captives and children who didn’t receive any treatment for their wounds, food to eat, clothes and blankets to keep them warm, restroom facilities, or shelter from storms. It was inexcusable. Maybe Jayce didn’t know a thing about war, but what he’d seen of it convinced him that it was the most horrifically stupid and senselessly cruel thing imaginable. Why anybody would devote their life to it mystified him, let alone a nation making war a cornerstone of their national policy.
He wondered what they kept most of the captives for, punishment for resistance like Zavri or for free labor like Viktor? One thing was sure, at least some were pressed into “servicing the troops” like himself.
His jaw set with anger. Everything felt dark and hopeless in this useless tent.
He touched his collar, fastened by a simple metal clasp that was easy to unlock with his free hand. The leather strip fell below him, and he picked it up, holding the twin amber gemstones to shimmer in the dim light. What a simple token to devalue someone’s life. He weighed it for a moment, then set it down at the head of the pelts. He could always put it back on before someone came in.
Would Zavri visit him again, bearing another tray of food? The tray from this morning was gone, but that could have been anyone. If he could just ask her about her notebook and what she’d seen, the locations of soldiers and the identities of individuals pushing back against the invaders, maybe something could be done. He wasn’t sure about the girl in the blue braids, since the painting portrayed her pointing a gun at Zavri, which could mean robbery as much as rebellion. The person in an owl mask was a more likely candidate for being part of a resistance. If there were more like them out there, these people just needed to be brought together to defy Ambessa’s army.
But a resistance movement had little chance to overthrow Noxus if Piltover’s enforcers had been defeated so quickly. What could stand up to Silco’s shimmer and Ambessa’s decades of experience and strength? They had all the cards, everything except–
Wait a second. Piltover had fallen a scant few days ago, not nearly enough time for Noxus to weaponize Hextech. They may be searching for experts to crack its runic code right now. That can’t be allowed to happen – or could it?
Jayce held his head in his hands, running fingers through his hair as the implications lit up his brain.
Noxus would get its experts alright, none other than Jayce Talis and his partner, Viktor. Under the cover of creating weapons for Ambessa’s army, he and Viktor would work on some tricks of their own. If they were successful, contact would be made with those still mounting resistance to the invasion, Jayce handing over a weapon that could defeat an army and regain Piltover’s freedom.
Shit, it might actually work. It was a longshot, with a thousand moving parts that could fly apart in his face, but by god it was a fighting chance.
He pulled off the layers of pelts, piling them at the foot of the bed until there was only one pelt left at the bottom, a large rectangle of flattened dark fur. He flipped over the pelt to reveal its tan leathery underside. He took up Zavri’s quill in his hand. There was just enough afternoon light seeping through the crack in the tent to let him see what he was doing. He wanted to brainstorm equations, but he didn’t really know what part of their Hextech research had survived the fire. So he started sketching a rough map of Piltover and Zaun instead, jotting down marks for locations shown in Zavri’s drawings. He wrote “107” over Mid Town for the number of soldiers camped there, plus the date Zavri had seen them. This map was a humble start. If he could ask her friends to report back the number of troops across the rest of the city and their locations, that information would help him figure out how much and where best to deploy weaponized Hextech against the enemy.
He glanced over the map, sighing. It was a lot to ask of teenagers to risk their lives for his idea, and maybe it wouldn’t even work. What right did he have? They could be captured or killed for a lost cause.
He was contemplating the production of Hextech weapons again, something he had been against from the start until everything got confusing after the attacks of the Firelights and Silco’s reign of terror in the Undercity. Viktor was adamantly against weaponizing Hextech – in fact, he made Jayce promise to destroy it. Did Jayce have any right to ask him to use his skills against his conscience? Would this new brand of weapon be every bit as deadly as the Mercury Hammer that got an innocent kid killed in Silco’s factory? The battle against Ambessa would be even bloodier than whatever drug war he almost dragged Piltover into back when he didn’t know any better.
Jayce sat down with his right hip against the ground, putting the pen down, memory filling him of the child dying on the grimy floor of the shimmer factory. The fall must have broken his spine, or maybe Jayce had already done that with the shot blast through his chest. It must hurt so much to die like that. He didn’t even know the kid’s name. Whoever he was, he probably didn’t want the last thing that he ever saw to be the face of his killer.
Jayce’s hands sunk into the earth, the chain heavy collecting on the floor beside him as he supported his weight, still avoiding putting pressure on his backside. “I’m sorry, whoever you were. Do you think me getting raped and stuck in this lousy tent all day makes you any happier out there?”
He wasn’t sure if he believed in an afterlife, but he hoped that the child had found peace. He didn’t believe in hell, but it sure felt like he had been sentenced to its equivalent in this life for the foreseeable future. Maybe the universe did have a sense of justice after all.
He pulled out the folded drawing from inside his vest, unfurling its colors to catch the light. His mom was near the far left edge of the audience, just the back of her head and shoulders, such a slight figure. She would clap so proudly at every one of his speeches, even the ones lined up on the same day, the same speech given to different audiences that began to bore even him. She would embarrass him in front of all her friends bragging about her son the councilor. He wished that he could speak with her now and ask what he should do about this whole mess, all the lives that he could save or ruin, the promise that he’d break to his partner and the new one that he would make in its place, to fulfill at all costs or die trying.
“Am I out of my mind?” He looked at her one last time before folding the drawing again into his vest.
He reversed the pelt with the map and spread the other pelts over it until the bed was tidy, except for the dried residue of semen in the center of the top pelt. He pushed that one underneath several more so that the surface now felt soft and lustrous. He put his collar back on his neck. And he bided his time until evening, when another captive came to give him dinner, the same food as the morning.
“Excuse me,” he got the attention of the older man, shirt tattered as he shivered in the chilly evening air. He was struggling to set the tray down on the floor. “I’m Councilor Talis and I need to speak with Ambessa Medarda on an important issue that needs her attention. May you ask for a soldier to bring me to her?”
The man agreed, barely looking him in the eye, and left to do as he had asked. Jayce hurriedly started eating his dinner, unable to savor the satisfaction of quenching part of his hunger and thirst before footsteps sounded outside the tent again. It was a shame that much of the cheese and bread were still left when the soldier came for him, a somewhat slender individual wearing a metal mask and a bright red head covering, the traditional uniform of a Noxian warrior. The soldier unlocked his handcuff and waited as Jayce got to his feet. The toll of the day left sweat sticking underneath his rumpled clothes, no opportunity for a shower in a place like this.
“May I just wash my face for a moment?” he asked the soldier, before quickly amending, “What’s your name, I don’t want to be rude.”
“Martincus,” the voice was quite youthful, with a lilt at the end, “Of course you are permitted.” With his free hand not holding his spear, Martincus motioned towards the basin of water by the pile of supplies. His skin was olive-toned, just a little darker than Jayce’s, with intricate tattoos from knuckles to fingertips.
“Thank you, I appreciate this.” Jayce went over and knelt by the basin, splashing his face with the briskly cold liquid. For a moment, he held his palms over his face, the cool, wet sensation irresistible, before rubbing his neck with the moisture. He glanced over the supplies in front of him, an assortment of useful things like bags of wheat and cases of wine to less useful trinkets like cufflinks and jeweled hair combs.
“What are you looking for?” Martincus asked, coming over to Jayce and eying the supplies.
Jayce felt a bit embarrassed and anxious. “I haven’t had a bath, so I was wondering if there was some perfume I could use.”
“Ah,” the other man touched his metal mask thoughtfully, “I’d be glad to help.” He scanned the stacks of boxes and objects piled on top of each other, leaning his spear against a stack as he pulled out bigger items to look deeper in the pile. He laughed a little. “I’m sure you’re used to finer things than what we have to offer.”
Jayce scratched at the collar and rubbed at the back of his neck. He sure wasn’t beating back the elitism allegations. “I don’t need anything fancy,” he offered weakly, “I would go for soap, but I don’t want to contaminate the basin.”
Martincus reached over far into a cubby hole hollowed out of small items threatening to topple over. It was an amusing image to see a Noxian warrior in full uniform pry out two tiny bottles of perfume with a triumphant flourish. “‘Deadly nightshade lover’ or ‘verdant mountain stream mist.’” He offered the choice to Jayce, who hesitated as the ridiculousness dawned on him. Did he want to face Ambessa smelling like a risqué dinner date or some sweet alpine meadow?
While he felt like chickening out, he couldn’t stop Martincus in time from opening both bottles and smelling the whiff of perfume oozing from the tops. “Mmm,” the younger man observed, “this one has a kick to it.” He offered Jayce to smell the lover bottle, which was indeed quite potent. He wrinkled his nose. Seeing Jayce’s reaction, Martincus offered the other bottle. Its scent was airier and more fresh, reminding him of cold water and mountain flowers blooming.
“This one, thanks.” He took the bottle and very gently dabbed a drop on either side of his neck below his ears and once on each wrist. Just something subtle, like what he’d do after working out at the forge and rushing to a council meeting afterwards. He handed the bottle back.
Martincus pocketed the bottles and took up his spear again. “Have you ever done one of those perfume baths sprinkled with real gold leaves?”
Jayce wasn’t sure what stories of Piltover’s elite that everyday Noxians received, but he couldn’t decide himself if this was hyperbole or an unfortunate truth. “Not me personally,” he said. Maybe Salo or Hoskel, or even Mel. She did wear a lot of gold.
He felt doubly self-conscious emerging from the tent, the umber shadows of twilight engulfing the wounded and the hungry. Maybe it was a mistake to worry about what impression he would make when the problems they were facing were so much bigger. He was distracted from his scruples, however, as he asked Martincus about his life, the man quite talkative as he led Jayce through the maze of tents. He grew up in a remote ranch community high in the Ironspike Mountains on the border between Noxus and the Freljord. “You’ve come a long way from home,” Jayce marveled. He wondered if Martincus was smiling behind the metal mask as he talked about his friends and family back home. “We weren’t always Noxus. The warbands came when I was a little boy, defeating our best warriors and incorporating our homeland into Noxus territory.” He spoke of the culture changing and new customs becoming law. More of the young generation were sent off to fight in foreign wars. “My dad begged me to stay and hide when the recruiters came for us, but I told him I wanted to see the world.”
Martincus had dreams of working someday as a tailor on fine garments, things like silk that his community never had access to. “It would be nice to have nice things and create something beautiful that others can enjoy.” When Jayce asked when he hoped to get out of the army, he scoffed, “We do twenty years at a minimum. Some warriors are for life. But at least I got to see Piltover, it’s a very fine city. Maybe I’ll settle here one day.”
He was so engrossed in Martincus’ story that he barely noticed a pale, slim figure approaching wearing a dark coat with oversized burgundy lapels trimmed in silver, head cocking like a hawk eying its prey, one eye blue and the other, a fiery eclipse.
“Well, if it isn’t the new call boy,” Silco greeted in a slick voice. “The new look suits you.”
Jayce halted in his tracks. Heat shot through his chest as his mind scattered in a hundred different directions. He tried not to swallow or otherwise disturb his collar as he balled his fists. A slow smile bloomed on that man’s face as the silence stretched another second.
He wouldn’t let Silco humiliate him. “I’m not the one licking Ambessa’s boots.”
Silco hiccuped in what was a terse version of a laugh. “Charming words for someone with absolutely no cards left on the table. Where is the soldier taking you, if I may ask?” He clasped his hands together, rubbing palms as he circled Jayce, Martincus politely stepping aside.
“I have some business about the war to discuss with Ambessa,” Jayce spoke warily, trying to keep his cool as he felt those eyes appraising his body. Did Silco own any brothels? The man had no honor, and now with the veneer of diplomacy stripped between them, there was only left naked hatred and opportunism.
Silco’s breath warmed the back of his head as the man leaned closer to him from behind. “Who’s the bootlicker now? Ambessa will eat you alive.” He fingered the pauldrons on Jayce’s shoulders, fondling the gold trim and the Talis hammer. “It’s not all hopeless, you still have assets to offer. I know a few chem-barons who would love a piece of the Golden Boy.”
Jayce didn’t react. It was bone-chilling how casually Silco spoke of something too horrific to contemplate, the act of throwing a lamb into a pack of wolves and watching how things played out. It was disgusting how helpless he felt when just a week ago he was the equal to this man, two leaders brokering a shared peace for their cities. He cleared his throat, remaining civil. “No thank you.”
Silco scoffed. “That’s the amusing thing about you, Jayce, you still think you have a choice.” He sniffed the air; was he actually smelling Jayce’s mountain mist? “I do admire a man who maintains a certain lifestyle when chaos comes and burns down his house.” He stepped in front of Jayce, grasping his shoulder like a father giving advice to a wayward son. “Defeat isn’t easy to accept. You will acclimatize to its realities in time.”
The lines of his face were stone as he let Jayce go and turned away to go back to whatever damp hole he crawled out of, but Jayce called after him: “Tell that to your people suffering in this camp.”
The figure went still, black against a darkening sky. It was hard to read a face cloaked in scars and shadows. “Jayce, someday you will wish you lost your head on that pier.”
The man slipped away into the darkness, leaving Jayce breathless and shaken. It felt like the ground had dissolved beneath his feet and he was falling into a bottomless ravine, grunting and crying as he tumbled against boulders and rocks, the whole world spinning and lashing his skin with cuts. The shame was thick on his tongue, the barbs stinging deeper than they should. Like it or not, he had been proud to be someone important and to have ideas that people listened to. Now the only thing left that he had of value was his body. Just the thought of the chem-barons struck him cold. He hoped it would not come to that.
Martincus urged him onward, growing taciturn and professional, a sharp departure from the earlier candor. Twilight deepened into velvet night, the stars keener far from city lights. One constellation swept across the sky above the main tent of the camp, one of its stars far brighter than the rest, a phenomenon called a supernova by astronomers. A star’s death is the most beautiful thing that we can witness in our lifetimes, Mel had told him many nights ago, while they shared a drink on her balcony gazing at this very same star. Its light would brighten considerably over the next several months until it visibly shone in broad daylight, then it would fade away forever, an empty space of black. He listened as she told stories of ancient Noxian observations of the heavens from wherever they traveled, the flecks of gold on her face glimmering like the night behind her. Your star would never fade , he said, as she laughed and said he was such a romantic.
Jayce stood at the entrance to Ambessa’s tent at last, Martincus pausing as voices raised from within the large structure. He caught Mel’s name mentioned in the conversation, but not much else. She had to be alive. If there was anyone who could survive this, it was her. He smoothed over the fabric of his suit and tie and licked his fingers to smooth over his hair, trying to compose himself as Martincus received permission for them to enter.
The space was functional and sweeping in the crimson red of Noxus. A large table occupied the center arrayed in red chairs and the bright orange lights of lanterns, backdropped by a line of weapons and regalia. Ambessa sat at the head of the table with a full course meal before her, while Rictus stood at attention by her side.
Jayce felt like he was stepping into the den of a wolf just as it was biting into its dinner.
“It’s a pleasure to see you, Jayce,” Ambessa waved him in while nodding to Martincus. “You may leave us.” She wore a breastplate of gold with her dark gray hair braided back, the firelight of the lanterns highlighting the scars across her face. He tried to ignore the sting to his pride as she addressed him by first name. He dared to glance at Rictus and immediately regretted it as the entirety of that muscled, metal-armored man trained eyes on him like a predator ready to pounce. “Do you want him removed for disturbing you?”
“That won’t be necessary just yet.” Her lips pinched into a hard, thin line.
Jayce swallowed. “Mrs. Medarda, I apologize for interrupting your evening meal. Perhaps I should return at a later time when it’s more conve–.”
“Address me as General Medarda,” she interrupted, sloshing wine in a gold goblet and motioning to the end of the table nearest Jayce. “Stand there and tell me what’s on your mind at this hour.” She lay back and looked him over, the corners of her lips upturning slowly. “That is, if you don’t have more pressing duties to perform.”
“Ah, yes, well,” Jayce hastily stood at the end of the table, folding his hands behind his back, his nostrils filling with the aroma of roasted steak and ribs. He was an idiot for taunting Silco, because he could already taste the boot polish on his tongue. “The past few days have opened my eyes to a lot of things. Unfortunately, you were right about Piltover. I must congratulate the skill and leadership of your army in your success.” His eyes flicked to the ground, bile in the back of his throat, but he forced himself to look back up. “I’ve come to discuss the handling of some of Piltover’s most important and dangerous assets, namely Hextech, now that it lies in your possession.”
Ambessa nodded, a large smile now blooming across her features. “You sound desperate. Hardly a day has gone by and you’re already kissing ass for your precious technology.”
“You give me no choice,” Jayce talked back, face flushing with heat. “I went to sleep on the promise of a peace deal and woke up to find my city on fire and soldiers storming into my quarters.” He gestured across the tent. “Piltover welcomed you and your people with open arms, and you betrayed that hospitality and trust.”
The table shook as Ambessa stood up, setting down her glass. Rictus stepped toward Jayce, spear in hand, but she raised her arm in the air. “Stay your anger, Rictus. Go on, Jayce, please air all your grievances.” She walked towards him. “You must feel so angry and helpless, since it was your responsibility to keep your city safe. I warned you of the dangers of your Undercity, but did you listen?”
She stood beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder, like that day at the spa, except his eyes were glued to hers this time, hanging on her every condemnation. “What does it feel like to wear the Noxian slave collar and belt, Jayce? Tell me.”
She might as well have stabbed him, because it felt the same. His eyes smarted as he cleared his throat. “It feels exactly as one would expect, humiliating.”
She leaned in with a hand on his shoulder. “Good. Concentrate on that feeling, because that’s what you deserve.”
Jayce lifted his chin, breathing in. “What about Mel? Did she deserve this?” Ambessa’s hand dropped off his shoulder – eyes wide. “Is she even alive?”
Ambessa slapped him across the face. He gasped, sharp force vibrating into his cheekbone, but he didn’t move from the spot.
“Mel is no longer your concern.”
“She built a life here, this city was her home and crowning achievement, and now it’s devastated,” Jayce spoke through gritted teeth, any kind of script that he had hashed together flying out the window. “I never thought for one second that you’d invade because I couldn’t imagine a mother hurting her own daughter.”
He gasped again, as Rictus came right up and pressed the sharp edge of his blade to Jayce’s throat. “I can kill him right here.” Jayce stood there, heart ramming in his chest but his mind as clear as the night sky. All stars fade eventually. His only regret was that he must do it alone.
Ambessa gave no indication whether he should live or die. She walked off to the far side of the tent along the spears lined up against the red wall. She posted her hands on her hips, turning to face Jayce. “You love her, don’t you?”
The blade was beginning to draw blood beneath his Adam’s apple, but he spoke anyway. “Yes.”
Ambessa faced away, sighing. She waved her hand in the air, and Rictus took the blade off his neck. Jayce breathed sharply, shaking all over.
“She is alive, unharmed, and well. You will speak no more about her.” Ambessa returned to her seat but didn’t pick up her glass or any utensils.
Jayce still felt forlorn, and he tried to be brave one more time. “Forgive me for my outburst. I just don’t understand why any of this suffering is necessary.”
Ambessa smirked as she stared at the table, almost more to herself than anyone in particular. “I have my reasons.”
Homes on fire, people starving, councilors beheaded, Zavri wounded, Viktor burned. “I saw a young girl with wounds left untreated and more like her. People don’t have enough food to eat or clothes to keep them warm. If you don’t do something for them before winter, there will either be famine or rebellion.”
Ambessa just stared at him, face drawn into hard, tired lines. “Mel already told me the same thing.”
Jayce looked down, breathing heavily as his body trembled with adrenaline. Mel was not only alive but in a position to give advice and speak freely. She was out there somewhere, trying to make a difference in the face of the unspeakable.
“Tell me,” Ambessa leaned back, eyes narrow, “what’s in it for you to ‘handle’ Hextech for me? Why do you want to help the enemy that razed your city? I can get any scientist to create what I need from your technology, this city is crawling with inventors.”
“I’m sure you can and probably already have – and the results weren’t pretty.” He took a chance that seemed to pay off, as her expression wavered just enough to encourage him to go on. “But no one has years of direct expertise in this field like myself and my partner. We invented it and made the Hexgates a reality, plus dozens of tools and weapons utilizing the energy of the Arcane. If there’s anyone who can–.”
“Don’t give me the presentation, tell me what’s in it for you.”
He looked her in the eye, his thumb reaching for the empty space where the rune once graced his wrist. “My partner is dying. His name is Viktor, and he–” Jayce cleared his throat, “–suffers from a terminal illness from breathing polluted air where he grew up in the Undercity. We were seeking to cure his disease through Hextech, but the invasion interrupted our work.”
The gears were turning in her head. She sipped from the wine glass, tasting the liquid in her mouth, before remarking, “That’s an incredible show of loyalty to betray your own city for the life of one man.” She poured herself a full glass. “I can envision an alternative scenario. You use your service to me as a ruse to work on your own countermeasures against your occupiers. As the last remaining leader of Piltover, you use your authority to reconstitute your forces in secret and aim Hextech at the heart of the Noxian army.”
Jayce shook his head. She was good. She could see right through him, and maybe that’s exactly how it should be. “Of course I thought of that possibility.” He stepped to the side of the table, brushing the edge with his fingers. “I overheard soldiers saying there’s still resistance in the city, and it got me thinking, maybe I can help.” He traced the grain of the wood. “If I could just get a weapon smuggled to people who will fight back, maybe there’s still a chance.”
He laughed and pushed his fist into the table, flickering the fires in the lanterns. “You tell me if there’s still a chance.” He looked at Ambessa seated in repose, confidence in every graceful line of body and soul. He gestured to the dancing flames. “My peace deal got my fellow councilors dead. I don’t know where my friends are or if my mother is safe, and it’s all my fault. Do I ask people to trust me again and risk their lives for this longshot? I’m tired of death and pain. Whatever I do will get somebody killed. I can’t even save myself.”
He glanced at Rictus, anger blazing across that face. “Your lieutenant will rape me tonight, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I wear this collar and can’t stand how people look at me. Who in their right mind would follow someone like this? My days of leadership are over.”
He walked up to Ambessa Medarda, as close as he dared, hands held out as he pleaded his case. “I just want to keep one person safe and alive. Your daughter is in your hands, and I have no choice in her fate, but I can save my partner’s life. Please, give me this chance, and I will more than repay you with my skills.”
Ambessa regarded him coolly, grimacing. “What will I do with you, Jayce? Your skill with a speech is still unmatched, and I daresay you’re improving.” She drank the wine and got up, towering over Jayce, the gold of her lower lip shining into his eye. “My heart tells me you’re still dangerous, but my mind says you’re useful. Perhaps it takes adversity to bring out your true potential.”
Jayce was tired of being analyzed; he just wanted his pain to be heard. “Just tell me your answer, and I’ll do whatever you need of me.”
Those alert, thoughtful eyes studied him. Finally, she relented. “If you are as broken as you insist, then yes, I accept your offer. But any trace of your ambition, any plan to cross me, and I will send you to the bottom of the river. I will find and slay your co-conspirators and exile their families to the frigid north of Noxus. You understand?”
“Yes, General,” he assented, breathless. Unfortunately, he wasn’t quite finished yet. Speaking softly, he ventured, “If I may ask one more thing?”
“You may,” she approved.
“Please let no harm come to Viktor. He needs food, medical care, and a proper bed to sleep in. I can make a list of his needs, um–” His mind was about to run through a litany of items that someone who was injured, disabled, and dying would need inside a war camp, but Ambessa’s steel gaze stopped him cold.
“What exactly is the nature of your relationship with Viktor?”
Warning bells went off inside his brain. “He’s my partner.”
“Huh,” she mused, eyes like a hawk. “Have you had sex with him?”
Shit. He licked his chapped lips, running a few lines in his head before returning her gaze. “Yes. Mel knows from the start. She and Viktor are good friends.” He didn’t mention that night all three of them made love to each other.
Ambessa narrowed her eyes. “I’d like to meet one of Mel’s friends. Did you treat my daughter well and give her the quality time she deserves while you were fucking this other man?”
She had no idea what these people meant to him. This wasn’t some tawdry notch on his bed post.
“I respect Mel and Viktor with every fiber of my being.” His voice was on fire, chest heaving as he stood his ground, a dozen emotions hitting him at once. “Viktor saved my life and gave me hope when I had none. He gave me my dream back. Mel opened my eyes to the world, showing me who I could be and giving me the courage to be more than this.” He gestured to himself, clenching his hand into a fist. “I am forever changed by the influence of your daughter and my partner in my life. It’s a debt that I can’t ever repay.”
He turned away, dangerously close to feeling something inappropriate in front of fucking Ambessa Medarda. He felt as naked as a flower shivering in a storm, bending, never breaking, no matter how hard the wind blew or the rain fell down. “I can’t let anything happen to them,” he whispered.
“My god.” He turned back to see Ambessa shaking her head, hands on her hips. “You’re down bad, boy, in love twice over. No wonder you couldn’t focus on Piltover.”
Jayce was livid. What the fuck? He was perfectly capable of running a city and forging new ground in Hextech while being in love with two of the most remarkable people he’d ever met. He wasn’t five years old, no matter how much Ambessa questioned his competence. But he remained silent, unwilling to object and incur Rictus’ blade at his throat a second time tonight. Respect was not something he could afford right now; he could only buy survival.
She planted a hand on his shoulder, her body relaxed as she smiled. “Jayce, I appreciate the companionship that you’ve given my daughter in the past. It’s an unfortunate fact of life that we stand on opposite sides, but I do want to thank you for that.”
It was a rare moment of candor, her face softer in the dim, flickering light. In an alternate reality, she could have been his mother-in-law. He could have learned so much from her and honored her experience and traditions. She was an exceptional person, strong, driven, and intimidating with how much confidence she had in herself.
Her smile faded. “I’m doing this for my family and for Noxus, so please, for your sake, do not stand in my way.” There was no malice in her voice, only the simplicity of what she believed and was willing to do to carry it out.
She signaled for Rictus. Jayce breathed in, growing tense, not yet able to grasp that his moment here was drawing to an end. He avoided the man’s burning gaze; he was in so much trouble.
“Thank you for having me, General Medarda,” he nodded politely, and she snorted dismissively.
“Don’t be obsequious. My dinner’s cold now, thanks to you.”
“Ah, sorry,” he grimaced. Rictus came up behind him, squeezing his shoulder hard with a tough grip. Ambessa watched as Jayce stiffened.
“Do go easy on the boy, Rictus, he’s already had it rough.”
Ambessa Medarda stood poised in the firelight behind her, the light glinting off her armor and toned muscle, the palms of her hands calloused with years of handling the burden of responsibility and leadership for a nation. She gave Jayce a parting piece of advice. “Think of it this way. Your body is bound but your mind is free. Your life is very simple now: Serve me faithfully and make my lieutenant happy. It’s been a long time since he has taken a man for himself from the battlefield. Serve him well, and you will live.”
Chapter 3: The Mind Is Free: Part 1
Summary:
After negotiating with Ambessa over Hextech, Jayce suffers the wrath of her lieutenant and comes face-to-face with the horror of war and the consequences of his choices.
Notes:
Warning: Rape, victim-blaming, suicidal thoughts, drug use, war-time violence, and death. Thank you to everyone who waited patiently for this story to update. I split this chapter into two parts because life interruptions delayed me and I didn’t want to leave readers hanging too long (plus the word count wracked up anyway). Said interruptions were a fun trip to SDCC where my sister and I cosplayed Jayvik and met incredible Arcane fans – but after losing two weeks on that, a family emergency lost me another week on this story! I’m glad to be back and writing again. I just want to thank each and every one of you who has read and commented, because the feedback that you all have shared has been extraordinary and humbling. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your readership and kind words!
Chapter Text
“Strip” was the only command given to Jayce as he stood before Rictus in the glow of the firelight. He had folded the last of his clothes into a pile on the floor as the warrior watched with arms folded across his chest. Never the loquacious type, the man spared even fewer words for Jayce since leaving Ambessa. But words were unnecessary for a man as intense as Rictus. His mood was visible in the brow ridges shading deeply over his eyes and the raised lines of arteries pulsing through his thick arms. Jayce had been a Noxian slave less than a day before having the gall to rise above his station and negotiate business with Ambessa Medarda herself – all while insulting her statesmanship and motherhood and ruining her dinner. How he was still breathing right now either was a miracle or a mirage that would lift any second.
Rictus had to be furious, because he barely looked at Jayce’s body despite Jayce wearing nothing but his leather collar and chastity belt. Jayce tried to stand still and stay calm, but his hands were shaking, every instinct yelling at him to get out of there as fast as his legs could run.
From a stash of miscellaneous weapons stacked against the supply hoard, Rictus pulled out a short sword, unsheathing it. The blade glinted fire-orange like the flames nearby.
Jayce felt rooted to the spot, curling his fingers into clenched fists. His arms stiffened. He could be cut anywhere. How much blood would he lose?
Rictus knelt on one knee in front of Jayce and plunged the sword into the earth, half the length of the blade buried in the soil. He stood up and gave Jayce a second command:
"Fuck yourself on the hilt.”
The sword’s hilt was made of grooved steel topped with a spherical, ornately carved knob that would wreak havoc inside his rectum, still torn from the night before. He didn’t want to beg, but this? His voice came out small and quiet. “Sir, the lard, please?”
For a moment, he waited, tingling with shame and terror at the prospect of what was before him. Rictus went and retrieved the jar from beside the fur bed. He unscrewed the cap and held it out to Jayce. “Swipe just once.”
“Thank you.” Jayce’s fingers were unsteady plunging into the viscous animal fat that was the only thing standing between him and torment. He held it in front of himself for a moment, stupefied, because now he had to prepare himself right here. He dropped down to his knees in front of the sword, presumably to move forward with the act but in reality trying to muster a tiny bit of distance between himself and Rictus. He stared obediently at the hilt as he brought his hands to his ass, pulling aside the leather strap in his cleft to access his anus. Viktor’s chastity belt gave him a pittance of privacy, concealing his dick and balls from view for the time being. As he cautiously pushed the lard inside himself with a single finger, he winced as his nail snagged on a loose piece of tissue. “Shit.”
He bit his lip, regretting his moment of weakness.
Above him, Rictus intoned almost neutrally. “Whose fault is that?”
“Mine, sir,” Jayce admitted. It was Jayce who refused to drink all the shimmer that Rictus gave him with the silly notion that he could help someone else and not face the consequences for his own body. Maybe he knew deep-down that he deserved this, why else would he be this foolish?
He kept silent as he massaged the rest of the lard along the walls of his hole, his nerves sparking uncomfortably as he tried to smooth the broken flesh as best he could, not that it would matter, since the metal would tear it out of him anyway. God, it would fucking hurt. He had to steel himself, but how? He had endured moderate levels of pain before, when he and Viktor experimented a little with pain play, nothing too extreme. He was once strapped to a chair and wired to one of their Hex prototypes; each time Viktor cranked up the gemstone, a crackle of blue Arcane energy would zap along his skin, playfully arcing in the air. They’d done paddles, light whipping, enough to leave reddened, stinging skin, not enough to break it. He wasn’t a slut for pain, he did it more for the feeling of being on the edge and seeing Viktor get a high as he pushed Jayce to his limits but never over them. He discovered how far he could endure, cradled in the knowledge that such endurance would never be tested to the breaking point.
Jayce brought himself to the sword, swiveling the crossguard so that the thin metal pointed to his front and back and avoided his legs. Holding the crossguard and pulling the leather strap aside from his cleft, he eased himself over the hilt, lowering down until he felt the unnervingly cool, textured surface of metal. He inhaled sharply, two short breaths, as he directed the large, round pommel of the sword into his anus.
The embellishment of the metal caught on the micro-tears already present in his rim. “Fuck,” he blurted out, using both hands to pull his hole wide enough to swallow the whole damn thing. Just push into it, dammit.
Rictus knelt on one knee, eye level now.
Jayce’s lip was trembling. He wasn’t ready, but he sank deeper anyway around the red-hot poker. The hilt caught on the torn tissue. He froze.
Rictus gave a third command: “Don’t stop.”
Jayce’s breath was ragged. Oh god. Rictus was watching him; he had to keep going.
He thrust down just barely. The tissue tore.
“Guhhh!” he gasped, eyes seizing shut. Every nerve ending lit up simultaneously. He grabbed the hilt with both hands, trying to steady himself. Oh fucking gods it hurt.
“Keep going.”
“Ph-nuh,” he breathed, mouth parting open as his head hung down. He was hyperventilating, shallow and fast breaths bobbing his chest. Sweat broke out over his skin. He glanced down at his groin, and he could see as well as feel himself shaking.
Rictus would make him go all the way. There was no other path but pain.
His shoulders screwed up rigid with tension, arms at the ready to deal himself another blow. Just do it. He focused on a spot on the ground, a fragment of ash from the fire, as he lowered himself further into agony. Flesh stretched taut, trembling, and tore again.
“Nggh!” he moaned. Every moment felt unbearable. He bit his lip, drawing blood. He spread his knees further apart as he sunk into the fire of his punishment, loins seared with his sin and helplessness. He whimpered as he was torn a third and a fourth time.
He almost keeled over, but Rictus caught his shoulders. He hadn’t realized he was crying until Rictus wiped his thumb across his cheek. Jayce leaned into the touch, desperate for any semblance of mercy. He pushed through the last few inches as his brain was screaming for him to stop, his fingers and sanity barely holding on.
There, finally, he was self-impaled on the fucking hilt of a sword.
Those hard brown eyes looked him over and cast judgment: “You should be dead, Jayce. This is me going easy on you.”
Rictus got up and went somewhere. Jayce just continued kneeling there, ass on fire and every muscle tight with the effort to keep him upright. He had no thoughts. There were just the flames flickering in the pit and the endless silence of darkness.
He didn’t know how long it took for Rictus to return, holding a thin cord of rope. He knelt behind Jayce and began to bind him. Rictus pulled his arms behind his back, bending them at the elbows and laying each wrist against the opposite elbow. Then he bound his wrists to his elbows, lashing his lower arms together, and used the remainder of the rope to hook his arms to his collar in a tight, confining link.
The arrangement forced Jayce to keep his arms up enough to relieve the pressure against his windpipe so that he could breathe.
Rictus stepped back and straightened to his full height. He was composed, as if he’d done this a hundred times. But there was an edge to his voice that sliced the air between them.
“Ambessa is giving you a chance. You better earn her trust, starting tonight. Now, thrust into the sword until I tell you to stop.”
Jayce could only look up with a face wet with tears. He swallowed, trying to steady his voice. “Yes, sir.”
Rictus settled by the fire pit, rekindling the flames as Jayce carried out the command. He quietly stabbed himself on the hilt of the sword until blood began to trickle down his thighs. “Hit the crossguard,” Rictus directed, so Jayce did so with every thrust, even if his body seized up and froze every time his ass burned with pain. He gave himself only a moment to rest, biting hard into his lip so he wouldn’t vocalize his distress as he resumed the thrust to completion and started over. Because his arms were restrained, he could not hold onto the crossguard and secure the sword’s position as it slowly sank deeper into the soil. He had to squeeze his strained thigh muscles around the hilt to bring it back up into a position that allowed him to fuck himself indefinitely.
The harsh metal tugged at his flesh, breaking open new wounds. Sometimes he gritted through it, only trembling as the agony hit; other times, he flat-out groaned, tears sliding down his neck and chest. The moisture chilled him. He was so cold that he began to shiver. His arms grew weary holding themselves up so that he could still breathe.
This was it. He was supposed to be dead. Whether on that pier or on the ledge of his bombed-out apartment, he shouldn’t have survived. So many more deserved to be breathing instead of him.
He gasped for air, sinking down again into pain as he completed another thrust. Stop it, just stop it.
He couldn’t think like that. That kind of thinking led to only one place.
He glanced everywhere, trying to find an anchor for a brain that refused to help him out. The tent held still, no wind tonight. The hulking supply pile glimmered in the firelight. As Rictus tended the fire, he took out bread and cheese to eat at a leisurely pace. Everything was as it should be. Only Jayce was out of place.
Think of three things that aren’t going wrong right now.
That was something he used to say to Viktor on the days when his partner couldn’t get out of bed because his lungs were just too weak. Viktor would scoff, but Jayce insisted, and the stubborn man would then name inane little things like still possessing all twenty of his toes and fingers or not being beset by a swarm of firelights on hot summer evenings (apparently a nuisance where he came from). Getting positivity out of Viktor on those days was like pulling a wisdom tooth without anesthetic. Well, now Jayce could relate, because days and nights like this were absolute shit to live through.
Still, Jayce would be a hypocrite if he didn’t try tasting his own medicine.
The ground was firm. There was no rain today, so the sword didn’t sink straight through with every thrust. That’s one thing that wasn’t going wrong.
The fire felt warm and comforting. Without it, he would already be frostbitten as naked as he was. Number two thing.
And, lastly, he wasn’t beset by a swarm of firelights.
Okay, that last one was cheating. Viktor would be yowling at him like a frustrated cat: Get your own Topside thorns-in-the-flesh. Jayce imagined that it might not be half so bad, escaping a swarm, if what Viktor said of them was true, all those bright shining insects bobbing in the twilight. They could take cover together in some Undercity alley and watch the spectacle merge into the dying hues of sunset. Viktor could rip into him for being scared shitless of this place like some kid who didn’t know any better.
It all felt like a lifetime ago.
Jayce thrust down again, fresh blood running down the inside of his legs. But he kept his pain to himself in silence. He straightened and held his head up, jutting his chin out courageously. Viktor dealt with chronic pain every day, so Jayce could deal with this for one night … or maybe many nights. The future wasn’t his to shape anymore, just to endure as best he could.
The scent of his own blood and sweat mingled with the pleasant smell of food and smoke. His chest heaved up for air, arms firmly held behind his back, as he performed his duty with as much diligence as any council or lab task set before him. He neither complained nor begged for anything.
With increasing frequency, Rictus began to watch him instead of the fire. His eyes traced the rise and fall of Jayce’s chest, then shifted to the halting rhythm of his groin. Perhaps Ambessa’s lieutenant would only approve of his lifeless body lying in a pool of his own blood. Maybe this was the beginning of the end, with only more misery awaiting his every waking moment. But, then again, Rictus hadn’t killed him yet.
The warrior stood up, pieces of cheese in hand, and walked over to Jayce. He stared down his beard and the jut of his armor at him, not that Jayce cared as his every nerve burned with the effort to fulfill his task. The collar pulled tight as his arms faltered momentarily, his legs struggling to squeeze the hilt up and ready himself for another thrust. But he spared a glance up at Rictus.
The man offered him a piece of pale yellow cheese. Hunger was the last thing on his mind, but Jayce accepted this small kindness, at least that’s how he preferred to think of it. Rictus wouldn’t let go of the piece until Jayce got his mouth around it. As he wrapped his lips around Rictus’ fingers, finally getting at the little savory prize, he felt the heat prickle up the back of his neck.
Rictus fed him several more pieces of cheese, all while Jayce continued to fuck himself. It was reminiscent of rewarding a puppy for successfully performing a new trick. He tried to put the thought out of his mind and forget the sting to his pride as he sucked the tips of his captor’s fingers. He felt the other man’s heat radiating in his face and those eyes on him every time he swallowed. It was only a matter of time before the inevitable next step in this nightmare. Jayce had better make the move before the move was made for him.
He downed the last piece of cheese and summoned up what meager courage he could spare. He was going to regret this. “Sir, do you want me to suck you off?”
Rictus’ eyes widened, clearly not expecting Jayce to volunteer for anything. He seemed to think it over. “I would like that.”
Shit, he was so going to regret this.
Jayce licked his lips, trying to muster up some moisture in his mouth as Rictus pulled aside his leather loin covering, revealing his large cock and very hairy scrotum. He wasn’t able to see this part of Rictus last night, only feel him; the lack of visibility only added to the terror of not knowing what he was up against. Now, hopefully he would have a little more control over how he was being penetrated tonight.
The cock had begun to stiffen and lift somewhat, clearly an indication that the man had been enjoying the show Jayce was forced to put on for him. Rictus grasped the base of his cock and balls in his large hand, positioning them for Jayce, while his other hand hooked around the back of Jayce’s head and pulled him closer to his loins.
“Stop thrusting. Suck slowly and don’t scrape with your teeth,” Rictus instructed, which meant that Jayce no longer needed to fuck himself on the sword. Admittedly, he was still deeply impaled, his hole a ruined mess burning with discomfort. But there were fewer agonizing movements down there, and that was a small victory.
Jayce leaned forward, collar pulling at his throat, and began licking the large, pinkish head of the cock. The skin was wrinkled, warm, and surprisingly soft. He lapped around the tip, bathing it in saliva. Almost immediately, precum squirted against his tongue. Rictus was really sensitive tonight.
He hazarded a glance up. Rictus was staring down the barrel of his nose straight at him. Jayce quickly returned his focus to the task at hand, closing his mouth around the tip. Maybe this whole idea was a mistake. Rictus might not like the oral. Jayce had to be very careful. He began to suck gently, with similar pressure that he used on Viktor or Mel – enough to tease yet light enough to keep the sensation pleasant and playful. Such delicate ministrations were meant to extend the pleasure for as long as the beneficiary wanted.
But Rictus might be more into rougher play. Jayce paused the sucking, a web of saliva falling on his chin. “Is this enough pressure? Do you want me to do something else?”
“No, I like it,” Rictus said, a bit impatiently. He didn’t make any move against Jayce, so Jayce resumed the oral, applying his tongue along the heated skin of the shaft, taking care never to scrape with his teeth. Sometimes he’d extend his tongue as far as possible and curl it around Rictus in a gentle embrace. Then he’d work the length with his whole tongue, generous with saliva, up into the hairy nest of the man’s scrotum. He slowly deepened the pressure.
Rictus let out a small moan and shifted his hips uneasily. It must have been working. Jayce couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit pleased, because making people happy was hard work.
“Can you do something for me?” Rictus asked suddenly, breathless. His expression grew tense.
Jayce had just wrapped his mouth deeper around the head, pulse increasing with the thought of swallowing Rictus like this, of his own volition. The request caught him off guard. He nodded once, trying not to move Rictus too much inside his mouth.
Rictus glanced away, then back at Jayce, then finally down at himself. His hand attempted to smooth the curly, nearly black hairs of his scrotum. “You can suck my balls, but be gentle.”
Jayce let Rictus go and eyed the area with interest. He hadn’t seen that many bare groins in his time, but this definitely had to be one of the hairiest, resembling a layer of coarse fur. It was darker than the rest of Rictus, sworling in thick patterns that tapered into a fine point just a few inches below the belly button. Sort of a lovely pattern.
“The hair won’t be a problem for you?”
Jayce didn’t know why Rictus was acting insecure about something as inconsequential as pubic hair. It’s not like his victim was going to tease him about it.
“I’ll be gentle. You have a very fine bush,” Jayce said as he leaned in close. He took the sagging sack of the scrotum into his mouth. Moving forward forced him to ride up the sword hilt an inch or two, metal sliding sharply inside him. He winced but didn’t let the pain reach the muscles in his mouth. The pressure that he applied now was feather-light, tongue softly prodding what felt like a warm, thick pelt. He squeezed his jaw muscles just a little, let go, then squeezed again, working up a tender rhythm that respected the responsibility given to it. He closed his eyes and began to suck, filling his mouth and nostrils with the sweat and smell of Rictus.
As Jayce diligently ministered to Rictus, tension slowly drained from the man’s body. He kept his hand hooked around the base of Jayce’s skull but didn’t push his head in; he only kept brushing his fingers through Jayce’s short hair. Every once in a while, he directed Jayce to a certain area that he wanted Jayce to suck. He didn’t force Jayce to deepthroat him. Maybe his anger was cooling off.
Rictus’ hips shifted more often, and his penis jutted straight out from his body, rubbing against Jayce’s cheek. The man would need to cum very soon. Would he do it inside Jayce?
“Stop.” Rictus pulled Jayce’s face away from his groin. Jayce kept his mouth open, anxiously waiting for the cock to fill him, but Rictus pointed his member at his chest instead. Rictus ejaculated on him, spraying Jayce with hot milk – drops of cum on his cheeks and dribbling down his abdomen. Shame flashed through him, the smell of semen strong in his nostrils.
Rictus released a long, deep sigh. “Thank you,” he said as he finally let Jayce go. He got up and went over to the fire to stoke it, but it had already died out. The man stood still in the darkness, breathing hard into the cold night air.
The sudden distance unnerved Jayce. He had chosen this path. Maybe he had to do it to survive, but he could never look in the mirror and not see a whore staring back at him. Were his only options sexual torture or getting so good at pleasing Rictus that he would lose whatever he had left worth keeping? Should he even try making the man happy?
He felt so cold, kneeling naked in this tent and penetrated painfully by the hilt of the sword. His arms felt numb in their bonds and his knees ached on the dirt. He didn’t want to utter the word ‘sir’ a single time more, no matter how afraid he felt.
Rictus walked over to the basin of water. He was difficult to see in the darkness, but there was the sound of a cloth splashing. He returned to Jayce and knelt beside him. Jayce held his breath and stiffened as Rictus reached down between his legs, but the man only applied the wet cloth to the inside of Jayce’s thighs, cleaning off the blood. Then he wiped the cum off Jayce’s chest and face. Jayce shivered as the moisture chilled him further. The man stroked the twin gemstones in Jayce’s collar, then reached down and held the crossguard of the sword. “You should pull out now.”
Jayce took a deep breath. His rectum had sucked closed around the hilt, so removal would be quite uncomfortable. Just get it over quickly.
He thrust up – igniting his anus with pain. “Nuhh!” he breathed out, the only sound as he fought against the instinct to stop. He gritted through the rest of the pull-out until he was free of the hilt. He scrambled up unsteadily to his feet, cold rushing into the vacated space of his broken body.
Rictus stood up and held him fast. “For a Piltie, you suffer well. Go and lie down.”
Jayce nodded weakly, and was about to make for the bed, but Rictus must have just remembered to untie him. He grabbed him, holding him still as he worked on the knot on his collar. Jayce felt his hot breath on his back, making his skin tingle with warmth. The rope was stripped off his arms too fast, the rough fiber burning into his skin. Rictus still didn’t let him go, instead exploring the curves of Jayce’s body as he ran large, calloused fingers over his abs and nipples. Jayce tried to enjoy this gentler touch, because it was the only nice thing he was ever going to get from now on. He would never be left alone or given any break, no matter how traumatic his ordeals became.
So he didn’t resist as Rictus lifted his chin up and gave him a kiss. Rictus wanted to taste him instead of scourge him, so why should he have a problem with that? Jayce kissed Rictus back, because he belonged to this man anyway and there was nothing left to salvage.
Finally, he was allowed to go to bed. He pulled several pelts over himself and wrapped himself tightly to keep out the cold. He wasn’t given permission to wear his clothes, so it was going to be a chilly night indeed. This would be the second night that he had to treat his body with exceeding gentleness, because it was even more tender with untold injuries running deep inside him. Would he get a second chance at shimmer, and could it heal everything that was smashed and torn up? Even if he was healed, he had to sleep with this pain first and then anticipate the next round of torment every night for as long as Rictus treated him roughly.
Jayce lay on his right side listening to Rictus undress in the darkness. Dammit, he took off his tunic. He would be joining Jayce in bed completely naked.
As Rictus came over to his side of the bed, Jayce turned over on his left to face him. At least he wasn’t handcuffed and gagged like last time. He had better get used to this constant vigilance, because he could be hurt at any time. He hoped that the blow job had satisfied Rictus for now. As Rictus settled down in the pelts, he wrapped an arm around Jayce’s waist and brought him closer. Jayce didn’t know what to do, so he brought his arms in front of his body as a meager barrier between him and Rictus.
“You believe I’m cruel, don’t you?” Rictus asked, it seemed, out of nowhere.
Jayce wasn’t sure how to respond. He had found himself reaching for honesty these days. “I don’t think that you want me to answer that, uh, sir.” That last word was hard to spit out.
Rictus only grunted softly. He seemed to be thinking. After a few moments of quiet, he spoke again. “You are my slave now, Jayce. That means you are my responsibility.”
Jayce didn’t reply. Just the act of pronouncing his ownership felt so disheartening. He didn’t need a reminder of a fact flogged into his bones.
But Rictus wasn’t finished. “I have served Ambessa for most of my life. She trusts my judgment.” He stroked the curve of Jayce’s spine, settling in the small of his back. “When you disrespected her, it meant that I disrespected her, too.”
He should have known, despite everything that he suffered tonight, that he would be the one apologizing right now. “I am sorry sir,” he said, and tried to mean it, “I should not have disappointed you or the General. I was reckless and should have held my tongue.”
Rictus shifted under the pelts, laying a hand casually on Jayce’s rump. Jayce froze.
“Never go behind my back again. If you need a word with Ambessa, go through me.”
“Absolutely, sir.” Jayce buried half his face in the pelts and tried to ignore how Rictus must have been staring at him in the dark, but Rictus reached out and held the side of his face.
“If you need anything, come to me. It’s my job to take care of your needs.”
If Jayce wasn’t so scared right now, he would spit in the man’s face. Rictus had no clue on anything regarding care. It was frightening to think that he would be relying on Rictus for everything from now on. But the real kicker was that Jayce actually needed Rictus. He couldn’t afford to snub this offer, not after all his mistakes and misfortunes.
“I, uh,” he had a hard time admitting it, “I’m in a lot of pain.” Rictus stroked his cheek, answering, “I’ll get you shimmer, and this time, drink all of it.”
“Yessir.”
“Anything else?”
“I’m cold.” He fantasized that Rictus would grant him permission to pull on his trousers and socks and wrap himself inside his warm vest and coat, but that would have been too much to hope for.
Instead, Rictus pulled him in until he was flush against his captor’s hot body, their torsos falling in line together as Rictus hooked one of his legs over Jayce. He also pulled the pelts over both of them more snuggly. “Does that feel better?”
Jayce couldn’t decide if Rictus was mocking him or genuinely checking in to see how satisfied he was, as if Jayce were a small child with so many basic needs to tend to. He settled for genuine, so he answered appropriately: “Yes, thank you.” And he wrapped his own arm around Rictus and buried his face in the man’s broad, hairy chest. There wasn’t really much choice with the lack of personal space. He felt infantilized and miserable.
With every “yes, sir,” Jayce’s actual needs and opinions would slowly submerge underneath this powerful new identity that wanted to choke out his very soul. He could barely stand the physical torture of his body, but it was this relentless pursuit to make him meek and submissive, without a voice of his own, that drained the hell out of him.
As the hours stretched on and Rictus fell asleep, Jayce could only stew in rumination, his pain forbidding any rest. He should have been more grateful. He would be fed and healed and lie night after night in a bed warm against the elements, for the rest of this occupation, more than he could say for many others suffering in the camps or on the streets. The only thing in the way was his pride, but that was sure to be beaten out of him in due time.
Not even a breeze stirred the tent above him, the only real sounds just his and his captor’s breathing. The body is bound, but the mind is free. Ambessa said it, and so did Heimerdinger a long time ago, when Jayce found himself imprisoned for an explosion that he didn’t cause. What was up with such pathetic advice? There was neither freedom nor peace in his mind or body, because the two were linked. All he could think about was every twitch of pain as Rictus grumbled in his sleep and shoved Jayce uncomfortably this-way-and-that. His brain was occupied with his own misery as the pain in his rectum grew harder to ignore. It was unlikely that Rictus practiced good hygiene with his weapons before forcing Jayce upon one of them. Jayce probably would get infected from his wounds and fall seriously ill or worse.
And come morning, he was supposed to play the riskiest game of all, duping Ambessa while he and Viktor performed their little Hextech miracle underneath their occupiers’ noses – as if he had the brains to outsmart people with far more experience and cunning than he could ever hope to match. His plan had a high probability of getting everyone involved arrested and killed. But if he backed out now, all he would be left with was serving Ambessa for real – to actually create weapons for the Noxian army.
He had no Plan B and barely the stomach for Plan A.
Amend that, he could always kill himself and take Hextech down with him. So Plan B would be suicide. Might be tricky, if he wasn’t allowed near any sharp implements with which to take his own life – or the fact that he would need to destroy Hexgems somehow, the most indestructible substance that he ever encountered.
There was a big hitch to Plan B: Viktor. He had hoped that involving Viktor’s expertise in his Hextech plans would make Viktor invaluable to Ambessa. She wouldn’t dare to hurt or kill a scientist and mind as brilliant as his partner, not once Jayce was able to show her his talent and skill. But that plan to protect him only worked if Plan A was viable. If he invoked Plan B … he would be forced to ask Viktor to kill himself, too.
Dammit.
A clocktower struck the hour in the distance, its chime audible in the eerie quiet. Outside, seagulls called and engines revved up faintly. If he concentrated hard enough, Jayce could sense a pattern beneath the sounds of a city slowly awakening – a reverberating boom as gentle as distant thunder. It was not a canon, explosion, or a gun firing. Jayce knew that cadence by heart.
The Hexgates were operational again.
Jayce elbowed himself up in bed, Rictus still breathing at even intervals. His ears strained to pick up any more signal from so far away, but the message was already clear: Someone was operating the gates. The Noxians had figured it out.
Jayce slipped out from the pelts. Rictus groaned, but suddenly what Rictus did didn’t matter anymore. Far bigger problems were presenting themselves faster than Jayce could scrawl them into his mind’s blackboard:
What was the destination of this teleport? Were troops coming or going? Maybe this was just a supply run – except nothing is “just” supplies in war. The Hexgates would open unlimited access to resources for Ambessa’s army in any part of Runeterra, enough to fuel a war of conquest that would never end.
Jayce reached the basin of water and was splashing his face when Rictus grabbed him from behind. Jayce found himself pinned against the supply hoard with a knife to his throat.
“I’m not escaping!” He held up his hands. “I just want to freshen up – sir.”
Rictus regarded him with suspicion, knife pressing into Jayce’s skin. “You sure about that?”
Jayce breathed calmly as morning air nipped at his nakedness. “I want to be ready when you bring me to the General to begin work. I’m sorry, I should have waited for you.”
Rictus studied him with a certain weariness that any warrior must have felt when a strap of armor kept popping off or a weapon never quite aimed correctly. Hopefully the man chalked up Jayce’s behavior to over-eagerness to please.
Rictus made his judgment, taking the knife and holding Jayce’s head still. Jayce almost panicked, but the man only angled the blade against his cheek as if it were a razor. “You’re a mess,” Rictus observed as he gently slid the blade across the lower half of Jayce’s face.
The man was giving Jayce a fucking shave.
It took a lot of self-control for Jayce to remain completely still and, more importantly, silent. Rictus did his best, which included nicking Jayce on his chin, throat, and jawline as Rictus attempted to eliminate the five o’clock shadow that had developed over the past couple days. “Sorry,” he muttered as Jayce winced. He angled Jayce’s face to the side for the next pass of the blade. He could have used soap for lathering, or better yet, allow Jayce to shave himself like the grown man that he was. Why Rictus, who sported a thick beard himself, would even care about Jayce’s facial hair routine was a mystery.
Finally Rictus was satisfied with his work on Jayce and told him to get on his trousers and boots as Rictus also got himself dressed. Just lifting his legs to pull on his clothes tensed up his muscles and sparked a wave of pain. Jayce leaned against a couple sacks of wheat among the supplies, catching his breath, as someone came in with trays of hot food.
He wasn’t paying attention until the young girl held out a vial of glistening purple liquid to him.
“Councilor, this is for you.”
It was Zavri, the teenager with green streaks in her dark hair and a frown on her face.
Jayce straightened up. Were the rope burns visible on his arms from last night? Could she see his exhaustion from a sleepless, agonizing night written all over his face? He wished that she didn’t call him councilor. He really needed to put on a shirt.
All he could say was a pathetic “thank you” as she handed over the vial, pressing his fingers gently before turning around and leaving. On her way out, she rolled her shoulder again, still streaked with dried blood from the unbandaged wound across her back. The pain relief from yesterday’s shimmer must have worn off.
Rictus eyed him as he uncorked the vial, bubbles frothing off its surface. Jayce tipped his head back and drank its contents in one gulp. Shit – the full dose was intense. He coughed and doubled over against the sacks of wheat, searing energy coursing through his veins. The liquid burned down his throat and did things to his brain – expanding like brilliant light that flooded his vision until he shut his eyes to keep out the rush of stimuli.
As the burn cooled, it left peace at last in its wake. He no longer felt the constant hum of discomfort emanating deep inside him, as if someone had doused hot embers with ice water and watched the steam hiss and evaporate. Something physical had changed inside him, which he couldn’t identify or describe, except that when he straightened up again, the pain was nowhere to be found.
He glanced at the empty vial in his hand. Viktor needed this.
Rictus motioned for him to sit down and eat. The warrior already sat beside the cold fire pit mopping beans on his plate with a piece of bread. Jayce joined him, spreading his legs out to the side as he elbowed the dirt and set his plate in front of him. The only difference between their plates was that Rictus had roasted ribs and Jayce just had the cheese with his bread and beans. It was a relief to move his body in any way and not feel that sting of pain.
They ate in silence for several minutes before Jayce cleared his throat. “Sir, may I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.” Rictus sucked the marrow of his last rib.
“How much can shimmer heal?”
Rictus licked his fingers before smoothing the front of his beard. “Depends on the severity of the injury. Doesn’t work well with diseases and it’s quite addictive.” He snorted. “The beggars in your city are high on the stuff and can’t seem to live without it.”
Jayce felt himself sinking. Rictus must have noticed, for he reached out and patted Jayce’s shoulder. “Listen. You won’t become an addict so long as you cooperate. Treat me well, and I will do the same for you.” He got up and headed for the tent flap, grabbing his spear on the way out. “Bring your clothes, you’re getting a bath.”
Jayce scrambled to his feet, leaving half his food untouched as he grabbed his pile of clothes and followed Rictus outside. He had to squint because it was so bright, or maybe he’d just been in the semi-dark for far too long. This time he was able to keep up with Rictus’ pace as they threaded through the crowd of soldiers and prisoners, many lined up for reasons that Jayce couldn’t figure out since Rictus was moving too fast. It was too cold in the day to be striding shirtless in public, but that was the least of his concerns. He saw a couple individuals who also wore collars and were following closely what appeared to be their masters. One of them, an older woman, had tired sunken eyes and a collar with bright blue gemstones as she stood beside a fair-haired soldier. When the soldier caressed her arm, she flinched and stared at the ground. Then there was a young man wearing a collar with dark brown gemstones; he was limping trying to catch up to his master as the soldier scolded him for some task that he messed up. Jayce hurried on, relieved to leave most of these scenes behind as they arrived at the river.
The water level had risen and churned with turbulence, swelling with runoff from the storm. Rictus led him upstream where willow thickets concealed much of the water’s edge. Jayce laid his pile of clothes at the foot of one of these trees, whose multiple branches sprouting from the roots gave it more the appearance of a shrub than a tree. Kupus plants grew in the shade, concealing the ground with their large dark leaves. Jayce glanced back. They had walked some distance from the camp, which sprawled from the water’s edge across the open landscape like some teeming colony of microscopic creatures. Piltover was infected with many more such colonies, parasites dressed in red and sucking the lifeblood from the city.
After he positioned himself out of sight behind the shrubby willow, he stripped off the remainder of his clothes. He stood patiently as Rictus unlocked his chastity belt and let it drop to the ground. For a moment, except for his collar, Jayce stood fully nude in the bright light of dawn, the sun just cresting over low clouds at the horizon. Jayce shielded his eyes from the light and shivered in the breeze. He waited for permission to enter the river. Rictus backed up and surveyed Jayce from head to toe, and that’s when the full impact hit him – how quickly he grew accustomed to this objectification and debasement. Jayce didn’t even hesitate to strip himself of dignity. Was a slave just as easy for him to become as a politician?
His arm dropped to his side, hands loosely fisted, but for what? Rictus did not have to say anything. His eyes spoke volumes, settling on Jayce’s throat and the collar that marked him as the property of this man. Jayce gazed into his master’s face, the sun shining behind this behemoth of a man, and that’s when Jayce saw his eyes, a clear shade of light amber brown. The same hue of each gemstone on his collar and belt – the eyes of a master reflected back to themself.
The tall specter of Rictus shielded Jayce from the sun. The warrior inhaled the cool, fresh air of morning, before handing Jayce a bar of soap. “Stand in the river where I can see you and scrub yourself thoroughly. Start from the top and go down. Show me where you scrub.”
Jayce’s bottom lip was trembling as he took the bar of soap. “Yes sir,” he managed politely, anger flickering in his chest, but it quickly converted to anxiety. The bath wasn’t for his benefit, it was filthy entertainment.
Jayce bit his lip as he immersed his ankles in the water, colder than the air, chilled from the storm and its origins in some distant mountain. He waded knee-deep through the fast current, small chipped stones at the bottom catching between his toes. The current buffeted his legs, sending small branches and tiny bits of driftwood scuttling swiftly past him to the city far downstream. He ventured deeper until the icy stream rose up his thighs. Damn, it was cold.
The river stretched out before him, fearsome with velocity and power, churning whitewater as it hurtled down its path with a single mind to the ocean. Nothing could catch up to nature as willful as this. How easy it would be to slip and let the current pull you onward, faster than any spear flying to its target. By the time news got to camp, a rider of this river would already be carried to the city's edge and beyond.
You must get away.
Viktor was right. This moment would not last. In a few days, the runoff from the storm would pass this point, and the river would return to its normal levels and slower velocities. If there was a time to take his fate in his own hands, that time was now.
Jayce bent down and sudsed his hands with soap, bubbles carried off in swirling eddies. His thigh and calf muscles tensed, ready to launch himself headlong into the stream. If he did this, there would be no going back. He was a powerful swimmer and just needed to reach the coast to smuggle himself onto a boat, steal clothes, and make for the closest city outside Noxian rule. Then he’d organize the resistance from there and rescue Viktor and Mel and everyone else from this hell.
Except … that would be starting from scratch, taking months or even years to raise an army that stood a chance against Ambessa – if that was even possible without Hextech. Thousands would continue to suffer and die. Innocent people would be forced to pleasure the enemy just to survive.
“Is something the matter,” Rictus called out.
“No, it’s fine, just finding my footing.” Jayce gazed out across the river, the current tugging at his legs. It took everything in him to hold fast against its invitation, perhaps the last of its kind for a very long time.
Slowly, he turned around towards the shore. He splashed cold water on his face and upper body, then began to scrub himself with the bar of soap. The cold cut into his nerves like electricity and his skin broke out in pimples. He gasped sharply, the icy grip on his body like a wake-up call. There was no other choice but to make this work. It had to work.
He wiped a soapy arm against his forehead, taking a deep breath. It was time to put on the pageant that Rictus was expecting. He lathered up his chest and stomach, trying not to rush through the motions. He could do this. He began to soap his groin, taking his time to stroke his cock and cradle his balls in his hands. He cleansed every crack and crevice of himself, a hint of heat pooling in his loins with the gentle yet insistent touch. It felt good, voyeurism be damned. He caught a glimpse of Rictus watching intently on the shore, one hand dutifully holding the spear and the other, stealing underneath his loin covering. It was a form of power to instill desire like this. Desire kept Jayce alive.
Jayce turned away so that Rictus could view his backside. He’d never done anything like this before, but the few strip bars he’d visited gave him enough of a gist. He pressed his wet, lathered hands into the flesh of his buttocks, massaging the cheeks and feeling up his crack. He imagined Rictus in Ambessa’s presence trying to hide his erection.
Jayce submerged himself in the darkness of the river to rinse off the suds. The shock of the cold cleared his brain, as if he could finally think coherently for the first time in captivity. He shot back up, chilled to the bone as morning light shone on his face. A thousand droplets slid off his back and chest as he emerged from the river. He imagined that his body glinted like the sun with a beauty to match the confidence in his stride.
He slid his fingers through his wet hair as he walked up to Rictus. “You like what you see?”
The man grunted. “You little cunt. I should wipe that smile off your face.” His metal chest plate jutted out and his lips parted, hot breath blowing in Jayce’s face. Rictus looked ready to make love to him right then and there.
But the soldier tightened his fist around his spear and fidgeted with some thin stone tablets strapped to the weapon.
“Get decent, Ambessa can’t be left waiting.” He thrust a long crimson cloth into Jayce’s hands, one of the garments that Noxian warriors typically wear. Jayce assumed it was for toweling, so he dried himself quickly and then went over to his pile of clothes under the willow tree.
“You need to belt me first, sir.”
Rictus knelt in front of Jayce and worked on strapping the chastity belt back on him. Jayce took a pinch of pleasure from seeing this huge warrior on his knees, the top of his mohawk bent down studiously to task. The fit was uncomfortably snug, unfortunately; Jayce must have rubbed himself a little too hard. He kept his chin up and held still, like a fine horse that had to learn patience when its master bridled it.
Rictus got up and slapped him good and hard on the rump. He continued watching as Jayce slipped into his clothes. Jayce swallowed and tried to focus on the next step he had to take. He couldn’t let Rictus unnerve him.
He was brought back to camp and loaded into a slate gray carriage with a fine metal mesh covering each small window, the sort of carriage purposed either for prison transfers or funerals. Rictus went ahead in another carriage, leaving Jayce alone inside the cab. His wrists were handcuffed in front of him, but otherwise he wasn’t restrained. He took a seat by a window, squinting through the screen as the landscape changed from squalid refugee conditions to burnt buildings as the procession of carriages made its way into the Undercity. He caught glimpses of the high rises of Piltover between buildings, and a flash or two of a bright blue beam streaking through the sky. The Hexgates sure were in demand today.
He ran a finger under his collar, sweating despite how chilled he felt. He just needed to warm up in the sun once the carriage stopped. He didn’t want to think about the river or last night. He tried to identify the places they were passing, but it had been years since he ventured this far into the Undercity. The buildings towered over the narrow streets, casting deep shadows upon the city below, mitigated only by gaudy neon signs in bright shades of green, yellow, purple, and pink. The streets should have been bustling with trade but were almost deserted, except for the soldiers. Squadrons of a dozen or so were posted at every major intersection, and there was a checkpoint stationed at every marketplace.
“Forty-four,” he muttered, rubbing his wrist until he realized that the rune wasn’t there. The previous market had twenty-six soldiers, and the market before that, thirty-ish.
He pushed the side of his face against the screen, trying to glimpse a street sign or any other identifying marker.
All that was visible were a few beggars lying against the peeling paint of a wall beyond an alley. Most of them looked pretty young, and each was bandaged up a lot. One lad was missing a foot and using a stick as a crutch to limp towards the procession of carriages rattling by. He began to reach out his hand but withdrew back into himself, watching silently as the carriages passed him by.
Jayce sat back and clasped his hands together, his shoulders sagging heavily. It was hard to tell if the war or just poverty afflicted these people. He’d seen glimpses of destitution on his brief excursions here to acquire parts for his research years ago, and he had never put much thought into their plight except to feel sorry for them. Useless feelings of pity, that’s all anyone could spare to give, then or now.
Something flickered out of the corner of his eye — fast and glowing green.
He pressed against the screen again. Something – or somebody – was streaking high above through the air.
A second later, there was an explosive crack.
The carriage shook and Jayce nearly fell over. Soldiers yelled up ahead. He braced himself for another blow, but most of the commotion was upstream at the head of the procession. Warriors ran past launching spears at the sky.
“Come on!” Jayce strained to see what was happening. Clouds of dust obscured everything beyond thirty or forty feet ahead, but the sounds were unmistakable, grunts and yells and dull impacts echoing against the narrow walls of the street. It sounded more like a scrappy street fight than a battle. Did these fighters have any guns or shields to survive close-contact with a Noxian spear?
Just then, something small was chucked within several feet of his carriage, rolling into a nearby gutter. Pink and green graffiti marked the metal canister as it violently snapped its jaws in rapid succession.
Fuck.
Jayce dove to the floor and pressed his body against the opposite wall of the carriage. He covered his head.
CRACKOOM!!!
Wood shattered and the floor tipped over, dunking Jayce across the metal screens of the side of the carriage as the whole thing rolled over. He clawed at the metal grating, anything to catch his balance. Everything was spun and broken into a thousand projectiles. He grunted as he was pinned between splintered wood and the twisted skeleton of the carriage.
There was so much dust in his eyes and ringing in his ears. His hands hurt. He couldn’t move, because something sharp and heavy pressed against his ribcage. He had to get out of here.
He couldn’t hear a thing, but he could see large hands prying off broken panels of wood above him. He tried to reach up, but his arm caught on a fragment of polished mahogany siding. “Shit!” He heaved a breath and held still. Through the broken panels of the cabin, he glimpsed soldiers running his way.
Did someone say, “Jayce”? It sounded like someone was saying his name. The thing jamming into his ribcage pressed deeper, and he yelled, his own voice finally piercing the fog in his ears. Finally somebody budged the damn thing — lifting a whole section of debris off of Jayce, splinters flaking off into his face. He reached up and grabbed Rictus by the arm. The warrior grasped him under the armpits and pulled him out of the wreckage.
“—injured? Jayce, are you—“
It took him a second to shake his head. He held onto Rictus as he scrambled off the contorted, smoking pile of what was once his transportation. He could still walk.
Rictus gave him a single, swift lookover. Then he waved a hand signal in the air and pointed to several soldiers at rapt attention.
“Take the councilor to safety. The rest go with me!”
He shoved Jayce into other grabby hands that pushed him towards the building ahead. Two soldiers linked arms with him, straining his cuffed wrists as they urged him forward. Somebody pushed his head down, presumably to protect him, but it only made keeping up the pace harder. He could barely see anything.
A whistle sang through the air — and the soldiers pushed Jayce through a door and against a wall. He was pinned behind their bodies as the structure shook upon impact, bits of plaster falling from the ceiling. Tremors ran through the drywall into his bones.
A second, two seconds, and then five more. The building didn’t collapse.
That grenade was Firelight.
He hardly caught his breath before he was yanked off the wall and pushed through more doors. A soldier popped a final door open with her boot.
“Go through!”
Jayce stumbled into another street, this time filled with people from one end to the other, clustered around small shops hawking goods or else staring up at the sky as what sounded like fireworks went off. Where did they all come from? Did they get advanced warning to avoid the path of the Noxian procession?
Of course, now all eyes were on Jayce Talis and the Noxians bursting into their midst.
“Move, move!” The lead soldier, Jayce decided, was a captain, and she raised her spear high in the air to make her point clear. “In the name of General Medarda, clear the street!”
She was met with hostile expressions. A woman in a white mohawk flipped the middle finger at her.
Immediately, the Noxians arrayed their spears at chest-level with the multitude, forcing individuals to back off to avoid impalement.
“Noxus scum!” somebody shouted. The captain gripped her weapon in the direction of defiance.
Shit. These people were unarmed. It would be a bloodbath.
Jayce turned to the captain. “With all due respect, it’s not worth it. We can just leave.”
“Nobody put you in charge.” She gripped the back of his neck and pushed him forward through the crowd. “Listen, people of Zaun. We hold your councilor captive. Let us through and no harm will come to him or to you.”
The crowd rippled with incredulity. “I didn’t elect him.” “Piltie.” “What will they come up with next, poverty?” “About time somebody took out the council.”
His throat was dry, the scene on the bridge replaying in his brain, agitated crowds burning signs with his face on them and throwing fire bombs at enforcers. They would just as gladly see him dead as much as the Noxians.
Slowly, the multitude retreated from the compact unit of soldiers. The masses melted away as the Noxians moved forward, their spears bristling out like the spines of a wary porcupine. A tomato was hurled through the air and smashed into the back of the soldier on Jayce’s right; the soldier whirled to face the culprit, but the captain called him to stand down.
They made their way up the street, the roofs of houses charred from fire. Once they reached the intersection, they encountered a procession of a different kind: A long line of people carrying cots that held the bodies of the dead.
The captain motioned for the unit to halt as the procession passed. Each cot held a fresh new horror, whether a mangled body too bloody to be recognizable or a child so malnourished that their limbs were just skin and bone. Most were covered with blood-stained blankets to preserve their dignity in their final hour. The pallbearers bore suffering of their own, deep cuts marring their bodies or faces hollowed from hunger. The dried streaks of tears marked some, but most faces revealed little emotion.
Jayce clasped his hands in front of him and nodded as each cot passed. May each find peace in their own way.
The Noxians made no disruption, and the Zaunites didn’t kick them out of these very personal proceedings. For a moment, all was still.
The captain did not signal for the unit to resume travel until the last pallbearer had passed. Jayce counted the soldiers stationed at the intersection as they made a left turn and marched onward. He could no longer hear anything from the battle several streets away, if it wasn’t over by now. Had the Firelights taken out any Noxians, or did they barely survive the onslaught of Rictus’ formidable forces? It was surprising that an inner city gang would rise up and risk direct confrontation with the most powerful military on the planet, but then again, threatening someone’s home leaves them very few options.
Jayce avoided a puddle, then looked up to realize he was standing next to a huge statue of a man in the middle of a tall archway. Whoever he was, he looked middle-aged and held up a pipe in his hand that was still lit with fire. Even in this war, someone took the time to keep this man’s pipe burning.
He had seen no other monuments in the Undercity, unlike in Piltover where they were common, whether commemorating past councilors or famous scientists. He was beginning to think that Zaun respected neither man nor woman in its abhorrence of anyone in power, that these people considered each and every one a comrade just as equal as anybody else. They were tough, like Zavri, or resilient, like Viktor, suffering and surviving and dying together.
But here under the archway was someone that the Undercity respected.
The soldiers led him further on, leaving the statue behind. What would it take to gain the Firelights’ respect? Even if he somehow did the impossible and made contact with their leader, would anyone believe what he had to say? Would anyone trust him?
They descended down streets narrowed by tall, massive cliff faces rising up as far as the eye could see. Against the curving surface of this great stone landform, human habitation looked like detritus at the bottom of a river. Jayce had only seen the Fissures from a map. He had memorized every valuable mineral and ore that this incredible place produced and had hoped to assist the miners with tools like the Atlas Gauntlets, to make work down here easier, faster, and safer. Such concerns felt so far away now, as the cliffs loomed up and vanished in the haze of pollution, the same air that Viktor breathed as a youth. All that productive industry only created a death trap.
Perhaps in the deepest parts of this place, where sunlight rarely touched the ground and nothing green grew, there was no difference between an invader and a government that neglected its most vulnerable citizens. Disease and starvation ravaged the same no matter who sat on the fanciest chair in the tallest building of the land.
They finally arrived at a checkpoint with over sixty soldiers manning every stall and shop at a heavily guarded market. Jayce lost count as the captain put his back against a wall and began discussing travel arrangements with the soldiers in charge of a fleet of carriages. He felt chilled despite the warmth of bodies and engines all around him. At least the temperature was a bit higher now than in the rest of the Undercity, probably due to the smog absorbing heat and insulating what would otherwise be a cold and dank place.
There were far more people staring at him, too, as if they’d never seen a nice suit before. None of the elite would dare show their faces down here – they couldn’t take the chance that their conscience would wake up.
There were quite a few children, though, running up and holding hands with their parents as a crowd gathered around an open carriage piled high with large sacks of food, some kind of essential grain like wheat or rice. Everyone who came was being handed several sacks depending on how many mouths there were to feed, no payment required. Glass bottles of water were also being handed out for free, and every family or individual was receiving a box each of various essentials such as toiletries, hygiene products, first aid items, medicine, and more. People held on to each gift tightly, and a few openly wept, as if such things were too good to be true.
There was a symbol on the carriage and on every sack of grain – a shining gold star inside the tall pattern of a double-diamond.
Mel Medarda’s family crest.
Jayce straightened up, heart beating rapidly. Mel. He took a step towards the crowd, but the captain pushed him back up against the wall. She couldn’t be down here herself, this must have been one of many of her humanitarian attempts to alleviate the intense suffering of the twin cities. “Where did that shipment of grain come from?”
The captain’s masked face turned his way. He could almost hear her amusement. “I think you know. Didn’t you see anything? The walls are covered with you.”
She released her grip on his chest, and he turned around to find that the walls indeed bore his face – several large posters of his image from a photography session when he first became councilor. Bold letters underneath the image stated the following: “Missing: Jayce Talis, head of the high council of Piltover. If you have any vital information on his whereabouts and welfare, please contact Mel Medarda’s office,” then listed an address and phone number that he didn’t recognize.
And not just his face alone. Viktor’s image was plastered across several more posters, one of his few photographs from several years ago when he and Jayce won first place at the Distinguished Innovator’s Competition.
Missing: Viktor, Hextech partner of Jayce Talis and Heimerdinger’s former assistant. If you have any vital information …
Jayce shoved his fist into the wall, inches below his own visage. He missed the obvious as he counted up faceless soldiers. “I’m right here, Mel.”
His fingers traced up to her regal crest printed in the right corner, its hue as golden and warm as the woman herself.
A lump formed in his throat. He committed the phone number and address to memory in case he ever got lucky enough to use them. She must have been worried sick. How many places had she put these up, even in the Fissures?
No wonder everyone was staring at him.
The captain put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t get your hopes up. The contact information is bogus. We forbid anyone from coming forward with news of important prisoners.”
The soldier must have felt sorry for him. “Is the rest bogus, too?” he snapped, but the captain remained silent. He turned back and squared his shoulders against the wall, a mockery of everything. Did Ambessa control every one of Mel’s actions? Was she a prisoner in her own family?
“Tell me where she is. Tell me she’s safe!”
But the captain no longer spoke to him. She loaded him into another carriage, this time windowless, and he spent the rest of the journey in darkness. Mel could search from the heights of the Hexgates to the depths of the Fissures and never find a trace of either Viktor or himself. Ambessa had seen to that. She had an iron grip on her daughter, the same grip that she held over everything else. Maybe these posters and shipments weren’t even real, just smokescreens to hide the fact that not even Councilor Medarda could keep back the unrelenting force that was her family name from consuming her own city. Maybe there wasn’t anyone left at all.
He leaned back against the rattling seat in the dark, facing a ceiling he couldn’t see. What about Caitlyn and her dad? Cait was the heir of House Kiramman, which made her a prime target of Ambessa’s purges of Piltover’s leadership. Even if she escaped the Noxian soldiers, where would she hide? Jayce kicking Heimerdinger out of the council may have very well saved his life, but who knows how he fared in the invasion. Last he saw of him, he had left the council chambers and never returned.
Was Mel dead?
He straightened up in the dark, eyes opened wide to the utter blackness. There was no light at all, not even a crack in the ceiling. He blinked back moisture in his eyes and wiped his sweating palms on his thighs. He huddled against the wall, trying to warm himself.
No.
He readjusted his balance as the wheels struck an obstacle. At such a fast pace, the destination couldn’t be far now.
Perhaps the posters could be faked, but humanitarian relief? There was no way that Ambessa would send free shipments full of toiletries and hygiene products to poor Zaunites when she barely handed over many of those items to her own soldiers. This had Mel written all over it.
Jayce lost count of how many of Mel’s charity functions that he had to skip. She seemed to host three or four a month for various causes throughout Piltover and beyond. While her empathy encouraged her to favor anyone who touched her with their story, the causes closest to her heart were those individuals ravaged by war and traveling far from home, just like herself. She was an immigrant after all and knew how difficult it was to start all over again in a new community and culture. She told Jayce how lucky she was to come to Piltover, backed by the name Medarda and its resources. Other migrants weren’t so lucky.
She never forgot where she came from. Every time that Noxus invaded another country, she would send aid to the victims enduring occupation and argue at the council to open Piltover’s borders and offer asylum to refugees fleeing her mother’s armies. Those early days of her time as a councilor were the hardest in her life, constantly being outvoted and seeing every one of her proposals scrapped. She cut her teeth on those bitter political disappointments.
“They made me the councilor that I am today.”
He could see her now, dressed in nothing but a dark nightgown as she handed him a cup of water. He was still groggy in bed, but her mind was as sharp as ever, cutting back to their conversation hours ago. “The hardest sell in politics, Jayce, is compassion.”
Her gold-tinged green eyes, so wise and full of life, would fall down and trace the crease in the bedsheets.
Blowing half the municipal budget on a bloated infrastructure proposal was easy – but approving funds to feed a starving family fleeing a war and standing outside Piltover’s gates? That was hard.
She finally did come up with a proposal that stuck, a lottery system that rewarded a randomly chosen family to immigrate to Piltover and begin the citizenship process, so long as they fulfilled a host of work and education requirements. That conveniently screened out the people who suffered the worst of Noxian oppression and violence. She was fuming at the council, but any victory in politics was hard-won, even a Faustian one.
Jayce could only smile. If only his mom had the benefit of Mel’s lottery; perhaps she would never have lost two of her fingers to frostbite on that dangerous mountain pass. After all, he told her as he sipped from the glass, the liquid cold and refreshing: “I’m an immigrant, too.”
She was one of the few people who knew that truth about him. In the end, where they came from didn’t matter, only where they yearned to go – a future that beckoned with hope and a city that promised to be different from all the others.
The carriage came to a halt. Jayce was led out into the soft brightness of an overcast sky. A gray warehouse stood against the waterfront, oil spills reflecting along its side of the river. They had traveled clean across Zaun to the far west side, overlooking a peninsula of Piltover’s Midtown across the river and the Hexgates in the far distance. Jayce took a deep breath and straightened his posture. Progress always took one small, difficult step at a time.
When he rounded the corner of the warehouse, he wasn’t surprised to see Ambessa at the head of a contingent of soldiers, almost a hundred in number and arrayed in deep crimson robes and shining steel. He wasn’t even surprised to see Viktor with her as she held a lively conversation with him, placing a friendly arm around his back.
But he didn’t expect that Viktor would be sitting on a stool and dressing the wounds of a Noxian soldier. The young man he was tending to had removed his mask and had a concentrated, strained expression on his face as Viktor carefully secured a splint along his leg. Viktor’s back was bowed and shoulders hunched in deep focus on his task. He was giving advice on how best to mend the limb so that it would heal properly, including the types of salves for pain relief and the correct type of wheelchair, crutch, and cane for each phase of healing. Viktor nodded with assurance. “You are lucky that your knee was spared. You will likely make a full recovery and walk as good as new in a few months.”
The young man looked crestfallen at the “few months” part of the diagnosis, but he should have been grateful. Viktor got up at last, grasping his crutch tightly and breathing out a labored sigh. The day was already long.
He must have glimpsed Jayce out of the corner of his eye, because almost immediately the strain in his back vanished as his body came alive. He whirled on his good foot as he made a beeline for Jayce. “Jayce!”
For a long moment, there was so much life in his eyes – until his whole face blanched white. “What happened?”
Viktor almost tripped trying to reach him. Jayce held out his cuffed hands and caught Viktor, pushing him back up on his feet. Oh, it was so good to see him.
“It’s nice to see you in your element.” Jayce couldn’t help but wear the biggest smile on his face. Viktor may not have a medical degree, but his attention to detail and knowledge of his own ailments assured Jayce that the young man had received the best of care.
“You’re bleeding and scratched up! What the hell did the Noxians do to you?”
Jayce missed how mad Viktor could be, how his eyebrows scrunched up so intensely and mouth pinched into that perfect pout. Say, his burns had healed rapidly. The side of his face was no longer swollen and red but as smooth and supple as the rest of him.
“We came under heavy fire on the way over and the carriage was totaled. Did they give you shimmer for your burns?”
Viktor was slapping dust and flakes of wood off of Jayce with his gloved hand. He reached up to stroke Jayce’s face. “Ow.” Jayce jerked back. He hadn’t realized just how many cuts that he had received from the attack. He looked down at the back of his hands and saw red streaking all over his skin. The weather had been too damn cold to notice trivialities like this.
“You need medical attention,” Viktor muttered, his annoyance rising as Ambessa walked up behind him. “She said you were coming. What is this about, Jayce?”
Ambessa strode alongside the pair of them, a soft breeze lifting her crimson cape. She dwarfed Viktor as she drew close to him and laid a hand at the base of his neck and shoulder. Jayce had to stand back to let her in between them.
“Where were you hiding your boyfriend for so long?” She smiled coyly at Jayce. “He was very considerate in lending his services to our injured soldiers. He has such experienced and delicate hands.”
Viktor didn’t look at her; he had such a sour expression on his face. Clearly, he didn’t do it for her.
Jayce stiffened, suddenly growing uncomfortable. Ambessa let Viktor go and grew serious, the breeze picking up and catching in her kinky hair. “I’m relieved that you were spared grave injury in the attack that ambushed your unit. My soldiers assured me that they protected you to the best of their ability.”
She nodded to the captain standing by Jayce’s side. The captain bowed and joined the contingent of soldiers behind her. As she took her place among her comrades, a civilian moved aside, a very gaunt, older man who held an unusual interest in the proceedings.
Ambessa stepped beside Jayce, gazing across the river as their shoulders almost touched. “This attack is one of the boldest yet from dangerous malefactors that threaten the safety of this city and my troops. You can already see the pain that they have caused.” She paused, and the wounded soldier straightened up in his seat on the cot.
She turned to Jayce as she took his wrists and uncuffed him. “I cannot let this senseless bloodshed continue. I will need you and your partner to begin work on a Hextech weapon as soon as possible.”
Viktor’s mouth flew open.
Jayce’s own went dry. He didn’t even get a chance to explain. “May I speak with Vik–”
“To ensure you have the very best of my resources at your disposal–” Ambessa strode over to the gaunt, bald man wearing a scarf that obscured his lower face. “I have secured the talents of Dr. Reveck to assist with any issues you encounter in your work.”
Wait a fucking minute – who the hell was this?
“Jayce–”
“Wait, Viktor.” Jayce rubbed his wrists, unsure if he should step forward with Ambessa or not. “With respect, General, my partner and I are perfectly capable of handling Hextech ourselves and starting work right away for you.”
“Jayce!” Viktor thudded his crutch on the dirt and grabbed Jayce’s arm. He tried to get Jayce’s attention. “Is she forcing you to do this?”
Jayce just stared down at his partner, the words unable to come out. He pulled away from Viktor and walked up to Dr. Reveck. He had to get Viktor alone in private to tell him everything – not here and now.
The man before him was emaciated and wrapped in bandages, yet his stooped walk was carefully deliberate. Vials of shimmer were strapped to his waist. His dark brown mask hid his emotions, and his bald head was splotched or burned on one side. He had just one good eye. He looked like a piece of work, but it was best not to judge by appearances.
Jayce reached out and extended his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Doctor.”
The man shook his hand, his palm wrapped in bandages. “Likewise, Councilor, your innovations in the field of Arcane magic are compelling, if not a little straightforward in application. I look forward to our collaboration.”
Straightforward? Who did this guy think he was, a critic?
“What’s your expertise? The Arcane is a volatile source of power and requires a lot of specialized knowledge to work with.” Jayce felt heat under his collar as Viktor walked up between the two men. Dr. Reveck eagerly shook Viktor’s hand.
“It’s good to see you again and finally have a chance to work with you after all these years.” He turned again to Jayce, his mask slipping enough to reveal bandages wrapped over a toothy smile. “Viktor was once my pupil and one of the finest young minds that I trained in the study of science.”
The belligerence building inside Jayce deflated; he began to feel foolish. He had never met the equivalent of Heimerdinger in Viktor’s life, and he should have known that this person would be someone from the Undercity like Viktor himself. Perhaps he, too, was plagued by similar misfortunes like so many here.
He turned to Viktor. “It’s great to finally meet–” but Jayce had to cut himself off, for Viktor did not look happy standing beside Dr. Reveck. Viktor held that unnerving, unrelenting gaze straight into Jayce’s soul.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
The two stared at each other for a moment, the silence stretching on too long.
“Biology.”
Jayce whirled at Dr. Reveck, who simply shrugged. “That’s my specialty.”
“Moving on from pleasantries and happy reunions.” Ambessa strode over to the warehouse and pulled open the large twin doors. “Thanks to the scorched earth policy of your enforcers and terrorist activities of your underclass, almost every laboratory is burned to the ground in this city. This was the best I could do.”
Jayce stepped over a mass of tangled cords as he entered the building, their copper wiring exposed and ripped off at the ends. The expanse inside was huge and almost completely empty. There were just a few metal chairs and a long table in the middle of a chipped concrete floor, plus several sinks filled with empty canisters and a cracked, rusty furnace at the far end of the building. At least the blown-out windows let in lots of light, that was the only upside.
How was he supposed to experiment with anything here, let alone invent new Hextech? Where was all the equipment? Everything either was broken or falling apart.
“I need my tools and instruments from my lab.” He threw up his hands. “That furnace is a safety hazard. How are we supposed to work in these conditions?”
“Blame your side for destroying all your equipment,” Ambessa sighed heavily. “My soldiers managed to save these from the rubble.” A soldier handed her a slim case, which she then opened in front of Jayce at arm’s length away. Clustered within the deep black velvet lining were ten Hextech crystals.
Each orb glowed in blue, the light seeping from its fractured surface.
They had survived.
He reached out towards them, but Ambessa closed the case, as if she could control how he handled his very own property. He had found and purchased each and every one after meticulous searches in the smithies, jewelers, and elder’s homes of obscure towns and cities across the globe. It took years to understand even what to look for, let alone track this many down. Each held unimaginable power locked within itself, waiting for hands that could handle its volatility with precision and deep respect for its power.
Dr. Reveck stood by Ambessa, taking more than a casual interest in the case in her hand. “There is another Hextech item from your lab that we will bring to you, but it’s highly unstable. We’re still searching for a proper containment unit.”
The Hexcore.
To think that such a priceless piece of dangerous technology was in the hands of these people. Jayce wouldn’t even be left alone with Viktor in this god-forsaken lab – they had to be babysat by this guy. Mentor or not, whoever this person was couldn’t be good. Ambessa must have chosen him to spy on the pair of them and glean every shred of knowledge from their brains until Jayce and Viktor could be replaced with an ally utterly loyal to her.
He felt chilled despite sweat slicking his palms and armpits. He rubbed his hands together, nodding wordlessly as Ambessa rattled off the arrival estimation dates for several shipments that should provide the basic necessities of a working lab.
Would there even be an opportunity to work on a secret weapon and smuggle it to rebels like the Firelights? Was Jayce’s plan dead before it even took its first breath?
He stiffened, arms rigid at his sides. Viktor stood behind him.
Jayce cleared his throat. He tried to smile at Ambessa but failed. “May I, uh, bring Viktor up to speed on this? We haven’t had a chance to talk in private.”
Ambessa leaned back, one side of her mouth leaning up into a smile or a smirk. “Go ahead and fill him in right here.”
She was too smart to let either of them out of her sight.
Jayce slowly turned to face Viktor. The horror and consternation were gone, replaced with the steel of bitter resignation. Viktor’s golden eyes searched his.
“You already made your decision to work with Ambessa, after everything she’s done.”
That last part just stung. Jayce’s mouth opened, and he couldn’t say anything. He licked his lips because his mouth was so dry.
Viktor’s shoulders sagged, his head shaking. Concern deeply furrowed his brows over his eyes, his voice soft. “Did he hurt you that bad?”
Don’t you dare bring Rictus into this. “Viktor – we just don’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice!” He staggered on his crutch, trying to pivot away from the interlopers in their midst but there was nowhere to go. “There has to be a choice.”
Jayce touched his shoulder, voice wavering. “I made a deal, work with them and they’ll allow our research to continue. We need to find a cure for you. We can’t change anything anymore but you don’t have to die.”
Viktor did not look up. “Is that what this is about, pity?”
“No–” Jayce withdrew his hand, fisting it helplessly. Dammit, how was he supposed to communicate a plan to fix everything that was now unraveling before his own eyes? Even his lies were falling apart.
He pressed his fingers against his forehead, and even those were shaking. “Please, Viktor, if you ever trusted me.”
Viktor’s head snapped up with a pained expression. “It’s not about us. If we do this, we become complicit. We–” and he stopped short of whatever he was going to say. He stared at the floor, knuckles going white around his crutch.
There was marching outside, more soldiers arriving. Ambessa strode over towards the double doors, but not before handing Viktor and Jayce two sets of paperwork and quills. “Resolve your misgivings quickly. I need both your signatures to make your contracts official.”
Jayce leafed through his pages, which were more in number than Viktor’s. From what he was able to discern from a quick skim of the contents, the contract doubled as a work agreement with the Noxian army and a transfer of deed of all Hextech property, both physical and intellectual, to Ambessa Medarda.
He’d be handing over every part of his dream to her. This warlord would gain the legal title for the most powerful resource that any nation ever possessed.
“Jayce, come here. You should be a witness to this.”
Ambessa waited a moment as Jayce hurried to the doors. Numerous soldiers were lining up outside, dragging people forward – people in masks. Each was bound and forced to their knees on the floor of a large concrete foundation in front of the warehouse. Soldiers threw long metal boards into a pile beside the prisoners, skateboard-like devices that glowed green from the inside. Embedded within each was a turbine to harness air flow for flight. Not skateboards then, hoverboards.
Shit no.
Jayce reached the edge of the foundation just as Rictus brought one of the Firelights to their knees in the center of the concrete. He pulled off the skull-like mask to reveal the gray face of an individual with long pointed ears, a pink nose, and lime green eyes. He had a scar that bisected his face in half, running through his nose, lips, and chin. His mouth curled into a scowl.
The Firelight twisted his head back and spat at Rictus, missing his face but marking his armor instead.
Rictus belted him in the head.
“Stop!” Jayce reached out desperately, but didn’t move from the spot. “You don’t have to hurt him.”
The Firelight was leaning down and retching blood. His hands were trussed up behind him with fibrous rope, similar to what Jayce was bound with on the pier. The binding was too tight and would cut off the circulation in his hands.
Jayce crumpled the contract in his fist, the quill clattering on the concrete. His chest seared inside with something white-hot.
“Ask for his name.”
“What?” Jayce looked at Ambessa. She couldn’t be serious.
But she only regarded him and the prisoner with the coolest and most neutral of expressions, without saying another word. Clearly, she meant for Jayce to perform the interrogation.
His pulse was racing. All eyes were on him. Quietly, he walked up to Rictus and the Firelight until he was ten or so feet away. Then he knelt down on one knee and spoke in a soft voice.
“Sir, I’m sorry, but I need to know your name.”
The individual regarded him with suspicion, perhaps even hatred, his eyes narrowed into slits and his powerful shoulders hunched and tense, ready to fight at a moment’s notice. Here was someone who was a true freedom fighter, brave and dedicated to the cause of justice to the bitter end.
His mesmerizing green eyes, with the palest pupils in the center, just stared Jayce down. “You’re that Golden Boy they love so much. You work for them now?”
Heat spiked through his heart. Jayce steadied himself, taking a moment before trying again: “Please, I don’t want them to hurt you.”
The Firelight smirked unhappily. Behind him, the soldiers were unmasking the rest of his comrades. His ear twitched slightly, listening to every grunt and shove.
“It’s Scar.”
The paper scrunched in Jayce’s hand. So the first question was out of the way, what then? Viktor was watching him become a traitor. Would Jayce suck Ambessa’s dick for all to see?
He stood up and faced her. “Look, maybe your intel is behind, but the council already knows all there is to know about these people. They’re just a small inner city gang like a bunch of other such groups in the Undercity.”
He wiped the sweat off his forehead. “They’re just trying to protect their homes and families. You don’t need to beat any information out of them. They’re harmless.”
Ambessa strode over, the toned muscle in her arm flexing as she gestured towards the pile of hoverboards. “You call this ‘harmless’?”
She glanced over to Viktor, who had approached Jayce within fifteen feet. “Viktor, describe the injuries of the soldiers that you tended to.”
Viktor’s mouth was drawn into a thin, taut line. He stared at Ambessa with such infuriating, helpless hatred. “You already know that information.”
“But your partner doesn’t, enlighten him.”
Viktor looked up at Jayce, and though the rage in that face wasn’t meant for him, it still chilled him to the bone. “A broken femur, several broken ribs and a collapsed lung, deep gashes through the stomach, a split skull, and a leg shattered at several different points.”
Ambessa walked up to Jayce, and every fiber inside him twisted into a knot.
“My footsoldier, Hermeian, had to get his skull stitched closed. He’s still in a coma and no one knows when he will wake up. My sergeant, Carmus, will have a lame leg for the rest of his life.” She glanced down at Viktor. “He will never walk normally again. Do you call that ‘harmless’?”
“No,” Jayce said. He was breathing hard, worthless anger pulsing through his veins because he knew what she’d say next.
“Ask him the name of his organization. Ask who leads them.”
It was a spectacle of domination. She made him a vessel of her words, the scepter of her complete sovereignty over every person and entity within a hundred miles and beyond. She grasped the sword by her side, tapping it playfully as a reminder of who truly ruled over Piltover.
Jayce turned and faced Scar. He stood straight and put his hands behind his back. He spoke in a voice so cool and neutral it surprised even himself. “Tell us who is your leader, and what you call yourselves.” He already knew the answer to the latter question, but he’d given up enough information already.
As he feared, Scar didn’t budge. Rictus stepped up and punched him in the head a second time, blackening his left eye.
“Please answer the questions!” Jayce felt trapped, standing tall in a white suit and overseeing the interrogation and abuse of an innocent person.
When Scar refused to answer again, he was struck a third time, his body shuddering as Rictus’ fist found its mark. Jayce flinched.
If he tried to stop Rictus, would they kill Jayce? Or maybe Ambessa would kill Viktor to punish Jayce for insubordination. Maybe she only needed one expert in Hextech to stay alive.
“If you think you will get any useful information out of him, you’re more foolish than I thought.” Viktor clacked along the concrete towards Ambessa. She adjusted her grip on her weapon, a massive katar blade with two spikes jutting out of its double-grip handle. But he only shook his head with disdain.
He gestured towards the blood splattered on the floor. “Torture someone enough, and they will tell you anything to make it stop.”
“I have found the tactic useful enough.” Ambessa bypassed Viktor and put a hand on Jayce’s shoulder. “Tell me, when your council investigated this ‘inner city gang,’ did they discover its name?” She pursed her lips. “Or how many people call themselves members?”
Jayce rubbed the papers in his hands and returned her gaze calmly. She could easily put him on his knees and beat the information out of him if she was so inclined. “No, unfortunately we never did get that far in our inquiries.”
She studied him quietly. He wondered if he could last half as long as any Firelight on their knees here.
“I am their leader.”
The silence broke like a dam. Scar stood up on his knees, head held high and mouth pinched tight with determination. Blood streamed down the left side of his head, dripping into his eyes, but he didn’t let that stop him from staring Ambessa down.
“Your soldiers never saw us coming.”
Ambessa walked up to Scar and leveled her blade to his throat. “Tell me everything!”
He smirked. “Fuck off.”
She pulled her blade back and stabbed him. He coughed and keeled over.
Fucking gods.
Jayce ran to his side. “Oh god.” Ambessa stepped aside to let him in. Scar was bent over and bleeding profusely from a deep wound in his lower back. The blade had gone clean through him. Jayce knelt beside him and held him upright. He pushed his hand over the wound but couldn’t stem the blood flow.
“Here!” Viktor handed him his vest. “Press that into his back and chest very firmly.” Viktor carefully lowered himself to the ground, legs splayed out beside Scar, as he helped Jayce wrap the vest around Scar’s torso.
Scar wheezed for air, struggling to breathe as blood streamed out of his mouth. Jayce supported Scar against his own chest. Blood soaked into Jayce’s clothes and seeped into the pores of the concrete.
“He’s still bleeding!” Jayce held Scar’s head up, propping him against his shoulder. Ambessa and Rictus stood by, doing nothing. Her army remained standing and unmoved.
“He made his choice when he attacked.”
Firelights yelled and squirmed within their captors’ grip. One of them kicked the soldier behind her with her elbow and almost wrested free, but three more soldiers piled on top of her and held her down. Nobody else was able to break free to come to their leader’s aid.
Jayce felt cold and clammy even as warm blood soaked into him. Viktor’s face paled almost white, his features screwing tight with concentration as he pushed his side of the vest into Scar’s chest wound. It was the futility of stuffing rags into a firehose. Scar heaved up and shuddered quietly, his throat struggling to let out words.
“We got you,” Viktor soothed.
Scar nodded and opened his mouth. “My …”
“Take it easy, we’re here to help,” Jayce spoke gently in his soft, large ear. It twitched with the sound of his voice. If they didn’t find a way to stem the bleeding right now–
“My daughter.” Scar laid his head back. Dammit.
“Ambessa, we need medical aid right now!” Jayce twisted his head so that he didn’t scream in Scar’s large ears. “You can’t let someone die right here, he’s not even armed, I don’t care what you do to him later – just save his life right now.”
“Jayce.” Viktor barely could say his name.
Ambessa was a fucking bastard, just standing there – bastards the whole lot of them.
Jayce pulled Scar up against his chest, holding him tightly. “Give him a chance, for pity’s sake!”
“Jayce, Scar is dead.”
“He might have fainted.” Jayce cradled the body in his arms, hands seeking a pulse at his neck. He planted his ear by Scar’s nose, but there weren’t any life signs there, either. Jayce’s lip began to tremble.
Viktor looked at him, tears brimming under his eyes. He reached out and held Jayce’s bloody hand. Jayce squeezed his fingers.
They said nothing.
Minutes could have passed, or maybe seconds. It didn’t seem to matter anymore, what with a dead weight on Jayce’s lap. He didn’t even cry. All he could do was stare at the breeze rustling the crimson robes all around, like flags dipped in blood and turning the world into their color.
Somehow, somebody helped him and Viktor up. Somebody took away the body and the Firelights. Ambessa gave orders to send every one of them to the northern colonies of Noxus – a different colony for each, just to be sure. She had everything planned perfectly. There were no oversights or mistakes in anything she proposed.
Jayce was given a towel to dry off some of the blood on him. It wouldn’t really come off. The concrete foundation was also permanently stained just like himself.
He gazed at the shape of deep red down there, dark and still glistening on the hard surface. “I’m sorry,” he said. It didn’t seem to matter anymore that his plan to contact the rebel leader was dead in water. A person had just lost their life.
Viktor was standing off a little distance away, holding his crutch like a windblown reed, barely holding steady. His eyes looked so far away.
A soldier picked up the dropped paperwork and quills and organized the jumbled pages. Ambessa signaled the soldier to hand each set of pages back to Viktor and Jayce. And Jayce just opened his mouth, unable to say anything to capture what he was feeling.
“Somebody just died, and you expect us to sign this?”
The paperwork trembled in his hands, his voice shaking – everything, unstable and torn apart.
“Yes.” She walked up to him and really looked at him, searching his face as if it held the answer to a riddle that only she was able to solve. “Because I want you to understand exactly what you are choosing when you come to work for me. You think today was horrific?”
She swept her hand across the vista of the river and the city. “When you create my weapons, the blood of my enemies will be on your hands. You will kill just as surely as each of my soldiers takes a life. Can you accept that?”
She brought her hand into a fist and held it to her breast. “Can you accept death?”
If this was some sort of sick baptism into the Noxian worldview, Jayce would find the nearest cliff and jump right off.
“Or, what, we die?” Jayce threw up his hands, then slid his fingers through his hair. Now even his hair was stained with blood.
“Precisely.” She said it so simply, the most sensible fact in the world. She planted herself in front of Jayce like a willow tree taking root beside a river. Hell no, she was the river, eroding everything in her way with the relentless force of gentle, violent water. “If you refuse to stand with me, then both of you will die. I will first take Viktor’s life, then yours. Do you know why?”
Jayce felt like a small child in primary school, standing before class and forgetting all his equations. The answer had to be simple, because this teacher didn’t think much of him to make any riddle that hard to solve.
“Loyalty,” he said. “You cannot risk something as vital as harnessing the Arcane to someone who half-asses their loyalties. Better to test them now and know what they are made of.”
Scar’s death certainly revealed what everyone was made of. Dr. Reveck, for instance, never once flinched throughout the whole horror. Never once did he offer any help. Perhaps he was even calmer than Ambessa or Rictus as the Firelight leader died.
Ambessa put her hand on his shoulder once more, almost like a mentor trying to get inside his thick skull. “Scar was never going to live. In any land that I take for my own, their leaders never live.”
Jayce almost laughed. “Except me, for now. I’m only here for Hextech, and after that–”
“It's up to you. If you can accept what I have shown you today, then I will reconsider your fate.” Ambessa nodded towards Viktor. “Go and speak with him and see if he will join us.”
Jayce went over to Viktor. He felt like an automaton, not really present, his own self suppressed somewhere deep inside a robot’s tin heart. He wondered if Viktor felt the same. He barely had the gall to face Viktor and ask him to betray everything that they ever stood for.
Viktor didn’t even give him the excuse of indignation or outrage. He looked so tired with his body hunched over. The skin of his face seemed to sag as he barely looked Jayce in the eye.
“I understand.” Viktor tried to put one word in front of the other. His fingers clasped his crutch meticulously, his whole body tensing into his next sentence. “You must find your own way to survive, Jayce. But I can’t.” He held out the paperwork. “I can’t sign this.”
Jayce just shook his head. He took the pages and the quill. He wrapped his arms around Viktor and held him tight, crutch and all, the warmth of his thin, frail body the only thing in the world keeping Jayce sane. Tears squeezed out of his eyes. “I know.”
What would it be like, waking up the next day and knowing that Viktor no longer was breathing?
What would it be like, coming to this empty warehouse and working alongside Dr. Reveck on the Hexcore, and Viktor would not be here?
What would it be like, slipping beneath fur pelts every night next to Rictus, as Viktor’s body lay so cold at the bottom of the river?
Ambessa stood sentinel, her katar blade still dripping with blood, waiting for Viktor like death itself.
Was this the day that he would lose Viktor? Was it actually happening?
He had never given Viktor any reason to trust him. He contemplated the creation of weapons when Viktor was completely against it. He created the Mercury Hammer behind his back and accidentally killed a child with it. Viktor had kept secrets and visited the Undercity without him, because he couldn’t share all of himself with Jayce. Jayce had let Viktor down.
How could Jayce ask Viktor to sign a deal with the devil? Only Jayce had sold his soul already.
He nuzzled into Viktor’s hair, smelling that scalp one last time. “Do you remember the last time we were in the council chambers? You, me, and Mel?”
Viktor nodded, wordless. He wrapped his arms under Jayce’s arms and up over his back and shoulders tightly. “Don’t let me go.”
“I won’t.” Jayce’s throat was tight now, memory flooding in.
Viktor at the council, finally speaking for himself and for Zaun.
Mel putting down on the table the ring that bore her family crest.
Jayce finally not giving a shit and standing up for the only cause worth fighting for.
He had to go on. “Remember what we said? What we dreamed of? It’s not too late.”
Footsteps tapped behind him. Every word had to count.
He pressed his lips into Viktor’s temple and kissed him. In the faintest of whispers, he spoke into his ear. “I have a plan. But I can’t save Piltover without you.”
He pulled his face away, holding Viktor in his arms. Viktor’s eyes were wide open and searching his with confusion. Jayce shrugged. “I could never find the right words.”
Ambessa stood several feet behind and to his left. Time was almost up.
“I don’t deserve your trust, but I’m asking for it now. Please, don’t throw your life away.”
Viktor glanced at Ambessa, then back to Jayce. Tears streaked down his pale cheeks. He pulled slowly away from Jayce. Jayce let him go, as Viktor stood on his own and faced Ambessa.
Jayce held the paperwork in his hands and felt his heart ramming inside his chest.
“Well, Viktor.” Ambessa stood over him, several soldiers flanking her on the right and the left. “Have you made your decision?”
He stood tall and wiped the moisture from his face. “I apologize for all … this. I, uh, understand what’s at stake.” He briefly glanced down, knuckles adjusting around his crutch handle, before looking back up. “I will give you my best work and do as you need of me.”
A large smile bloomed on her face. “That’s the spirit.”
Jayce gave Viktor his quill and contract back. All three of them walked back into the warehouse and set the pages on the long table. Bloodied hands marked up paper and table alike with blotchy stains. Jayce’s pages were crumpled badly, but he did his best to smooth them out. He never thought that he would feel this relieved to be signing his life’s work away and accepting a job offer from a despotic killer, but life did have a way of throwing him curveballs.
All that mattered was Viktor hunched next to him, his hand signing at the same time as Jayce’s.
Jayce leaned over the last page, brain growing light-headed. It was so cold all day, and yet he kept sweating for no discernible reason. Now he was moist everywhere, and that didn’t even include the drying blood. He pressed his palm into his forehead.
“Jayce.” Viktor touched his forearm, but Jayce waved his hand off. “I’m fine.” He walked over with Viktor and handed their documents together to Ambessa. She promptly gave them to another soldier for safekeeping.
“Well done. The first shipment of supplies has arrived early, so I will leave you gentlemen to get started and show Dr. Reveck the ropes of your profession.”
Ambessa left the warehouse, taking her full contingent of soldiers with her. Only a dozen guards were left to keep watchful eyes over the newest members of the Medarda armed forces. Dr. Reveck was already guiding one of the laborers to bring in a large box of test tubes and syringes.
Jayce panted hard, his lungs pinched and tight. He clasped a hand against his chest. Maybe he was having a nervous breakdown. Who wouldn’t? The plan had to work now. No room for error, dead rebel leaders and spying scientists be damned.
A cold hand pressed against his forehead. He jerked back. Viktor’s eyes widened and his mouth flew open.
“Jayce, you’re running a fever!”
Jayce held onto the table’s edge, sweat dripping down his face. “How about that?” he laughed, before his legs gave out from under him.
The whole world shuddered and faded away, except for Viktor’s voice yelling his name.
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afhirfearness0423 on Chapter 1 Thu 10 Jul 2025 09:36AM UTC
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