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The air smelled sickeningly sweet in the Herald's territory. Every time Jayce had to pause to give his aching leg a break, leaning on his staff and heaving for breath, he could taste it in the back of his throat. Like overripe fruit, right on the verge of rot.
He wanted to stop. He wanted to lay down on the ground and let the arcane-tainted grass grow over him. The pain in his leg had grown the longer he forced himself to walk on it, making its way into his hips and back, carving knives under his skin and into his bones. His only thought was to keep going, keep pushing, keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Just by being here, he was a traitor. Crowds of nameless faces pressed at his back, waiting for him to save them. To defend them against the encroaching threat of the Herald.
He couldn't do it. He was... so tired, and everything hurt. Even when he wasn't pushing his body past its limits, even when he ate well and slept almost enough and the ever-present ache in his poorly-healed leg was just background noise, he was in endless, screaming, agony.
He was a traitor. He was dooming everyone. He was dooming himself.
It wasn't in him to care, anymore. Jayce was done. There was only one thing he wanted, and he would either get it or he would be killed, assimilated into the Herald's hive mind. Either way, his pain would end. He hurt so much, too much, constantly. The only person who had ever made this pain end before was dead.
And maybe Jayce was sick for wanting to curl up next to his still-warm corpse. The Herald. Viktor. Whatever happened, whatever it meant, it didn't matter. He was so tired of being in pain.
He just wanted... even, just for a second, before the Herald tore his mind away...
He wanted Viktor. Whatever was left of him.
No one stopped him from entering the Commune. The Herald's favored followers, the ones who kept their faces and an inkling of their previous selves, watched him stagger in with arcane-tinted eyes. He had no doubt the Herald was watching him through them.
He had no weapons. He was injured, half-starved. He wasn't a threat to them. They had no reason to prevent him from stumbling his way to the Core where the Herald resided. Just another sickly, unevolved human seeking salvation.
Their perfect, youthful faces haunted his uneven steps. The quiet murmur of their voices stalked him. These people were a step away from the mindless drones that marched on the world, and yet they were all so...
Not happy, but serene. At peace. At the service of the Herald, their own wills eclipsed by his. Jayce may end up one of them. That wouldn't be so bad, he thought. Better than staying as he was, which was... intolerable.
There was no guard at the Core's entrance. Jayce couldn't even dismiss it as hubris. Entire armies had fallen trying to carve their way to the center of the Herald's rapidly expanding territory. The only reason Jayce stood here now was because the Herald allowed it.
He clung to his staff and took those final, painful steps inside.
The Herald was alone. In his monstrous form, grotesquely beautiful, he stood at the Core's center, his Hexcore staff held aloft. No doubt commanding his drone armies from afar. Claiming more land. Evolving more people.
Jayce would almost think the Herald hadn't noticed him, if he didn't know better.
His knees gave out a short stride from the Herald, and he let himself fall, his own staff slipping from his fingers and clattering down beside him. He grit his teeth against the agony that coursed through him when he struck the ground, stifling a grunt.
The Herald lowered his staff, fixing his glowing, piercing gaze on Jayce.
"Jayce." That voice. Horrifically almost-familiar, shaping the words the way Viktor once had, but bastardized in its sound. Even so, it was so good to hear his name wrapped in it. To imagine it as a warm greeting from his partner. "I knew you would find your way to me, eventually."
Yes. So did Jayce. An inevitability he fought against until it broke him.
"Hoping to negotiate?" The Herald guessed. "Appeal to my... sentimentalities? You, in exchange for the world?"
A laugh barked from Jayce's throat. If that were a deal that would ever work, he would've made it a long time ago. No, he held no illusions about his value in the Herald's eyes. "I don't care about the world," he rasped. "I surrender."
The Herald said nothing, examining him. He began to circle Jayce, thoughtful, watchful, his lengthy frame disappearing behind Jayce's back. His skin prickled at the scrutiny, feeling like a dubious sample beneath a microscope.
"You surrender," the Herald said from behind him. A finger brushed over the back of his neck, lingering, and his whole body shivered. "After so much effort resisting."
Jayce let out a stuttering breath, slumping forward. "I'm tired. And..."
The Herald circled back in front of him. Two long fingers curled under Jayce's chin and yanked upward, forcing him to strain to look into the Herald's face. The Herald bent down until they were only inches apart. Jayce's breath quickened.
The mask. The glowing eyes. Viktor's face on either side, eyes sealed forever shut.
"And?" the Herald prompted.
"I miss you." The admission ripped from him like a bandage sealed over an open wound, tearing off the scab and bleeding freely once more. His eyes burned with tears, and he could do nothing to stop a few from escaping. His voice cracked. "I miss you."
The Herald slid his hand over his cheek, running his thumb under Jayce's eye, brushing away the wetness there. Jayce nearly collapsed into the gentle touch. He wanted to reach out, wrap his arms around the Herald's knees and weep for comfort like a child.
"Well, then," the Herald said. Pleased, or whatever equivalent the Herald was capable of. "What will I do with you?"
"Anything," Jayce answered. "Anything you want."