Chapter Text
The talk with Sevika did not happen over too many drinks as Viktor had expected earlier that day; instead, it was happening over a gravely injured and unconscious Firelight as Viktor used his limited medical knowledge to clean and prepare what was left of the girl’s legs for prosthetic ports—or to fully close the amputation points, if that was what she decided once she woke up.
He already had almost everything he needed, though Sevika had to go out for gauze and to pick up the fish from Jericho. The poor man would have been an inconsolable wreck of nerves if neither of them showed up after saying they would. When Sevika returned, Viktor bit the bullet and just started talking.
It helped to have something to focus on, even if that something was tying off a teenage girl's arteries and sanding down jagged bone.
“Okay, just so we’re clear,” Sevika said after a long pause. She got to drink, since her medical assistance consisted of holding a light and occasionally handing something over. “You accidentally taught magic how to think, it turned evil because you were doing some dying mad scientist shit, and then it ate a woman who somehow missed the fact that you aren’t into women and that your lab partner was also your life partner.”
“Well, yes, I still struggle to understand how Miss Young failed to realize that.”
“ Then your Piltie ex—”
“That’s—he isn’t— can we please not—”
“Right, don’t bring up the ‘Man of Progress’ anymore, whatever. But you ended up with this thing trying to possess you, and that’s what all the purple metal is. You’re trying to get rid of it, and that’s why you cut off your hand and your leg.” Sevika recounted it in such a matter-of-fact tone, as if confirming something as mundane as the steps to a recipe.
Sevika wasn’t just playing along, waiting for the opportunity to save him from himself. She believed him. A woman he’d hardly known for a handful of months believed him where the person he’d loved and trusted more than anyone in his entire life hadn’t. Viktor swallowed hard, regaining some of the composure that realization unexpectedly lost him.
“...Essentially. I suppose that is… but yes, the Hexcore is highly aggressive in its claim over me. Removing and replacing what it’s taken of my body is drastic, but preferable to the alternative.” He wasn’t going to share the details about what the alternative was; Sevika was smart enough to understand what possession entailed.
“Well,” Sevika sat back in her chair, taking a swig from the bottle she’d been steadily working on. “Damn.”
“You don’t think I’m delusional?”
“Boss, I’ve seen delusional, and you ain’t it. You’re insane , like, an honest-to-gods mad scientist, but you aren’t delusional. You do crazy shit for real reasons, not imaginary ones.”
“Good to know there is a difference, I suppose.” Viktor’s hands did not tremble, not while he was picking through a girl’s leg to isolate key nerve endings. But they certainly wanted to. Sevika leaned forward again, peering closely at the leg Viktor had yet to work on beyond basic amputation care.
“Does that look like a regular burn to you?” She gestured to the cauterized stump. Viktor leaned in as well.
“Hm, no, it does not.” The cauterization wasn’t caused by some heated metal as Viktor had assumed in the dark, smoke-mixed smog of the alleyway. There was a splattering pattern of burns in the skin he hadn’t caught before. “Anything caustic in chemtech weapons you know of that could cause this?”
“If it’s Renni’s chemtech? Definitely. Acid and shit like that is her thing. You know, now that I think about it, this reminds me of something she tried to sell Silco on about a year back. Some weaponized acid that wouldn’t damage metal or stone.”
“Was there a demonstration? Something to back her claim up?” Viktor refocused on the previous stump as Sevika grinned.
“You bet your ass she did. She revved up this chainsaw, designed it so the chain would be coated in the acid. The chain was fine, but the traitor she dragged in to ‘demonstrate’ the thing on sure wasn’t. Cut him from right shoulder to left hip; it was brutal , but no blood. Looked an awful lot like this girl's legs.”
“So she developed an acid that would eat through organic material while leaving vital infrastructure untouched, and would make clean up easier. Horrific, but ingenious.” A chainsaw coated in acid, as unique a weapon it was, perfectly explained the Firelight girl’s injuries now that Viktor knew it existed.
“Silco didn’t seem to think so; shot Renni down and told her to focus on Shimmer. I guess with him gone, she’s doing what she wants. All the Chembarons probably are. Only a matter of time before one of ‘em makes a move to take over.” Sevika hissed through her teeth, sitting back up to take another drink. “Shit’s gonna get rough, Boss.”
That was without taking the Enforcers into account, the weapons being made for them.
“ We could stop the Betrayer; stop his violence. If you only let us have the rest of you. We will eat the pain away from everyone. ” The Hexcore was getting insistent again, and Viktor had to pull away from his delicate work as it warped his vision.
“That Hex-thing bothering you?” Sevika’s question shocked the forced hallucination out of Viktor’s sight, the Hexcore reeling just as much as he was.
“How did you—”
“You flicker, sometimes.” She pointed at his half-transmuted hand.
“I… flicker?”
“Yeah, this weird light under your skin where you’re, like, purple and shit. And you always seem real distracted and pissed when it happens. Now that I know what I know, I figure it happens when the Hex-fucker is being a dick. Am I right?” She wore a smug smile, clearly aware she was right.
“You are startlingly observant, Sevika. And it’s Hex core. ” Viktor shook off the lingering unease, and the room settled back into a comfortable silence as he made quick work of finalizing the port preparation. Now he needed to start on the other leg. He pushed his chair back, gesturing loosely at the girl on the table. Sevika stood, turned the table around, and sat back down.
“It’s been happening more often,” Sevika started once more after a beat, her voice softer than usual. She didn’t need to specify what she was talking about. “It’ll just keep getting worse ‘til you can cut more of it off, won’t it?”
“It will, yes.” Viktor needed to figure out the neural augmentation, but the Firelight before him had taken unplanned priority. He refused to let a child fall victim to the predatory mechanists under that ratty bastard chembaron, Smeech. Not when he was right there.
Sevika popped the stopper back in her bottle and slid it across the floor. Then she leaned forward once more, observing.
“Right, so walk me through this. If I’m gonna be the Right Hand of a revolutionary prosthetist, I should get to know a thing or two about how it works. I know the basics on cleaning and closing an amputation, but you did a whole bunch of other shit.”
“So, as of now I don’t know if she will want ported prosthetics, so all I am doing differently from a regular amputation is capping off major arteries and attaching connection points to primary nerve endings. These can be removed if she decides against ports.” Viktor began talking through his process, Sevika watching his every move with rapt attention.
Somehow, it was the best Viktor had felt in a long time.
The shop Jayce and Vi entered had been difficult to find. The woman who owned it, even more so. It had been months of tracking down loose leads and breadcrumbs, leading so deep into the Undercity even Vi was jumpy and tense. The whir of the Atlas Gauntlets as she clenched her fists over and over had faded into background noise.
The shop was not what Jayce was expecting; jars of spices, powders, and dried plants or fungi were placed between vials and bottles of strange, glowing liquids. What looked to be a shrine of some sort sat in the corner, depicting a woman with wisps of fragrant incense seeming to serve as her hair—Janna, the Old Zaunite goddess.
“Dude,” Vi whispered as they both took in their surroundings. “You did not tell me we were looking for a witch. ”
“She’s an apothecary, Vi,” He hissed back, elbowing her.
“Yeah, an Old Zaunite apothecary! That means witch! Bet you ten cogs she’s back there right now, gutting a rat to curse us for coming down here.” She nervously eyed a jar of preserved somethings.
“Are you actually scared right now?” Jayce couldn’t help but tease. Vi was one of the most intimidating people he’d ever met, and she was afraid of an old woman and her ground up mushrooms.
“I’m not scared, asshole. It’s just… miner stories stick with a kid. You telling me they don’t have legends about the cave witches topside?”
“No, we don’t. And can we please focus on why we’re here?”
“I was wondering when you two would get on with it,” The woman’s heavily accented voice caused them both to jump and face the counter she’d appeared at. Jayce cleared his throat.
“Are you Yekaterina? Uh, Katya?” He asked, but it was clear this was the woman he was trying to find.
Viktor’s aunt looked more like Viktor than Jayce had expected. Her hair was the same chestnut-brown where it wasn’t grey, tied into an extremely intricate braid that fell over one shoulder and reached her waist. Gold eyes flicked over them and heavy brows narrowed at Vi and, presumably, her Enforcer uniform.
“Yekaterina, to саранча. What do you want? Why bring Дворняжка down here, into my shop?” She drawled. Jayce had heard Viktor use one of those terms before, though only when drunk. That first one, sarancha, it sounded like, he used for both Piltovans and Undercity citizens who weren’t Old Zaunite. He didn’t recognize the second, but Yekaterina spat it at Vi with another glare at her badge.
“Miss Yekaterina, I’m Councilor Jayce Talis—”
“Viktor is dead, then?” Her face hardened, pointedly meeting his gaze. Jayce faltered. Hearing it out loud and so blunt and in the accent he’d only ever heard in one other voice made something in him freeze up.
“How did you know? ” Vi asked, a touch too accusatory. Yekaterina scoffed.
“Do you think I was not in contact with my nephew? Vitya and I wrote each other. I have heard all about Jayce Talis. When his letters stopped, I figured it was only a matter of time before his partner came to tell me what I already knew.” Yekaterina disappeared around a corner, then opened a door beside the counter leading to the back of the shop, waiting.
“I–I’m sorry we never got a chance to meet, Viktor said you preferred to keep to your shop after you retired from your… previous profession.” Jayce made his way to the open door, nearly dragging Vi along with him.
“And you believed him? That boy would lie about anything if given the chance for no reason other than he thought it was fun.” She led them into a room that wasn’t all that different from the front of the shop, though this one had a round table in the center of it and a small cooking area partially hidden by a curtain. “Sit, the both of you. I will make drinks.”
“That’s true, I’m pretty sure he made a game out of it. What was the real reason?” Jayce asked as he took a seat. He glanced at Vi, who still stood in the doorway watching Yekaterina warily and nodded to the stool beside him. She shook her head ‘no.’ He nodded more insistently, she shook her head more frantically. Dishes clinked behind the curtain.
“I told him I did not care enough about meeting you to make the journey. And with his health, it was not worth the risk of him coming back down here. It does comfort me to know he loved you enough to spare your feelings.” She sounded hesitant to admit that, but Jayce felt warmed by it all the same. More determined to maintain a decent impression, he leaned over to Vi.
“If you don’t put those Gauntlets down and sit, I will tell Cait all about how rude you were to Viktor’s grieving aunt,” He hissed, keeping his voice low so as to hopefully not be heard across the room. Vi glared at him with a comical expression of betrayal, then let the Gauntlets fall to the floor with a thud.
“When we get turned into salamanders and boiled alive for stew, it’ll be your fault,” she huffed, throwing herself onto the stool.
“I will accept full responsibility. Just try to be nice.”
Yekaterina returned after another couple of minutes, placing a tray carrying three mismatched, steaming mugs onto the table. Jayce eagerly swiped up one for himself with a ‘thank you,’ while Vi stared at hers like it was some roiling green poison. It smelled incredible and painfully familiar.
“Viktor had these little spice bags he would put in his coffee or his tea. They smelled just like this,” He mused, trying not to get misty-eyed. He still hadn’t washed the stains from that stupid ‘Man of Progress’ mug Viktor insisted on using. Jayce had stopped filling it once the Bad Days started; he couldn’t risk it being thrown.
“I should hope so, since I made those spice bags and sent them along with my letters to him. They’re traditionally used in—eh, ‘ sweetmilk ,’ it is called now, yes? Yes—But the spices are good for any warm drink.” She took a long sip, and Jayce tried his own mug.
He choked, prompting Vi to go wide-eyed in panic.
“S-sorry,” He managed after a few coughs. “It’s really good I just—I wasn’t expecting there to be alcohol in this?”
“Woah, there’s alcohol in this?” Vi, forgetting her fear of salamander potions, picked up her mug and gulped down a mouthful. Judging by her pleased hum and second gulp, she liked it.
“Vitya was born half-dead, you know,” Yekaterina mulled after a beat, lighting a cigarette. “Two months too early, at least. The doctor was halfway through wrapping the damn thing up for burial before they realized he was breathing. Just as stubborn as his mother, for all the good it did either of them.”
Even in the years they’d been together, there was little Jayce truly knew about Viktor’s childhood. He’d been told stories, sure, snippets that connected with free-floating personality quirks and habits that Jayce held dear, but there was so much he never got to connect. Sitting in front of Viktor’s aunt, drinking in the back room of her creepy apothecary, felt like a blessing from a goddess he didn’t believe in but was enshrined mere feet away.
“I know he never met his birth parents, but I was always too nervous to ask if he knew why. Do you think—I mean, only if it’s okay—I was stupid never to ask him, but could I ask you?” Jayce fiddled with his mug, tracing the chipped ceramic. He felt like a bug pinned under Yekaterina’s stare, only released when she took a deep inhale and shifted to a more comfortable position in her chair.
“I raised my baby sister, Anastasia. Nastya, most called her. Our mother died giving birth to her, our father was thrown in Stillwater a few years after that for killing Enforcer attack dogs. I never saw him again, but I never saw an attack dog again, either.”
“Attack dogs?” Vi chirped up as she refilled her mug.
“Mm, yes. Dogs were used to control our people after the Collapse. The fear of them was passed down, strong enough to continue controlling us with their presence alone.”
“Viktor was terrified of dogs,” Jayce added. Another puzzle piece just fit itself into place. “He would freeze up any time he heard one barking. I brought a stray into the lab once, and he jumped up on his workbench and wouldn’t come down until it was gone.” Genetic memory; trauma writing itself so deeply into the DNA it’s passed down like eye color. If Jayce ever had children, would they have nightmares of swirling snow and labored breathing?
“The саранча running the mines have a habit of finding Old Zaunite children, offering good pay for a job as a mine canary. They claim our people can sense the gases quicker than others, but that is bullshit—a lie started two centuries ago as an excuse to poison us. Nastya was fourteen when she took one of those jobs, and nothing I said could convince her not to do it. She was determined to help me when the brothel cut my pay.”
“She met Ivan there, another canary around the same age. They did what stupid children do when they want to feel like adults, and a few months later, Ivan died in the mines. A few months after that, Nastya went into labor without having known she was pregnant to begin with.”
“She was just a kid,” Jayce breathed. It made his heart ache, knowing Viktor’s parents had just been children, children who sought comfort in one another in mines they were being paid to die in. He couldn’t help but picture that little girl with the gold eyes and chestnut hair, how scared she must have been. It was no wonder Viktor kept it to himself, the trauma that had been born with him.
“Yes, she was. And that is why I never blamed her for leaving. Her best friend and the first person she’d loved had died like the саранча wanted him to, and the baby she didn’t know she’d been carrying wasn’t likely to live through the night. Nastya waited until I fell asleep after Viktor was born, and she left. Never came back.” Yekaterina tipped back the last of her drink, quickly reaching for the kettle to refill the mug.
“Wait, you never even looked for her?” Vi’s distain was audible, and Jayce shot a look at her. She paid him no mind, glaring at the older woman. “She was your sister! It was your job to keep her safe!” Right. Of course she was reacting this way. Jayce should have told her to wait outside the moment Yekaterina said the word ‘sister’ .
“When do you propose I would have done that, hm? When I was teaching a boy with a twisted leg and dropped foot to walk? When his seizures started and I had to pad every sharp corner and edge of the house, pop his joints back into place once he stopped twitching? When he caught Fissure Fever and I had to bore a hole in his chest to drain the fluid in his little lungs? Perhaps I have time to look, now that he is dead. ” Yekaterina had the same terrifying, quiet fury Viktor had.
Vi, looking sufficiently cowed, drained her second mug and poured a third. Jayce was preparing to apologize on her behalf when the bell of the shop door rang.
“Katya?” Someone called from the entrance, and Vi went stiff beside him.
“Back here, Zoya. I have guests, so behave yourself,” Yekaterina called back. Footsteps grew closer, and a woman—in her graceful 40’s, Jayce guessed—breezed through the doorway. She, too, was clearly Old Zaunite, though didn’t bear the same striking resemblance to Viktor as Yekaterina did. Her eyes, a pale brassy color, fell on Vi and her Enforcer uniform in an instant, and she scowled. Her gaze flicked to pink hair, and she scowled deeper.
“Vander turns in his grave, Дворняжка, ” The woman, Zoya, sneered. That word again, this time spat with a venomous amount of vitriol. Now didn’t feel like the best time to ask what it meant, especially when Vi stood so fast her stool toppled behind her.
“Oh, what the fuck? You’re Sevika’s girl, and you’re gonna say Vander’s name? How’s the bed of a traitor feel? She still have to pay you to spend the night?” Vi’s tone was so nasty it left Jayce frozen, watching as if it were a play. He was still reeling from the fact these two apparently knew each other. Zoya dropped her large purse and stepped a touch too close.
“You don’t get to call anyone a traitor when you’re wearing that pretty blue collar. You’re down here with some Piltie , harassing an old woman? Are you going to shake down my бабушка next? Throw more Заунанарод into Stillwater to die?” Zoya may not have been a physical threat to Vi, tall and gangly like a reed, but there was no doubt she could be dangerous.
That last word, Zaunanarod, was another one Jayce recognized from Viktor’s use of it. People of Zaun, or Old Zaunites.
“They are here to tell me Viktor is dead,” Yekaterina explained before one of the women could take a swing. An odd expression flickered over Zoya’s face, a disbelieving confusion like someone had just told an obvious lie with full confidence. Then it shuddered, and gave way to something more grief-stricken.
“Vitya’s dead?” She asked, deflating and turning to Yekaterina as if Vi wasn’t even there. “When?”
“A little over four months ago,” Jayce answered. Zoya’s sharp gaze was on him instantly, studying him. If her attention on Vi had been dangerous, this was downright predatory.
“You’re that partner Viktor was so head-over-heels for, Jayce Talis. No, sorry, it’s Councilor Talis now, right?” She loomed over him, and he fought the instinct to lean back. It was the first time he’d heard his name spoken in that accent since Viktor.
“Uh—”
“What happened, then? What did you do to him?” Her accusation, growled with so much anger Zoya visibly trembled with it, was like ice water over Jayce’s head.
He’d ensured Viktor died scared and alone, that’s what he did.
“Jayce didn’t do anything!” Vi jumped to his defense, and he wished he could tell her she was wrong. “Viktor was sick. He was trying to hurt himself and Jayce went to get help when someone robbed the place and blew it up!”
“Call your Дворняжка off, Councilor, before someone puts it down,” Zoya snarled.
“Are you seriously threatening me right now?” Vi stepped close enough to shove Zoya back with her body, drawing the whole of the Old Zaunite’s ire once more.
“Janna, just look at you; Hound of the Underground’s pup turned Piltover’s trencher attack dog, ready to maul whoever they point you at! It’s pathetic.” Zoya broke eye contact to spit on Vi’s boot, and Jayce stood from his own stool to get between them at the same time Yekaterina rose and shouted.
“That’s enough! ” The table teetered dangerously, two mugs toppling over. All attention was on the older woman, Zoya and Vi stepping apart. “Zoya, your brother’s medicine is almost ready. Make yourself a drink while I walk these two out.” Zoya nodded mutely, ducking her head as she walked away from them.
Yekaterina marched through the side door, and Vi retrieved her gauntlets before she and Jayce silently followed. No one spoke the entire walk to the entrance, or as the door was held open and Vi breezed out. Jayce turned just before it could be shut behind him.
“Yekaterina, I’m really sorry about—”
“Do you know what I said to Viktor, when he told me he loved you? I said, ‘it does not matter how much you love him, or trust him. Never give yourself entirely to a man with that much power over you.’ The fact it took you so long to find me, that you knew so little about his family down here? It brings me comfort to know he listened, at least in some way.”
“Could I at least—”
“Do not return, Councilor Talis. I do not care for you.” With that, she closed the door and the lock slid into place. Jayce caught sight of Zoya glaring at him through the warped glass, standing at the Janna shrine with a cup in one hand and a lit match in the other. Then a curtain fell over the shop windows.
“Jayce,” Vi called, and Jayce unstuck himself from the pavement and turned to follow. She lightly shoulder-checked him once he caught up. “Let’s go get wasted where we’re wanted, yeah?” It was Vi’s preferred method of keeping him from being alone with dark thoughts, and Jayce found himself smiling despite how shitty he felt.
“Yeah, just try not to get in any bar fights, this time.” He shoulder-checked her back.
“Hey, maybe I wouldn’t get into as many fights if you backed me up once in a while! Most drunk assholes would back down if I had a 6’5, jacked blacksmith standing behind me. Seriously, what did your mother feed you, man?”
They ended up stopping at a Promenade bar, and drank enough that neither of them fully remembered how they ended up passed out on the floor of Caitlyn’s room.