Chapter Text
Viktor wouldn't say he was dying. At least, not yet.
He practically dragged the mirror out of the storage area and into his lab. Or, his new lab, that is. How many had he gone through since he left Hextech? He’d lost count. This one was run down and small, a last resort while scrambling to find a place before something like this happened. He barely had any room considering the research he was doing. Actually, it wasn’t the research he needed room for, but the craftsmanship of his stronger armor. He planned on doing it himself, but it was looking like he’d have to reach out to other sources. Perhaps The Boy Savior knew someone. That kid knew a little bit of everything and everyone. He’d at least be able to point Viktor in the right direction, he’s sure.
He supposed it didn’t matter. The notes on that armor were one of the few things he didn’t have time to stuff in a bag and throw into this back-up lab of his. So were the notes over suppressing emotion through the Hexcore rather than his own psychological conditioning. It was back to square one on those fronts, because there was no way he would be able to retrieve any of it. He’d gotten so far so fast, but lately he felt like he was constantly taking one step forward and two steps back. He couldn't afford to lose more ground than he already had, and yet here he was, scrambling to get a foothold while being dragged down. Again. Why couldn’t people just mind their own damn business and leave him to his work?
He picked up the mirror with a loud grunt, trying to get his right arm to work enough for the task. As steady as he could manage, he lifted it up and over the Hexcore, set it down behind it, and roughly propped it against the wall the desk was pushed up to. It cracked a little near the top, but whatever. As long as it was usable. He plopped down in the chair and began shedding his current armor, which was made of a thick, leather-like material that was stuffed with strong, sleek cloth. The cloth in question, Ekko’s design, was notorious for tangling up projectiles before breaking skin. An inspired tool, but obviously needed tweaking. Apparently, there were some bullets and types of firearms that still broke through this “spider web”, as Ekko liked to call it.
He slipped his shirt off with a wince, and looked at the wound on his right shoulder in the mirror. That was not something he could fix through normal means, as he wasn't that kind of scientist. Oh well, he’d gotten behind on his augments anyway. Of course, if he’d taken his last augment all the way up to his right shoulder instead of stopping at his elbow, he wouldn’t be in this position. He wouldn’t be in pain right now, and wouldn’t have to experience more pain on top of it just to fix it. Really, he only had himself to blame. How could he let himself get so comfortable in his last lab? God, he was stupid sometimes. With a small sound of frustration at himself, he reached out and dragged his medical tray to his side. He had something to fish out of his shoulder before he started his augment.
Piltover's witch hunt for him had gone on for nearly five years now. They sent enforcers into Zaun for shakedowns and interrogations about him, constantly searching for the new mad scientist in town: The Machine Herald. It was hard to run from them at first, since no one knew him more than Hextech’s recluse for the first year or so. But eventually, he started helping people and enabling freedom-fighting groups like The Firelights, and he gained loyalty. He gave them technology to make their lives down in the slums easier, and in turn, Zaun’s citizens were quiet about him whenever Piltover came down looking. Helping people was always his primary goal, but these unspoken rules regarding him made him feel powerful, and he enjoyed it a little.
Of course, four and a half years without so much as a sighting of him wouldn’t do for Piltover’s precious Council. They had to send in their heavy hitter, literally. He didn’t know how the operation snuck up on him, but he was in the midst of turning tail and running when that pink-haired bulldog showed up at his door with those Atlas Gauntlets of hers. No. They were his. They were meant to help laborers in the mines, and instead they were used for brutality against Zaun. Oh, he wished he killed her. Actually wished harm and death on someone else for the first time in his life. He usually didn’t think about others so harshly, but he had no sympathy for Zaun’s traitors. He knew her roots too. She couldn’t hide it. Vander would be rolling in his grave if he were actually dead.
At first, he thought Vi was as stupid as she looked, running up to him like she did when he had both his Hexcore and Hexclaw at the ready. But, in her defense, he never had to actually raise those weapons yet, so there were no records of what said weapons were capable of. He let her get in close, just to tease her more than anything. She swung with her right, he ducked, and extended his right arm. The Hexclaw took a fraction of a second to charge its shot, and he could see the fear in her eyes as she realized there was a laser cannon pointed directly at her face, and she had no time to react. She’d be dead before she even hit the ground, and The Council would finally recognize-
Viktor screamed as he tore the bullet out of his shoulder. He let it and the tool he was using clatter to the floor with a pitiful wine. His ears were ringing now and his vision was swimming. A reaction caused by both blood loss and the sudden rise in pain. The human body never failed to remind him of how fragile it was, and it was beyond frustrating. He’d augment himself faster if he could, but the Shimmer would tear him apart if he used it that consecutively. One day, all his parts would match again, and he would be sturdy and predictable. But until then, he was stuck in this limbo of identity, not flesh enough to be human, and not metal enough to be a machine, but now wasn’t the time for philosophy. He propped his left arm against his knee and rested his head in his hand, trying to keep his breathing steady as he clung to consciousness.
Caitlyn Kiramman had been with her. The Sheriff was an excellent shot, and looking back, Ekko’s design didn’t fail, Kiramman shot him through a small gap in his armor. She was second to none when it came to marksmanship, and was smart as a whip, but then she called out: “Stand down, Viktor. That was your warning.” and gave away her position. Luckily, the Hexclaw was still charged and functioning since she shot to wound rather than disarm. It looked a little sloppy with the bullet in his shoulder, but he made a quick motion with his right hand, and cut through one side of the small bridge she was perched up on. It toppled down, he dodged a few more blows from Vi, but was able to make it out with his life. He knew Vi wouldn’t chase him too far if her sniper girlfriend was disengaged… Scrapes and bruises, but Piltover’s prodigy sheriff would live.
Viktor had never fought like that before. He couldn’t even remember swinging a fist at empty air. Even if he needed to, he never could. But things were different now, and despite the pain, it was a good test of his agility and the strength of The Hexclaw. Actually, if he thought about it, this impromptu experiment was far more controlled than he thought. Because he knew Kiramman was bluffing about the warning shot. He could’ve done anything short of killing Vi, and wouldn’t have suffered something fatal, because he wasn’t wanted dead. He was to be captured alive, and any event that resulted in his death was to be punished with a life sentence in Stillwater Prison. Courtesy of Councilman Talis. How sweet. Good to know the man still cared.
Leave the bitterness. You know better.
The Hexcore sang its ethereal notes, and Viktor realized he’d closed his eyes, and was beginning to topple forward. He caught himself on the desk and took in a deep breath, trying to clear his head the best he could, “Shut it.” He snapped at it, “I’m getting there.”
Or, perhaps he should wait on the argument. The dose of Shimmer, or Singed’s variant he replicated, would speed up the healing process enough. Then, he could prioritize augmenting something more vital. This whole time, he’d been slowly chipping away at the illness he was born with, replacing the parts of him it directly affected. His leg, spine, ribs, sternum, and lungs were all infused with magic and machine, the only outlier being his hand, which he extended to his elbow a few months ago. But with these odd prosthetics, he was left with choosing what to replace next, which was a hard choice until now. Now, his hunters were on his tail, and he had to think tactically. His heart, he considered. After all, his new lungs were still desperately trying to keep up with how hard it was pounding. A great example of how connected the body was, even when the parts didn’t recognize each other.
He was running out of time, and the rest of his Shimmer supply was left in his previous lab. He had no idea if he would be able to get more soon, so he may as well do an augment anyway. He was already bleeding, already in pain, and shouldn’t be taking chances with the wound he had. So he took out his small knife out of the drawer and began carving. The Hexcore pulsed as he cut the symbols into his skin, and he could feel its magic already wrapping its fingers around him. His hand began to quiver halfway up his arm as his body temperature started its plummet, which slowed him down even more. He couldn’t rush, though, no matter how fast his clock was ticking. It would only make him sloppy, and the last time that happened…
Leave her behind. Look forward.
Slowly, he made his way up, past the painful wound, over his shoulder, and up to his neck and right jaw, though he didn’t extend the symbols to his chin. He then moved to the back of his neck, all the way up until he met the hairline. He wanted to go to the left side and around to his throat, but he couldn’t get his hands to work anymore, so he cut his losses. He tossed the knife on the desk lazily and let out a groan. His breaths were short now, and his limbs were beginning to give up. Something primal in his brain was kicking at him, telling him something was dreadfully wrong, that the adrenaline wasn’t going to keep him awake much longer, and his mortality was in question. Now he was dying.
He let out a humorless laugh. How funny would it be if he died, and Talis had to eat his words and put Kiramman in prison for life? The two were like siblings, and Talis wasn’t a liar. He was a hypocrite, however, and powerful enough to let Kiramman go with a slap on the wrist. Viktor could even imagine it. Talis would excuse her because she’s a trustworthy sheriff, and that his death was an accident. Then, after enough time had passed, he’d joke how the real reason he excused her was because he was afraid Vi would kill him with his own Atlas Gauntlets. They would laugh and drink champagne, and-
“Dammit!” He cursed at himself in the mirror, “Focus, you’re better than this.”
He reached back into the drawer, grabbed the last vial of the Shimmer variant, and its pneumatic injector. He missed loading in the Shimmer a few times, but managed not to drop it. Once loaded properly, the Hexcore pulsed again, and he could feel the magic around him intensify. He held the injection gun directly over his wound and hesitated. Even with magic looming over him, and shock slowly overtaking his vitals, he hesitated, just like he always did. He never knew why. His actions were his identity, not his body. Make up, appearances, working out, fake smiles, dressing up, hiding parts, showing off, tanning, corsets, binders, it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. It was all fake, so why hold back?
He pulled the trigger, cut open his hand, and offered himself out to the Hexcore.
Viktor let out an agonized scream as the pain skyrocketed and spread through his entire body, even to the parts that weren’t technically there. The drug flooded his senses, and suddenly the lights were blinding, the chair under him was freezing, and his own cries clawed at his ears. Then, the magic ate at his flesh and bone, burning through the symbols he carved into his skin. With all the pain and shock stacked on top of itself, he was lost to it. For the first half, there was nothing but the agony, screams, and bright lights. But then his brain decided to be considerate, and began blocking it out. He was sure he didn’t actually lose consciousness, but it felt like he blinked and he was just sitting there, waiting for his body to bounce back from the experience he only half remembered.
He found himself slumped back in his chair, head tilted to the ceiling above him. His chest was still heaving, but he was able to draw in full breaths, and he could feel his heart begin to steady again as his vision sharpened out of its blurred state. His throat was raw, but it was the ringing in his ears was truly unbearable. It was loud, distracting, and he couldn’t think of anything else. Through it, the Hexcore sang, and with the ringing, he could almost hear something. Like it was on the edge of his senses, or he was listening to it through water. It was a voice, maybe. No, giggling. And he could’ve sworn it sounded familiar.
“Sky?”
The name that fell out of his mouth sobered him out of his dazed state. That was impossible. Sky was dead. He killed her.
No. It was an accident. A terrible, tragic, accident.
Oddly enough, he didn’t feel like he was lying to himself this time. Because he had blood on his hands, and it wasn’t just Sky’s anymore. There was a large group of about ten enforcers that got to him before Vi and Kiramman did. They were scouting ahead of their bosses, and Viktor cut them down effortlessly. Purposefully. Aiming to kill was so much different than his childhood friend being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Surely, he wasn’t completely guiltless. There were decisions he made with his fear rather than logic, and Sky suffered for it. But perhaps it was a regret he could die in peace with someday.
As if that would ever happen.
Guilt archives nothing. Bury it.
With weak limbs, Viktor finally sat himself up with a grunt and looked into the mirror. The augmentation was a success, and he now had the familiar, magical metal along the rest of his arm, up to his right jawline, and around the back of his neck. His eyes were still purple from the Shimmer, but that would fade within the next few hours. His hair was even more unruly than when he left Piltover, and purple veins showed through his right cheek. Chemical scarring reminiscent of Singed’s work. He’d say he didn’t recognize himself, but like the rest of his body, his face wasn’t his identity. Still, he was far from the idealistic man he was. He couldn’t imagine his old self fighting, killing, and feeling proud of it.
Pride blinds. Shut it down.
Something reflecting light in the corner of his vision caught his attention, and his eyes drifted over to his staff. Partway up the bottom half was a gold band shining in his face, and he could feel himself soften a little, even with pain beginning to stir in his chest. He remembered what that staff used to be, when it initially broke, and who repaired it. He remembered the easy smiles, the gentle touches, the careful hand on his back, and those soft brown eyes. There were dumb math jokes, nights by the fireplace, labors of love, warm embraces, and kind kisses. There was the scent of magic and forge smoke, and the ring hanging by a necklace he still wore because he wasn’t heartless enough to take off.
Worthless nostalgia. Throw it out.
The staff cartwheeled on its ends, and Viktor let out a loud sound of frustration as he plopped on the ground, his back against his desk. He curled in on himself a little, gripping at his hair. He was far from the man he used to be, and so was Jayce. His old Hextech partner, his own husband, was the one in charge of the witch hunts against him, and had no issue with chasing him around Zaun for fun. The shakedowns, the interrogations, the enforcers, they were all just an extension of him. Viktor didn’t recognize him anymore, and he better come to terms with the fact that the feeling was mutual. His methods were non-lethal for now, but eventually The Council would push to actually kill him, and Jayce will roll over like a good dog. Just like he always did.
He needed to get a hold of himself. These were realities he was already aware of. Just because he was injured by one of these “extensions” didn’t mean he could react this way. His hunter was smoking him out and gaining on him, and he was growing desperate again. He never wore emotions well, but desperation was dangerous. It killed Sky, and he was damn lucky he wasn’t zapped into ash with her. He was hurt, angry, and at the end of his rope again, but he needed to withdraw from it so he could think logically and tactically. Wallowing in self pity wasn’t going to solve anything. His wound was fixed, and the augmentation was successful, but he was starting over at square one in a few places. He needed to get organized and prepared.
The Hexcore began its song, and he could feel himself calm and withdraw. Trying to help the process along, he picked up his head and leaned it against the cold metal of the desk behind him, taking in slow, deep breaths. He sat like that for a long time, slowly feeling himself begin to detach again, just like he was before the enforcers showed up earlier. Once finally satisfied with himself, he stood up and numbly paced across the room where his staff laid. He picked it up in his left hand and shifted his weight towards it out of a habit that felt older than it actually was. Then, a question surfaced: What was his next move?
He couldn’t just run anymore. He was a part of this now. An active part of this now, and there was no way Piltover was going to let the deaths slide. He’d been on The Council’s backburner for four and a half years now, but with the slaughter of the squad of enforcers, they’ll push harder, and he’ll have to take an actual stand. That was fine, he supposed, he was done running anyway. Perhaps they’ll back off if he makes it clear he’s not just some guy in a lab coat. He was The Machine Herald, and he was powerful enough to demand respect, or maybe even fear if he pleased. The problem was, he wasn’t going to see Kiramman or Vi again. The Council will be livid with them coming back empty handed. They would send someone else to take direct action against him, and he knew exactly who was showing up at his door next.
Viktor adjusted his gaze back to the Hexcore, “You’re right, The Council will be fed up, and they’ll send him here.” He sat down at the desk again and leaned back in the chair, “And we’ll be ready.”
More deep notes came, and Viktor hummed along to it. The Defender of Tomorrow was coming for him, and he needed to be ready. He had to replicate the research he lost, fine tune his weapons, and prepare himself to take that stand. They weren't going to get the satisfaction of hunting him anymore. He would face this head-on and show how strong he really was. The Machine Herald was to be respected and feared, and he would take out Piltover’s golden boy just to prove that point. Love and legacy were the sacrifices he was willing to make for progress, his work at Hextech was far behind him, but it was about time he let go of Jayce too. He'll be stronger for it.
He scoffed at that last thought. Who was he kidding? It’ll tear him apart.