The streets of Piltover are more crowded now than Progress Day has ever been. People push past each other, some gawking at the smoldering building above while others cry and scream. Most were woken by the ear-splitting explosion, the first sight out their windows being columns of smoke. Countless emotions flow through the crowd, painted across their faces in a spectrum of fear and confusion. Unlike them, Viktor has only one feeling; Pure fear. It grips his face, holding onto him just as tightly as Heimerdinger holds his shoulder.
The scientist would make even the most aggressive pedestrian seem polite as he made his way to the council building, shoving past whoever got in his way. He speeds through the opulent streets with almost superhuman speed, his non-crippled leg beginning to exhaust. Viktor ignores its cries, willing himself forward. He bounds past a crying family, chunks of the council’s wall collapsed onto their house in the night. He rushes even faster.
The moon seems to redden as he approaches the doors. The enforcers brace their weapons, prepared to stop this charging, cloaked figure from getting any closer. They halt immediately at the unforgettable sight of Heimerdinger. As they see him riding on top of Vitkor, they look at each other with confusion. The guards open the door for the pair hesitantly, seeing no reason to stop the respected dean and former counselor.
Viktor’s enhanced lungs feel barely winded as he makes his way up dozens of flights of stairs, bolting past enforcers and doctors who jog up at a respectable pace. Not fast enough for Viktor. He needs to see him now.
He blasts into the smoke and dust, tripping over piles of rubble as he searches for his friend. Heimerdinger leaps off, using his small stature to look through small gaps to search for bodies buried in the rubble. Wisps of blue light levitate gently through the room, exactly opposite of the orange flames that flicker across the council’s important documents and papers.
Finally reaching the enormous opening left by the rocket, Viktor glares. Pieces of the offending missile lie satisfied in the disintegrated bricks, its graffitied smile mocking the obliterated council. But the image beside it makes Viktor truly believe he is hallucinating. A man and woman stand, Jayce and Mel, the pair miraculously appearing unharmed. Around them, the floor is immaculate. Cracks in the floor that should’ve reached under and then far past the duo stop suddenly, a full circle around them completely unharmed by the violent attack. Even the dust and soot stops at the edge, like someone had decided to clean just one round spot on their table.
A tall, imposing Noxian woman–Mel’s mother, Viktor assumes–snaps orders to the disorganized and panicked enforcers that rushed to the scene. Jayce and Mel are in shock as well, both of them afraid and confused at the carnage around them.
“Jayce…” Viktor walks up to him slowly, and reaches out a single finger, tapping him on the cheek like a research subject, testing to make sure he’s real.
“Viktor… what… why are you here? Do you know what happened?” Jayce mumbles, his eyes looking past Viktor toward a body being escorted away.
“I…I saw the explosion,” Viktor decides not to go into detail, he could tell Jayce later, “I came as fast as I could. I’m just glad you’re ok…” He whispers, hugging his best friend. Viktor has lived with the fact he would die young for his whole life. Only recently that fact changed. Never before had it even crossed his mind that a friend would die before him…
“I also saw the stretchers on my way… how many?” Viktor asks solemnly, the fires around them beginning to fade. Heimerdinger is talking to Ambessa Medarda, the pair quickly discussing whether to take the counselors to the nearest hospital for better care or to the academy of medicine for faster attention. Jayce seems oblivious to both conversations, the light gone from his eyes.
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Mel responds in his stead. She is shaken, though still focused, “Three confirmed. I believe it was Bulbok, Hoskel, and Kiramman. Salo and Shoola… I have no idea.”
Viktor holds his breath, the possibility of five counselors dying could be disastrous for Piltover and the Undercity. The Solver is still running loose, now with such an unprecedented terrorist attack taking the limelight, he doesn’t know what to do…
A pull on his pant leg brings both him and Jayce to attention, the Hextech partners looking down to see the orange professor with an uncharacteristically grim look. Jayce doesn’t even question Heimerdinger’s presence, his mind already in pieces as it is, “The survivors in urgent care are being taken to the academy for temporary reprieve. I strongly recommend you: Jayce, and Counselor Medarda do the same, regardless of how well you think you feel,” Not willing to entertain any argument–not that there would be any–Heimerdinger marches away. Jayce follows, supported by Viktor, as Mel walks silently beside. She doesn’t comment or bat an eye at Viktor’s lack of disability, leading Viktor to believe Jayce already told her or she simply deduced he managed to cure it and decided discussing it wouldn’t be appropriate at this juncture. What Viktor knows of Mel, both are quite likely.
The traumatized populus weren’t too eager to fangirl over the man of progress nor the richest woman in Piltover, so, despite their pace being slow, the trio made it to the hospital rather quickly. The two caught in the explosion were ushered into their own rooms, being thoroughly examined for the smallest scrape. Viktor was offered an examination too, the doctors citing the possibility of glass shards in his lungs, but the Solver-transformed scientist politely declined. If not for that, he would’ve accepted though. He’s been sitting by Jayce and Mel’s sides for over an hour at this point, but his body still feels like it's burning out from the inside. Ever since he ran from the abandoned district to the council he’s been feeling scorched, like he was stuck on a spit and roasted. At first, he blew it off as typical tiredness, but now, he’s worrying. Jayce hasn’t yet noticed the gobs of sweat dripping from his face, the counselor staring down and constantly rereading an official-looking parchment. Mel, observant as ever, has simply declined to comment. At least, until now.
“Viktor, why not get some fresh air? You don’t have to accompany us the whole time. The doctors said we’re fine,” Mel’s eyes gesture to the door and she nods, showing a kindness Viktor didn’t expect. He thanks her and steps out, his hair literally dripping wet. Through the window at the end of the hall, the red of the moon gives way to the orange of the sunrise. He walks to the window, trying to distract himself from the heat with the beautiful sight. As the beautiful light peeks above the horizon, its gaze strikes an instinctive, unfamiliar urge to run. He forces himself to stand there, to enjoy the view, but chokes on his own breath when he looks down.
Through the black of his pants, a red, agonizing glow radiates. The sun’s light crept through the window and now shines on his leg, searing it through the clothing. He limps away, pain flaring in the monstrous limb as smoke billows out from his pants. The smell of burning fabric fills his nostrils, but thankfully he moved out of the light before it could tear a hole all the way through.
VIktor shakily moves to a storage closet, closing the door and panting. His mouth dries out, sweat raining down on the tile like a thunderstorm. He knows what will fix this: a familiar voice that creeps into his mind and prods at his thoughts reminds him well, “Yours? False. Blood. True.”
Viktor rolls up his pant leg, watching in awe as a white shine travels along his leg, slowly repairing the damage. However, with each fix, his body burns hotter, his breath and heart speeding up.
Viktor stumbles out of the closet, clutching his leg and flailing down the halls like a bear caught in a trap. He can’t let Jayce see him like this–no one can. Skipping his friend's room, he comes across an open door. Peering in, Viktor sees someone sleeping peacefully. An IV pierces their wrist, and, along the counter, Viktor sees a small bag of blood that glimmers like red gold. Desperation overcomes hesitation, and he rushes over to bite, the sensation of his lungs melting too agonizing to make any thoughtful considerations.
The bag bursts open as his teeth pierce it, the crimson fluid spilling across his shirt and into his mouth. He gulps, swallowing like a starved animal as much as he can before the bag empties. He quickly returns to lucidity, his consciousness pushing past his dark instinct. Disgust overwhelms him and he retches violently, coughing up hard chunks he doesn't think to try and identify. The ichor he just consumed mixed with bile and saliva escapes his mouth and covers the counter in a revolting mess. The bag slips from his shaky fingers before he throws himself from the room. His footsteps thump down the hall loudly. A frantic scream from the bed just seconds later makes him shudder with guilt, but all he does is move faster, rushing back to the closet and praying that no one sees him.
Slamming it behind him, Viktor grinds his teeth, fear paralyzing every part of his body. He can’t believe what he just did. He’s frightened, of himself, of what that thing did to him. As his jaw moves, it feels like something is stuck on his teeth, jutting out like a shard of glass. He moves his hand up, touching the offending object to investigate. To his horror, a sharp, pointy fang meets his bloody fingertip, the tooth rusted and jagged like aged steel.