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The Arcane Herald calmly watches as Jayce, the partner he once cared for, is slowly welcomed into the arms of the Glorious Evolution.
The defeated man evolves into a white and gold machine as he kneels on both knees before The Herald. With his giant hammer still clasped in both hands, Jayce looks like a knight of old, offering up his fealty to his king.
Or maybe that's what he had hoped Jayce would have done days ago when The Herald had reached his hand out to be partners once more.
But all he got was a snarled face and rejection.
The betrayal had been… disappointing , to say the least.
The Herald apathetically surveys the Hexgate ruins around him as he contemplates the previous battle.
He had subdued Jayce long enough to have access to his old partner's consciousness and bring him into the cosmic realm of the Arcane with a touch. There, Jayce’s avatar had swirled with the colours of a white opal.
Jayce had then looked up at The Herald with sadness, or maybe even… regret.
“You've always wanted to cure-”
And that’s where it cuts out as Jayce's mouth continues to move in the memory, but no sound follows.
The Herald guesses that he didn’t hear it over the roar of those arriving into his collective. Jayce's own memories and emotions had only joined the sea of the others, something The Herald had no time to analyse in the heat of the moment.
All he really remembers is that everyone had been suffering so terribly in their lives, just like he had before he Evolved, and he just wanted to help them.
Well, now, he is helping everyone evolve into beautiful machines and letting their consciousness rest in the cosmic realm of the arcane.
The Herald knew he was helping them all finally find peace and harmony.
So, in the end, it doesn't matter what Jayce had been trying to say.
He is now a perfect machine like The Herald, forever kneeling by his side. He could even sense Jayce's consciousness, floating peacefully, mindlessly , in the universe of the cosmic realm that he controls.
Finally, he can have Jayce in the only way he ever could. Viktor would never be lonely again.
The Herald places a hand on Jayce's shoulder, a copy of the affection they had once held for each other and looks upon the quiet battlefield of his evolved machines, and of those soon to join him in the collective. He truly was victorious.
The Glorious Evolution was here.
And there was much to do.
….
The Arcane Herald finishes the last flourish of the equation he is working on in the stars of the cosmic realm. The golden glow of the people that he has helped find peace, light up the space eerily.
He has done it. He has finally completed the last equation in his world.
The Herald thinks he should be happy or proud of himself, but he rid himself of such emotions long ago.
He feels nothing, and it was this void inside him that allowed his reason to flourish and be able to solve equations that he long thought impossible.
After all, emotions do clash with reason and the results are always impractical and imperfect.
The Herald drifts closer to the consciousness of Jayce, never too far from the other man’s soul, and notices that the golden thread connecting him to the realm remains, just as the Herald remembers.
Although Jayce was no longer the colour of a white opal with its inner rainbow, he is now a shining gold that was almost too bright to look upon. His eyes are closed as if he were sleeping, and his hair softly shifts to a non-existent wind around his bearded face.
He looks almost… ethereal.
Untouchable.
How fitting for the retired Golden Boy.
Still, he speaks to Jayce, even if there is no logical reason for it.
“Jayce,” he says as warmly as he is able to feel. “I have completed the final equation. I now know every answer in life there ever was and ever could be. I have finally achieved the greatest accomplishment of any scientist that ever lived.”
He watches Jayce for a reaction, but silence stretches between them where silence never used to live.
Jayce doesn't smile brightly until the gap in his teeth shows like he once did.
Jayce doesn't hug him so tightly in celebration that the Herald can only melt into his warm embrace.
Jayce doesn't even wrap an arm around his shoulders and lean in to whisper praise about how amazing and hard-working the Herald is.
He just remains in his unconscious state, dreaming of nothing and nobody.
Especially not The Arcane Herald.
Suddenly, something stirs deep inside himself.
Something dark, empty, and never-ending.
Something he forgot he could even do, something he does not want to feel.
Something… lonely .
‘Lonely’?
In alarm, he quickly halts his thoughts and squeezes the strange, horrible feeling down until he feels nothing once again.
The Herald does not feel ‘lonely’. He does not feel at all.
He cannot afford to fall into the trap of human emotions. The risk of destroying the perfection of himself and his work was too great. He cannot let the Glorious Evolution that he fought so hard for be taken from him because he gave into his baser, human nature.
With his thoughts buzzing with questions that he doesn’t address, The Herald clenches his fists and then releases them. He repeats the motion over and over, finding that it was only making him more and more dissatisfied.
He shakes his head, trying to knock the thoughts loose. He cannot stay in the cosmic realm any longer; it was too stifling. The Herald needed the comfort of his physical body made of machine and the arcane.
There, he knows that he won’t feel it again.
He quickly leaves the consciousness of Jayce to be back inside his own body. His metal and well-crafted body holds no pain or suffering for him anymore.
He breathes in deep with a welcomed ease he never felt while he was human, and he sighs. No emotions well up inside him. No confusion, no panic, no loneliness. Just pure reason and logic.
It had all just been an anomaly.
He is a being of science, reason, and logic. Not… emotion.
Gripping his staff tighter, The Herald of the Arcane drifts through the drizzle of rain and the sea of robotic bodies, trying to find something else to occupy his mind from these feelings for what feels like hours.
Or maybe even days; he's not sure anymore. Time seems to slip by him in a blur that he doesn’t care to notice or remember. He looks up into the grey clouds darkening the city and, for a moment, he closes his eyes and listens to the soothing pitter-patter of the rain gently falling against his metal skin.
His body doesn’t feel wet or cold, nor any of those old aches and pains that he used to get when it rained or snowed. His body doesn’t even feel warm, it just remains in a state of neutrality.
He certainly no longer yearns for sitting in hot forges on cold winter days, burning inside as he watches sweat drip down tan skin, or shifting muscles working to create masterpieces. He doesn’t long for warm hazel eyes, sunny smiles, or a hot hand on his back searing his cold and fragile human skin.
He does not need human connections. He did fine without them before Jayce and he is doing fine without them after Jayce.
He doesn’t need or want that anymore.
He doesn’t- he doesn’t- he doesn’t.
Then why does something ache in his chest so horribly that it knocks the air out of his lungs with every breath?
He swallows harshly.
He doesn’t…
The Herald storms off, needing to be anywhere else that wasn’t causing such awful thoughts. He tries to find somewhere to be alone, to prove that he prefers solitude, but realises that he’s practically surrounded by his robotic Evolved.
And they look slightly different since he last saw them.
They were still white, gold, and beautifully made, but he could see rust and the hexcore's membrane beginning to overtake them. Dents and little eroded holes littered their heads and their bodies, and the Herald suspects it was due to the rain falling continuously over a long period of time.
For just how long has he been solving equations for?
Weeks? Months?
No, the damage looked far too much for that.
…. Years?
Plausible, but still unconfirmed. A scientist always needed more data to calculate the proper results. It would be unprofessional of him to just assume.
He closes his eyes as he gains access to each of the collective's eyesight in their robotic form. The Herald quietly hisses in pain as the overload of information hits him all at once.
He sees and hears all of Piltover through many eyes and ears.
And it's overwhelming .
He sees the dust, the smoke, the collapsing buildings, the cracking infrastructure, the rust, the hexcore's membrane on every corner, on every face, and on the barren ground beneath golden feet.
There’s the absence of chatter in the streets. No delighted laughter, no mumbled worries, no angry snarls, grief-filled sobs, or sounds of celebration.
No contentment, happiness, bitterness, sadness, struggle…
No emotion clashing with reason.
No life.
Nothing.
Hands trembling, The Herald swiftly releases his sight on all of Piltover, taking the sensory overload with him, but leaving a dark foreboding feeling behind.
He sags slightly, suddenly feeling an invisible weight dragging him down.
This is what he wanted, isn’t it? A life where no one suffered?
Yes…
No-! Not like-!
He doesn’t-!
His chest constricts painfully, different from the ache in the cosmic realm, and The Herald clutches it as his breathing suddenly quickens.
What is this pain? Why does it weigh him down and rip his chest to shreds at the same time? Why does it make him feel ill?
Why is it happening to him?
Think of something else. Anything else.
Anythinganythinganythinganything. Just make this stop!
Think of the Glorious Evolution. Think about how it is only in its beginning stages. Its imperfections have been removed so a new, better life can flourish.
That's what he saw.
Yes, that’s right…
The Herald sighs with an unsteady relief as some of the pain in his chest dissipates with his reasoning. He swallows back the nausea stuck in his throat.
He just… has to see it with his own eyes… Yeah…
Accomplishments are better experienced in person anyway, so…
So…
So, he pulls his head up high and begins to briskly walk through the city of his dreams realised. His hands shake and he grips his staff tighter than ever to make them stop.
As he walks, he quickly comes to see that his Evolved had been correct; all around them were broken buildings, rust, and the ground cracked and split open beneath their feet.
It was as if Runeterra’s tectonic plates had shifted over a great deal of time. Although, he is quite sure the battle from years past helped the splitting go faster, but to get this amount of change suggests that it has most likely been hundreds of years since the day he was victorious.
And that is… interesting… to say the least.
It means that The Arcane Herald is capable of living well past a regular human’s lifespan. With the changed environment alone, he knows he could be well over 200 years old.
Trepidation makes him pause. He didn't even realise that time had moved so quickly…
He doesn't know if that is ultimately good or bad, but he chooses to think of the positives.
Living longer means more time to re-create the utopia he had found in the commune.
It means more time to solve any other problems that arise.
It means time is on his side.
The Herald hums, pleased with himself.
With a more confident stride in his step, he further wanders the streets, and, without the need for basic human needs like food or rest, he remains longer in his thoughts than one usually would. Thinking of all of the things he can do with all the time he has.
That is, until he almost steps onto the hexcore's colourful membrane covering a part of a street corner. He focuses on it out of curiosity, eager for a new subject to study.
It looks like the residue of the hexcore’s own brand of arcane magic. As a being connected to the arcane, The Herald can feel the low hum of power in the air.
It was airborne. That must be how it was getting into every crack and corner, and every little creature that crawled by his feet or flew by his head. Almost like a… a…
Like a disease .
But… but, that can't be right…
The arcane and the hexcore help people. Not infect everything it touches.
Uneasy, The Herald steps away from the membrane to continue exploring.
Every bit of destruction he sees makes him feel heavier and heavier with every step. It really was everything that was destroyed. No more buildings or people, just the Evolved littering the smoke covered streets.
He walks and walks, for what feels like days, until he starts seeing less of his collective, and more of the people that once lived here.
And it seems that not everybody was able to join The Herald in the Glorious Evolution.
He walks past frozen dead bodies of people, all of them looking as if they had been running away from danger and then turned into a stone-like substance as they died. Some had even ran towards the carriages in the hopes of evacuation before their death.
The faces of the dead remained forever twisted in fear or despair. Their bodies begin to hollow out from time, rot, and the residue of the hexcore. Some hold their babies and children close, somehow hoping to protect them in their final moments, but nonetheless failing.
The Herald drops his gaze, not entirely sure why dread spreads through him like a poison as he looks at them all.
He didn't know that this had happened. He had simply let the hexcore take control of his body and continue the efforts of the Glorious Evolution, while he had wandered off on his own into the cosmic realm.
He had gone where it was calm, soothing, and a little bit golden and familiar to start solving problems for the world.
All he wanted was to help people. Not…
This.
Not this horror all around him that makes his mind dizzy, and his insides hollow out into nausea. He just wants to close his eyes and not look anymore. He doesn’t want to know, but something inside him screams at him to keep his eyes open and witness everything around him.
Witness what you have done, Viktor
His head spins and he leans further onto his staff for support. If he thought it possible, he might even think he was going to faint.
The Herald continues, each step heavy as he goes, before he halts to a stop by a couple, holding each other in the throes of their death.
Maybe they had been a family. Maybe they had just been friends. Maybe they had been strangers who needed that last bit of comfort before their world ended.
Or maybe they had been partners whose affection had held them together through their last moments.
His stomach abruptly twists with nausea, and he tries to swallow past a lump in his throat. He tries to take a gulp of breath, but it catches painfully.
He frantically looks around him at the dead bodies in the streets, and the rain seems loud in comparison to the silence, making his head hurt.
No one lived here anymore.
Just The Herald, the dead, and his Evolved that he controls.
No one to remember him and his achievements.
No one to fight for. No one to lead. No one to create for. No one to live for.
No one to yearn for.
And it’s all his fault.
And he feels- he feels -
He…
He -
“You've always wanted to cure-”
Time halts.
The rain falls.
He doesn't move.
He doesn't think.
He doesn't breathe.
.
.
.
.
.
.
What had Jayce said?
He…
.
He doesn't know…
…
….
……
Slowly, The Herald lowers his gaze to the ground, the rain sliding easily off his face to splash a mosaic of ripples into a puddle. For the first time in what feels like forever, he sees himself in the water.
He's taller than he used to be. Thinner, too. With a body of dark grey and purple metal with gold accents. And grey featureless profile that could be mistaken for a mask over his split open human face. He also carries a staff that isn't needed as an aid anymore but still remains by his side.
He is perfect…
Or at least… he should be…
Drops of rain fall like tears from the sides of his face where his old human features remain frozen in a peaceful death, and it lands into the puddle.
Ripples obscure the reflection, and, for just a flicker of time, he sees a pale-white human face with brown, short flyaway hair, and intense amber eyes looking up at him in pure, unadulterated horror .
A chill runs through him and The Herald reels away with a gasp, his heart thundering in his ears. A sharp pain flares behind his eyes, and he presses against them, hard with his hands to relieve the pain. He fiercely shakes his head.
No.
Nonononono. Don’t look at him like that! Not like that.
Like it knows what he is.
Like it knows what he has done.
But The Herald doesn't want to know.
He doesn't want to know.
He whips his head around him, looking for somebody to help him, to take it all away, but he sees destruction, death, and a rot that goes deeper than the hexcore's infection.
He tries to turn away, to stop looking and realising and knowing, but on every surface around him- on the broken glass, collapsed buildings, the puddles, the shiny faces of his robots- he sees his human self looking back at him.
They're all crying, judging him, faces lined with disappointment and anger, and they're all pointing at him as if he was a- was a-!
“Don't look at me like that!” He shouts at them, spinning in every direction that they appear. “I am not a MONSTER! ”
His voice echoes around the dead city, repeating the word ‘monster, monster, monster!’ around him, and he freezes. All his human faces turn to pity, and it hurts more than anything they could have ever spat at him.
The Herald’s scared heaving breaths are loud in the quiet, and the rain continues to fall on him without a care for who he is and what he has done. His human reflections abandon him in disappointment, leaving the dead to cast their eyes upon him instead.
And their judgement is agony.
A sob rips from deep inside his chest and out of his throat, and he shudders violently.
He can't avoid it anymore.
The Herald knows now, and he wants to run and hide. He doesn't want to think it, say it, feel it, but he knows-
-he knows he knows he knows-
He did this.
The Glorious Evolution was a failure and always had been.
He didn’t save a soul. He killed everyone.
He destroyed the world.
A pain in his stomach forces him to bend over and he gags as he suppresses the urge to vomit. But then, he heaves and instinctually opens the two halves of his human mouth on either side of his mask, and saliva drips from them.
Nausea makes his head and stomach spin, triggering his gag reflex. The Herald heaves again until he vomits up bile from his centuries-old empty stomach.
His skin crawls as he takes a shaky step back.
No. No!
Pressure builds into his head and a thousand voices scream at him at once, and he hisses in pain. He clutches his head and sinks onto his knees.
Make it stop! Somebody make it stop!
Unbidden, he struggles to gasp in a breath and shouts into the emptiness.
“JAY-!”
A tiny, tinkling sound echoes loudly in the quiet and the Herald goes rigid. He shakily looks down to the source and sees a little grey and purple piece of metal, in the shape of a cylinder. Numbly, he reaches to pick it up, but stops when he notices his pinky finger is no longer metal.
It's human flesh.
Viktor- no- The Herald- NO - Viktor!
…The Herald? - looks between the metal piece on the ground and slowly back to his human pinky finger.
Oh. He's falling apart…
He needs someone to fix him. Someone who knows machines as well as Viktor does. Someone to make him shiny and new again.
To make him feel better.
.
.
.
…He needs to see Jayce …
In a daze, he sways as he stands. He turns from the perished couple, the frozen and terrified people, the broken buildings, the hexcore's infection on everything it touches, and he heads to the one place that he knows that can bring him solace.
Time blurs together as he drags himself to the top of the Hexgate ruins, and there, in the distance, he sees Jayce.
Still in the same position as the day he was absorbed into the collective and turned into a perfect machine. Still as a statue with his giant hammer in hand.
Unchanged, unmoved, and unloved .
He takes a shaky step towards Jayce and something heavy clunks to the ground behind him, making him feel lighter. He ignores it, already knowing he’ll see grey and purple, but not caring as his eyes can only see Jayce.
On the one person who can make him feel a little bit better in the mess he has caused.
Every step forward, a metallic clang or clank resounds behind him, and with every step, he feels a weight lift off him. And he ignores it because Jayce is there and Jayce is alone and Jayce needs his partner , and Viktor needs him- and- and-
-Jayce, Jayce, Jayce, Jayce.
He wants to see Jayce and be smiled at and hugged and congratulated. He wants Jayce to tell him they were friends and partners again, even if it lifts him up as much as it crushes him that they'll never be more.
Every step closer to Jayce and he can feel himself shrink in height. He even starts to feel a small twinge in his right leg that builds into a jarring pain that travels from his hip, all the way to his toes. It hurts so much that he uses his staff as a support to help him walk.
He pants in exertion as he continues to move unsteadily, but soon stumbles and trips, his back aching along with his leg. He doesn’t catch himself with his staff on time and collapses to the barren, wet ground with a shout of pain. His staff clatters to the ground and rolls out of his reach.
Viktor lays flat on his stomach and then lifts his upper body onto his elbows. Wet, shoulder length hair falls into his face, and he grits his teeth in frustration and pain. He curses to himself in his native tongue.
He’s unused to the way his body feels after hundreds of years as a machine, and yet it's all too familiar.
All too human.
He takes a deep breath and feels himself harden with determination. He must make it to Jayce. He needs to be by Jayce’s side.
Viktor starts crawling on his belly to make his way to Jayce, knowing getting up would only be more pain and a waste of energy. He ignores every sharp rock beneath him, lucky to have his blanket-turned-tunic protecting his now human flesh.
His arms ache with every movement forward, his leg and back protest every second, sweat drips off him from every pore, and his heart hammers in his chest as he continues to breathe heavily from exertion.
It all hurts so much; his body, his mind, his heart , but the idea of seeing Jayce again keeps him going. He didn't even care that his clothes and hands were becoming soaked and dirty.
Finally, he reaches Jayce, and Viktor grips onto the base of the giant hammer to slowly pull himself up. The agony in his right leg, hip, and his back flare terribly, and he screams through the pain until he is upright onto his knees.
He clutches the long handle of the hammer for support, and leans his head against Jayce’s clenched hands that remain frozen on its grip of the hammer. He closes his eyes and tries to centre his mind as he breathes through the all-consuming pain.
The pain gradually becomes a dull ache- always there but a little easier to tolerate- and his breathing slows with it. With a spark of bravery, Viktor straightens up and hesitantly lets go of the hammer. He wobbles for a moment, but forces himself to remain upright.
Viktor sighs, and then finally, finally, he looks at Jayce.
And his heart drops.
In front of him is a rusted machine with the membrane of the hexcore slowly infecting it.
The surface of its metal skin had small indents of the rain that had fallen over many, many years. Slowly chipping away at his body, until soon, there would be nothing left but a hollow husk.
The rain falls onto the body still, making the blank, mannequin face look like it was crying.
Something horrible wells up inside him at the sight.
Something that burns his throat, pricks his eyes, and turns his stomach, but he holds the dam back and reaches out to touch Jayce's empty face.
And it is cold.
Snatching his hand back with a gasp, his heart pounds in his chest erratically.
Jayce was never a cold or emotionless person.
His face had always been expressive and honest, something Viktor had liked more than his handsome features. He was warm, passionate, smart, a little naive, and, especially, he was kind.
In Viktor's eyes, Jayce had never needed to become an empty machine because he had already been perfect.
Viktor takes a shuddering breath, and sobs. He clasps the cold, blank face in his filthy hands, and desperately utters, “No. No . This isn't you! I can- I can fix it. I can put you back into your body. I can make you as you were . I… I know the Arcane! The wild ruins! I know it all! I can fix anything .”
He clenches his eyes shut and forcibly wills himself back to the void of the cosmic realm. He snaps his eyes open to the dark, starry space, and twists and turns, trying to catch sight of the golden glow that could only belong to Jayce Talis.
Viktor finally spots Jayce and races towards him. They can be whatever Jayce wants them to be; friends, science partners, rivals, bitter enemies, strangers- Viktor doesn't care . He just needs Jayce to be alive and warm again.
Once there, he grabs the man's avatar and pulls from the arcane within him to try and put Jayce back where he belongs. The golden consciousness doesn't move. It doesn't talk or do anything. Jayce just floats in his dreamless state as if Viktor wasn't there at all.
He cups Jayce’s face in both of his hands and his bottom lip trembles. “Please, Jayce. Open your eyes. Talk to me. Give me something.”
Suddenly, a spark crackles between them, making Viktor reel back with a shout of shock and pain. Memories and emotions flood his mind in a torrent of information, and the overload shoves him back into his body with a gasp.
He remains motionless, helplessly staring into the horribly serene features of Jayce.
The arcane refused to work for Viktor. It can't without a functioning body. And this one was hollow and broken.
“No.” Viktor shakes his head frantically, his whole body trembling. He looks down at his unclean human hands and tears begin to well in his eyes. “ No! I know everything in this universe! I control the arcane! I should be able to fix you! Why can't I fix you?!”
And suddenly, he is a little boy again.
A little boy who doesn't know how to fix himself or people, or know what to say, or how to act, or what to do to make friends.
Watching people and never joining them. Loving them and never saying anything. Wanting to run, jump, and play, and be a part of their world for just one moment…
But, in the end, he's just a little boy who fixes toy boats all alone and stumbles after them instead.
They're all he knows, but Viktor doesn’t want to play with toys or robots or magic anymore.
Viktor wants someone with warm smiles, passion that inspires others, an intellectual equal, and someone who cares to stop and wait for him when he lags behind.
He wants Jayce Talis.
All he wants is Jayce. All he ever wanted was Jayce .
A heavy weight suddenly falls off of Viktor's face and lands on the ground with a thud. He numbly looks down and sees the grey mask of The Arcane Herald. A tear follows it and lands onto the metal.
Another. And another, and another, and another, until Viktor, the man, starts crying in full.
He throws himself at Jayce, wrapping his arms around the lifeless body, and weeps.
He weeps for the people he killed, the city he destroyed, he sobs for the people he absorbed into his collective, he bawls for himself, alone once again.
And most of all, he mourns the loss of Jayce Talis.
The one man to ever see him, know him, accept him, and love him.
Viktor truly understands now with that spark. He knows everything. Every thought, every memory, and every feeling Jayce ever had; Viktor knows.
He has foreign memories and emotions swirling in his mind of every heartbeat, every flutter of nerves, every wave of affection. The yearning, the obsession, and the desperate need to be around Viktor in the lab forever.
He sees Jayce smiling softly as he watches Viktor work, paying attention to his hands around a pen or the intensity in his eyes. Thoughts about admiring his ambition, intelligence, and kindness even in moments where Viktor was at his lowest.
He feels Jayce’s heart beating faster whenever they would accidentally lean in close, his gaze focusing on Viktor’s lips or the flutter of eyelashes. He knew of the nights Jayce would agonise over Viktor’s curled smiles, bad jokes, or the wild shine of discovery in his amber eyes, but he would tell himself that being friends and research partners was the only way they could stay together.
He then feels the fear and desperation of Jayce carrying Viktor's dead body to the lab.
To the hexcore .
The crying and screaming for him to live, and the frightening determination to bring Viktor back to life, no matter the consequences. And then the following guilt and regret of ignoring Viktor’s wishes and resurrecting him for Jayce’s own selfish needs.
Viktor also sees Jayce’s last memory of being alive.
Jayce had come to the Arcane Herald to right his wrongs and to bring Viktor back from the brink of no return. He can hear Jayce from years ago in the cosmic realm, talking to Viktor with a sincerity and an ache that now hurts to listen to.
“You've always wanted to cure what you thought were weaknesses. Your leg, your disease. But you were never broken, Viktor. There is beauty in imperfections. They made you who you are. An inseparable piece of everything I admired about you.”
But The Herald had not listened.
Even as Jayce had faded into the collective, Viktor could sense the feelings of love, trust, and unconditional forgiveness that Jayce had held for him.
Jayce had loved Viktor, as Viktor had loved Jayce.
And Viktor had killed him.
A guttural scream of despair rips from his throat as he hangs onto Jayce’s body. Viktor's nails dig into the metal of his back, in the search for skin, for warmth , but, instead, he only breaks his nails until they start bleeding.
Jayce Talis was dead, and it was Victor’s fault.
Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy why-
“ Why did you love me?! How could you forgive me?! I’m a MONSTER!”
Viktor gets no answer and it only shatters him more.
He continues to scream until his throat hurts and his voice starts to fail him. Viktor scratches his face along his cheeks with his bloody, dirty, and jagged nails in the hopes of ripping himself apart. The guilt eats him from the inside, and he lets it, hoping it will destroy him.
When he no longer has the energy to scream or cry or hurt himself, he hugs Jayce, trying to copy his warm and tight hugs that he used to give Viktor. He strokes his unmoving face and even kisses Jayce the way the both of them had imagined in their fantasies of each other.
But none of it makes him feel better.
Viktor just remains a human with a broken heart, and Jayce remains as a statue that will never move again.
Without a response to anything he does, Viktor slumps next to Jayce, numb inside and out.
Days then turn into nights and then back into days; over and over again for what may be months or years for all that Viktor cares to know. The rain falls and falls and falls and never seems to stop. He doesn’t eat or sleep, and the hexcore inside him makes sure to keep his body alive while his mind drifts away into the safety of his mind.
Viktor's chipped nails grow long, his cheeks heal over with the hexcore’s membrane forever infecting his wounds, and he grows a small beard. The infection was even beginning to leech into the fabric of the faded blue blanket that Jayce given him years ago.
What could he even do to make any of this better? Kill himself?
He’d love to, just so he could be with Jayce again, but it really wouldn’t fix anything. Viktor would just be running from what he did to Jayce, the city, and all of those in his collective, and that was not fair on them.
But Viktor didn't know where to start or where to even look for a way to make up for what he's done…
Numbly, he looks around the area. It was grey and barren and had nothing but broken pieces of the Hexgate that had once been their dream.
Viktor leans his head against Jayce’s side and looks up into his porcelain white face. It has holes caused by the rain eroding it and one side of his face looks ready to crumble, and he suddenly aches for the one Viktor knew and loved the most.
A beautiful and weary tan face with pink and uneven lips, ever-changing hazel eyes, scars that spoke of a life fully lived, and even the dark beard Jayce had grown in the last few months of his life.
Jayce always reminded Viktor of the warm colours of a sunny garden. Of greens, and browns, and pinks, and reds, and imperfect whites.
But there was none of that here.
There was nothing beautiful in this rainy, desolate graveyard of hopes, dreams, and love.
He shuts his eyes, wondering if maybe death really is the answer. He could find some way to destroy the hexcore and kill himself. He knew he was smart enough to figure it out eventually…
Viktor might even get to be with Jayce in the afterlife, if one existed.
The idea solidifies in his mind the more he thinks on it, and Viktor slowly begins to relax as a cold acceptance overtakes him.
.
.
But then.
He hears it.
“Am I interrupting?”
Viktor’s eyes snap open as he jolts upright at the sound of Jayce’s voice. He frantically looks around him, hoping to see a tall man with broad shoulders and a compassionate smile.
The body of Jayce remains unmoving, but Viktor knows that he heard his voice.
He knows it.
He grabs a hold of the giant hammer once again and starts pulling himself up, determination pumping through his veins. He grits his teeth against the pain in his leg and back, and heaves himself to his feet.
Pure adrenaline and hope push Viktor to walk forward in the hopes of finding Jayce, but before he can go anywhere, his vision blurs and he no longer sees the ruins of the Hexgate.
A flash of images and emotions flow through him at rapid speed, but Viktor sees all of them clearly.
They’re from the point of view of someone tall, looking down and gazing at Viktor from the past. Viktor’s body seemed hunched and frail, clearly affected by his terminal disease, but his eyes burned with a strength that left an imprint on the owner of the memories heart.
There’s worry, adoration, and pride directed towards Viktor in all the memories. There’s also the urge to reach out and leave a supportive hand on his back as Viktor heavily leans on his crutch for support as he walks away.
A big hand, ready to follow or catch Viktor if he needed it, but most of all, it was just an excuse to touch Viktor at all.
The memories begin to fade, and his own eyesight returns to him. Viktor turns in shock to look at Jayce kneeling beside him.
“Jayce?” He murmurs hopefully.
There is no answer. No movement.
But he feels it.
Deep inside of Viktor, a part of Jayce lived.
At least, his memories did.
A bubble of delirious and relieved laughter slowly escapes him. It's loud and manic in the falling rain, but he doesn’t care that he sounds insane! A part of Jayce lives!
He wraps his arms around himself, hoping to reach Jayce in the void inside. Unbidden, he sobs as tears well up in his eyes. “You’re alive! You’re alive!”
Again, he gets no answer, but that was fine with Viktor. He could live with the scraps and remnants of Jayce if it meant a part of him still existed in the world.
Viktor places a hand on Jayce’s shoulder for support as his laughter dies down and looks up into the dark and cloudy sky with a small, tired smile on his face.
Anything was better than nothing at all, really.
The adrenaline inside his veins starts to dwindle the more he stares at the clouds, and his smile falls. With every breath out, a puff of condensation follows, and the chill in his damp clothes makes him shiver. He didn’t realise how cold it was until now.
The rain hits his face, wetting the dry and flaky feeling on his cheeks. He gingerly touches it and pulls away to see flakes of dried blood washing away with the rain.
The sight doesn’t faze him. He had deserved the pain after all.
Suddenly, memories belonging to Jayce suddenly flash in his mind and he gasps in surprise.
Viktor, dead and broken in his arms. Viktor, dead inside the commune. Viktor, as the Arcane Herald, dead on the inside.
Jayce hated seeing Viktor hurt. Jayce had wanted to save him every time. Jayce never wanted anything to hurt Viktor. Not even Viktor himself.
Viktor blinks, coming back to himself, and shakes his head to rid himself of the lingering thoughts that weren’t his own.
He chuckles sadly. He absentmindedly pats Jayce’s shoulder in thanks. “Okay, Jayce. I understand. I’ll… do better. For you.”
He closes his eyes as bittersweet tears run down his face, and he lifts his head up so the rain can wash away the leftover dry blood. Viktor wipes the rest of the blood off with his blanket, sad that it was stained with mud and now blood.
But still, Viktor smiles, knowing it would have made Jayce happy that he was taking care of himself, even just a little bit.
Once the tacky feeling fully washes away, Viktor grimaces at the ache in his back and neck.
He must have been looking up for too long, probably longer than he was aware of, and Jayce’s shoulder wasn’t the right height to use as a support for his leg. He adjusts his stance slightly, trying to relieve the ache, but a sharp pain in his right leg almost makes his knee buckle underneath him.
Viktor hisses in pain and quickly looks around him. He needs his staff, and he needs it now.
(He must take care of himself. He has to for Jayce.)
It doesn’t take him long to see his fallen staff, having rolled next to a shiny piece of scrap metal that used to belong to the Hexgate. Viktor limps his way to it, only stopping to take small breaks to stop and breath through the shooting pain up his leg and back.
It’s not long until he reaches it, and Viktor leans down to pick it up. His back stretches and pops as he bends and he sucks in a breath at the momentary pain that then bleeds into a mild relief. He pauses, bracing himself for the discomfort of standing up again.
He needs to conjure some leg and back braces for himself as soon as possible. With the arcane and the runes, he could make something more supportive and less cumbersome. Maybe even something below the surface of his skin so he does not have the burden of them rusting in all of this rain.
Viktor wouldn’t be fully healed like he was as the Herald, but it certainly could be better than before the hexcore came into his life.
He grips his staff tightly and then uses it to straighten up. He grunts as a sharpness stabs his spine with the movement, and he closes his eyes and breathes in measured and controlled breaths until the pain dissipates.
He then opens his eyes, and, as he does, Viktor catches sight of himself in the reflective metal ruins and freezes at the sight before him.
It is just a man.
A pale, tired old man with a small unkempt beard, shoulder length hair, the hexcore’s membrane infecting his cheeks, and a thin body wrapped in a blanket of guilt and sentimental feelings.
Something in his eyes noticeably shifts and he cautiously leans in closer to the metal to get a better look.
His eyes used to be amber as a human, but now they remained the swirling rainbow of the hexcore’s influence. Just like they had been when he was in the commune, and only half-way through his full transformation.
He… doesn’t really know what he is now…
A human? A machine? A monster?
Viktor studies himself, not finding any of the answers that he once thought he had, and then, he hears it.
Not of Jayce this time, no, but of a whisper in his mind.
And Viktor knows its voice, having had many centuries with it in his head.
The hexcore tells him to evolve once again, to become The Arcane Herald, and to continue their goal of the Glorious Evolution.
They could do so much together; they already had , but there was always more to learn, more to do. The hexcore had already given Viktor the knowledge of the Arcane and the runes, but they could seek other types of magic, other towns, worlds, timelines, and spread the glory to all.
The hexcore could fully heal Viktor’s leg and back one more time. It had gotten rid of his disease, too, but it was now lingering inside his lungs, waiting to kill him once more. He would never have to struggle or feel pain again. He would no longer have to feel anything.
And wasn’t that nice? Wasn’t that safe? Wasn’t that just marvellous?
Yes , he thinks, it would be.
But he was no longer Viktor the naive and desperate human, or the emotionless conqueror called The Arcane Herald.
He was neither. He was both.
He was someone else entirely.
Someone who doesn’t give in to the tempting whispers of the hexcore and uses it instead.
He was the one in control now, not the hexcore.
Viktor straightens up with confidence, standing tall in the reflection with his staff in hand, unflinching at what he has become. Then, he blinks, and a flash of one of Jayce’s childhood memories overtakes him.
A man- no, a Mage- saving Jayce and his mother in a snowstorm with Arcane runes. Teleporting them all into a beautiful green meadow with colourful flowers. And Jayce receiving the gift that changes his life forever; a blue rune stone.
The Mage had then disappeared without a word. Just as the memory starts to fade for Viktor, he feels how Jayce had been a little sad that he never got to say thank you to the mage for saving them and for giving him the blue stone.
The Mage was his hero and Jayce wanted to be just like him.
Viktor blinks again, coming back into his own reality, and sees in the reflection that very same Mage from Jayce’s memory.
Unbidden, he huffs out a small, sardonic chuckle. He turns away from his reflection and gazes wistfully at Jayce’s remains from afar. “Is that you trying to tell me something, Jayce? I’m neither human nor a machine, but a Mage who travels through time and saves people?”
A memory of being in front of an applauding and cheering audience fills his mind in answer, and Viktor can’t help the small, amused grin spreading on his face. “That sounds… pretty okay to me. Maybe a little egotistical, but this is you we are talking about, Jayce.”
Feelings of past moments of amusement and laughter that they shared passes through Viktor from Jayce, bringing a bittersweet tear to his eye.
“Oh, Jayce…” he sighs wearily. “You’re too good . You deserved better than me…”
Viktor sharply waves a hand towards the ruins, the rainy sky that never seems to stop, a dead city in the distance, and fields of dreamless solitude for the rest of his long, long life. “You deserved better than all of this.”
His hand falls to his side limply and he stares mournfully at the white robotic body of the man he once loved. A man who reminded Viktor of gardens, scientific discoveries, creations and inventions, and all kinds of beauty in the world.
He was someone who deserved better even in death.
That’s right. Jayce deserved to be surrounded by nature in his place of rest, and to always have the sun shining on him. He deserved to be surrounded by something alive, colourful, warm, and inviting, and everything that represents Jayce.
Viktor turns slightly to look at his reflection again, and he sees the great almighty Mage that Jayce trusted, who just so happens to have the very power to control the weather…
Or to go back in time to create all the timelines he could ever want with all sorts of different runes.
And all Viktor wants is Jayce Talis.
He wants any and all versions of Jayce to live just a little bit better than the last.
So, he will make it better for Jayce. He will bring the beauty of life to Jayce’s grave. He will fix what he has done.
Viktor will find Jayce in every timeline and in every possibility. Because without Viktor, there would be no Jayce. And without Jayce, there would be no Viktor.
He smiles faintly to himself with the small smatterings of hope growing inside him, before walking back to Jayce’s side with the aid of his staff.
Viktor painfully bends down, and places a gentle kiss on Jayce's brow. He then leans his forehead against Jayce’s own, and whispers, “Thank you, Jayce. Only you could show me what I need to do. Only you. ”
Standing back up, Viktor takes a deep breath and focuses deep inside himself for the hexcore and the arcane it wields. It’s almost too easy as he forcibly grabs a hold of it and refuses to let go no matter how much it thrashes inside his mind.
Viktor is in control now, not the hexcore.
Viktor plants his feet as best as he can and swings his staff through the air. A blue brilliant light follows each movement as he writes runes into the fabric of reality that would only make sense to a select few.
The air around him begins to quicken and swirl with every new rune, and a glowing blue circle of magic begins to appear around Viktor. The runes dance in the spiralling wind and he feels a tug of magic from within.
He takes a hold of it and pushes the wind around him outwards with ease. He keeps pushing until the clouds part and the rain stops above them, allowing the sun to break through.
They were now in the eye of the storm as the swirling and rushing wind remained as a shield between the rainy, depressing Piltover and Jayce's gravesite. Then, the glowing blue light fades, and Viktor is only left with sunlight, silence, and Jayce.
Viktor takes a moment to bask in the sunshine as it begins to leach away the cold and wet from his body. He lets out a long sigh of contentment as memories of Jayce in a sunny green meadow, cheering with the joy of being saved by a Mage plays in his mind.
It sounds like Jayce would have liked this little patch of imperfection that Viktor created for him, even if it's all he can do for Jayce for now.
Viktor then quietly gasps as he watches in awe as a blue butterfly comes out of hiding and lands on Jayce's head. It flaps its delicate wings, ridding itself of the rain. He stares at it, and its fragile existence strengthens his inner resolve.
Maybe one day, more bugs and animals will return, and they will help the plant life grow and thrive and, hopefully, bring this little resting place some colour and vitality.
Viktor places his hand on Jayce's shoulder, the gentle movement scaring the butterfly away. “I will fix this, Jayce. Maybe not for us or for the people I hurt, but maybe I can fix a version of our world in another time. You’ve shown me that it’s possible.”
And then, whether he fails or succeeds, he will come back to this place and let the disease in his lungs finally kill him. He can be together with his Jayce in death.
Reluctant to abandon Jayce’s body, Viktor forces himself to turn and leave, pulling the hood of his robe over his head.
It was time to stop the fruitless pursuit of greatness, and time to start doing good.
For the people of Piltover. For the people of Zaun.
For Viktor.
For Jayce.
And, maybe, in a different timeline, Jayce and Viktor could finally be together…
The Mage smiles.
He was determined to find out.
If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that I'd like to do
Is to save every day
'Til eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you
-Time in a Bottle by Jim Croce