Viktor’s bloodied fingers pull and scratch at the jagged metal jutting out from his gums. He thinks if he just yanks at the perfect angle he can remove the horrible spikes from his jaw. After almost a minute, he gives up, the sweet, sickening taste of blood lingering in his mouth. Worryingly, it doesn’t bother him as much as he expected it would. He hopes dearly this is only affecting his body, but deep down, those new instincts that drove him, they scare him, so much. His breath speeds up at the thought of blood. He doesn’t crave it now, but he remembers how much he wanted it just minutes ago. It scares him another way, too: the idea of someone seeing his stained shirt, it causes his stomach to drop. He needs to clean this up–fast.
The storage closet is bursting with cleaning supplies: chemicals, buckets, mops and brooms galore. He’s no janitor, though, he doesn’t know what cleans bloodstains. He does. however, now enough chemistry to refrain from trying to trial-and-error cleaning supplies on his shirt. Trying to hide it might work, but he left his cloak at Jayce and Mel’s bedside. Though he’d rather fix it himself, if push comes to shove, he will seek Jayce’s confidence. Mel, though, Viktor still isn’t sure. He simply doesn’t know her well enough. But, he does have a fallback, at least. Jayce can be trusted.
Viktor sorts through the chemicals, looking for anything that might help him cover up the evidence of his sickening actions. Then, Viktor groans, the idea hitting him like a falling anvil. It’s so many leagues better than the alternative there’s not a hint of consideration after it crosses his mind.
----------------------------------------
Strolling down the hall, Viktor wipes his face every few steps, paranoid he missed a spot on his face. Realistically, he knows the waterfall of nervous sweat from his forehead has long washed away any trace of the crimson splotches. It hasn’t been long, so an investigation shouldn’t have taken place yet. Maybe, at worst, some enforcers. This hospital shouldn’t be that big of a priority, even with a couple counselors in it.
Toward the opposite end of the hall, outside the open room where he… ‘ate’ at, an enforcer holds a clipboard and leans on the doorway, languidly examining the mess of vomit and blood left behind in the room. Viktor clutches his shirt, bundled up in his hand. He folded it over the bloodstains after using it to wipe his face, dousing it in some cleaner he found in the closet. The now shirtless scientist wipes sweat from his face when the enforcer glances in his direction. To Viktor’s relief, he just nods and looks back away, probably assuming him to be a patient. Viktor already isn’t exactly the epitome of health, and neither the long line of stitches down his torso nor the noticeable skin grafts aid in alleviating that perception. For once, though, he’s grateful for such a sickly appearance.
Now though: the embarrassing part. Time to walk into the room where his best friend and his best friend’s girlfriend–two of the most powerful people in Piltover–are resting and pretend he didn’t just drink a bag of human blood.
Viktor takes a deep breath, curls his fingers around the doorknob, and twists with a surge of bravery, swinging the door open much faster than he meant to. Both Mel and Jayce look at him, confused. Mel politely turns away from the shirtless scientist, her expression unreadable as she immediately greets him, “Welcome back.”
Jayce, however, simply stares at the stitches and patchwork on his friend’s chest instead of questioning why Viktor is lacking a shirt in the first place, “What happened?” He asked.
Viktor immediately grabs his cloak, donning it before answering with what Jayce didn’t care to know, “I went for a jog. I was a lot hotter than I thought, though now I must look like I fell in the river,” Viktor chuckles nervously, muttering his words so that his mouth doesn’t open far enough for him to see the glint of his metal fangs.
Jayce, rather than ask again, simply points to the skinny man’s chest, now covered in dark, heavy cloth. Viktor gives a short, uncomfortable response, “It’s from when I was cured.”
Mel looks up curiously, “I was wondering about that. I’m happy for you. There really is nothing the Hextech partners can’t do,” She seems to disappoint herself with that last line, making Viktor remember her pushing Jayce into weaponizing Hextech. It reminds him of that meeting between Jayce and Silco. Clearly, it didn’t go well, and he wonders if that was at least partly due to the attack on the shimmer refinery in which Hextech weapons were utilized. Honestly though, he’s going to ask about just because he would like any conversation subject that isn’t him or the Solver.
“It might be too soon to ask, but how did the negotiations with Silco go?” Viktor asks quietly. He expects this to be a sore spot for Jayce, but he didn’t know how much it was bothering his friend.
Jayce lifts up the paper he's been staring at since he got in the hospital. It’s a list of demands for peace, signed by Silco’s signature ‘S.’ In it are many enumerated conditions, most of which are frankly ludicrous to demand of Piltover, even for someone who cares greatly for the Undercity: Blanket amnesty, access to the Hexgates, sovereignty and recognition of ‘Zaun,’ as well as free trade routes, “I agreed to them, I told him I’d do it. My only conditions were the dismantling of shimmer, return of the Hexgem, and for him to hand over Jinx. The only one he fought me on was Jinx, but it seemed like he capitulated at the end… I don't know what I missed…”
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
Viktor places a hand on his shoulder, “I don’t think it was you,” He reassures Jayce. His friend decides to do his own subject change, though.
“How did your search for the Solver go?” Viktor winces. Mel sits up at the mention, unfamiliar with its name. She doesn’t interject though, hoping to follow along and fill in the dots while the two talk.
“My search was terrible. I found nothing. Heimerdinger, however, ran into it–”
“Heimerdinger?” Mel and Jayce both interject incredulously, their eyebrows looking like they’d fly into the ceiling.
“Yes, Heimerdinger and another found it hunting in the fissures coincidentally. Though… erm… the details are a bit… unscrupulous.”
Both are a bit confused of Jayce frowns, though Mel looks unaffected by the warning, “What isn’t these days,” He groans, exasperated, “Just lay it on me.”
“It made a body from the stolen corpses, and…. apparently it looks like a little girl,” This time, even Mel looks a bit queasy. Jayce chokes a bit, memories of the cemetery flashing through his mind, “You’d have to ask Heimerdinger for more details. If you’d even want them…” Both the counselors shake their heads, Jayce doing so much more rapidly than Mel, his squeamishness coming out full swing. On cue to bail him out, a knock resounds on the door.
“N-no, Viktor. That’s enough for us,” Jayce gets out of the bed, talks of such horror forcing him to stand up and drop the list of demands to the bedside.
Opening the door, the enforcer jumps, quickly saluting before pulling out a clipboard with a few notes, “Counselor Talus! My name is Maddie Nolan. Caitlyn Kiramman sent me to inform you that counselors Shoola and Salo are alive, though with severe injuries. A memorial service for the lost counselors will take place tomorrow, your invitations are here…” She gently hands the invitations for Jayce, Viktor, and Mel to the scientist at the door, who accepts them gratefully.
Though, the memorial frustrates Jayce. Why would they present a service so quickly? Are they asking for more trouble? This is a time of crisis! The tragedy of lives lost is something to consider, but the very next day? The Solver exhumed a graveyard in clear day, killed bystanders and murdered in the academy. The Undercity had already stolen a Hexgem directly from Jayce’s lab, attacked during Progress Day, and brazenly murdered half the council. Obviously they would attack a memorial service after what happened today, to believe otherwise is simply asinine.
His frustration at the council doing nothing had been building up until his raid on the shimmer refinery. Though the raid quelled his determination for a while, now, his patience has run out. The fears of collateral damage in the Undercity are finally waning. If Silco wanted to play like this–despite knowing how easily Piltover could annihilate them–then he’ll play like this. Clearly the kingpin thought Jayce wouldn’t retaliate… or perhaps he wants him to, for some reason. Why else would he do something so brazen? So insane? Toward the Council, of all things! Not to mention Mrs. Kiramman. It’s true, she was unforgiving and harsh–Jayce knew that well–but she was a mother, a friend, and someone who gave him a fighting chance when he first began Hextech research. She didn’t deserve what happened to her. Now that the Solver has infiltrated the Undercity, Jayce can kill two birds with one stone. With enforcers sweeping the Lanes, neither human nor inhuman monsters can escape. These attacks aren’t happening because they pushed the Undercity too far, they happen because they haven’t pushed them far enough.
Viktor watches him don his white coat, a symbol of his status as a counselor, “I have one lead on the Solver, so, I plan to investigate that next, but, Jayce: What do you plan to do?” Viktor is concerned, the dangerous glint in his friend’s eye making him wary.
“I’m going to call a council meeting,” Jayce nods to Mel, who does not reciprocate.
“We don’t know the extent of Salo and Shoola’s conditions. With tempers so high it’s unwise to call a meeting,” Mel argues.
“Then we’ll check on them. I’ll bring the meeting to their bedside if I have to, along with Heimerdinger,” Jayce frowns, his brows creasing, “Those terrorists won’t wait for us, we won’t for them.”
Mel doesn’t argue further, but her face betrays her reluctance to the drastic action. Viktor, meanwhile, is a bubbling cauldron of contradictions. He supports Jayce: wants him to send enforcers to the Undercity–mostly to search for the Solver. But, on the other hand, Viktor doubts a show of force like that would manage to accomplish that much without invading the whole of the fissures. A few professional dispatches, perhaps, would be more appropriate. Then again, Viktor is no strategist, he’s a scientist. Though, so is Jayce. With the hammer already built, he has no doubt the counselor will utilize its power. The real worry Viktor has is that he might build more…
Jayce and Mel depart silently, going to check on Salo and Shoola, leaving Viktor alone in the room. The cloak hugs his skin, a piece of fabric stuck on one of his stitches. He’s darkly reminded of his own situation and how urgently he needs it to be fixed. He needs a better idea of what’s going on, so he leaves the room too, still clutching his bloody shirt. The halls are as empty as ever, the retreating figures of Jayce and Mel the only people in sight. He moves toward the restroom. Once entering the single bathroom, he locks the door behind him, slowly approaching the mirror.
Viktor takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes, promising himself to be scientific–cold, even–toward whatever he’s about to see. He opens his mouth, gasping audibly at the long, jagged steel fangs. Both the top teeth are probably over half an inch long, the reddish-brown rusted metal contrasting horribly against his pearly white teeth. The lower fangs are smaller, though still look like they could shred bones. Viktor takes a step back, scared, but still holding on. That is, until a painfully recognizable symbol appears on his eye in replacement of his pupil. That sigil is not the color he’s used to, though. Instead of the sickly gold of the monster, the color shining in his eye and invading his sclera is orange. Bright, shining orange, like that of a cutting edge Piltovan forge. The symbol flickers then spins around his pupil. Before he can even blink, the mirror shatters, an enormous crack originating at the center spreads out like a spider’s web to every corner of the glass. VIktor views his reflection cautiously between the cracks, holding his breath. The symbol is gone, only the shards of glass as evidence of its existence.