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mischievous-piltovan · 3 months ago

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The Undying Oath (NSFW)

Chapter 5: In Dim Carcosa (SFW)

Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader

Summary: Reader navigates troubled waters. The Herald is no longer Viktor, he’s merely wearing her late lover’s visage. Yet, she can’t leave him - the guilt of her past betrayal and her duty to the denizens of Zaun keep her bound to the Emberlift Alley Workshop. But not all is lost.

A/N: I had the outline for a way longer chapter, but the more I worked on top of it, the longer it became. So I decided to chop it off in two chapters. Bad news: this might be a harder read, a bit morose with no immediate pay-off. The good news: the next chapter is gonna come much quicker since I not only already have an outline, I also have it fairly written. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this one.

Warnings: Major Character Death. Loss of a loved one. He came back wrong. Angsty. War.

Word Count: 5.2K

Also on AO3

Somewhere far away, embedded deep into the veil of the Cosmos, the stars were cackling. At least, they must have been. Because whatever the celestials had planned for her was undoubtedly a joke. And a bad one at that.

After the fiasco that was their moment of intimacy, Viktor explained the origin of his lack of feelings. The procedure Dr. Raveck performed - a mixture of open-chest surgery and chemical infusion -, although resulting in his successful recovery, came with a side-effect: the complete removal of his capacity to feel.

“And what about all this metal?” She asked, motioning at his artificial limbs. “Was this the Doctor too?”

“No, these are my doing,” Viktor responded calmly. “I got rid of the hexcorized tissues in favor of parts I had control over.”

Yet, the cosmic punchline was in the bittersweetness of it all.

There was no doubt in her mind that she was glad Viktor was alive. A part of her was thrilled to be by his side again, to be able to watch him use his intellectual prowess to aid those in need. Like he always dreamed of. After all those months beside him, watching him decay bit by bit every day. After mourning his loss for weeks, engulfed in guilt imagining his last days all alone. This opportunity to be with him again felt like a blessing.

But something wasn't right, he wasn't right. He miraculously came back from the dead. But he came back wrong.

Viktor was not the man she loved anymore, just an echo of who he once was. An uncanny simulacrum, not completely different, but an ill-imitation of the original.

Like a song she knew by heart, but every now and then he changed the lyrics, sang off-key, outpaced the tempo. In every exchange, every act, no matter how mundane, something was always frustratingly wrong.

It was in the way he walked, still impaired and aided by a cane, but it lacked the grace of before, being replaced by an almost robotic stride. It was in the way he was built, still thin with long and lanky limbs, but he was now rigid, standing artificially straight. It was in the way he spoke, with his still low and accented voice, but with a new dull lint of his speech, tempered and softened, lacking the once alluring sharp edges

And all of it seemed to mock her.

In this new form, Viktor was both her persecutor and warden - his very presence tormented her, made her acutely aware of her love for his old self and the fact he was forever gone. But it also kept her in place, for she couldn't leave him. She had no right to.

Not when she had done it once already. Not when he needed her help again. She just had to endure, to bear the cross of her own mistakes in spite of her feelings. And so she did.

—--

Luckily, he kept his mask on throughout the day, blocking out the world from his remaining humanity, and unknowingly shielding her from excess torment, albeit a little. In his full herald garb, the girl could pretend he was someone else entirely, his accented voice was the only hint of his old self, and even that was attenuated by the modulation of the mask.

She started to use his metallic veneer as a tool to help her envision him as someone else entirely. While masked, he wasn't her once fianceé Viktor, but the transhumanist scientist known as the Herald. By clinging to the difference on these labels, she was able to keep some semblance of sanity.

The schedule around the Emberlift Alley Workshop was divided in three blocks. The mornings were designated for new patients, people whose issues were yet to be assessed and properly diagnosed. It was also when Viktor took their measurements in order to build them their prosthesis. Around noon came those whose synthetic limbs were already built and just had to be attached, as well as those in need of maintenance. The evenings were devoted to building the prosthesis based on the measurements taken in the morning. She only needed to be present for the afternoon appointments, when her healing was necessary.

And she'd take every opportunity available to not be present in the same room as him. To avoid unnecessary feelings and ruminations from clouding her mind. To keep her focus on her work.

Instead of remaining idle, she started to organize the rest of the house bit by bit during her free time, trying to bring back some of the home aspect to the place. The busy work kept her from dwelling on the stalemate, preventing her from spiraling into dark thoughts. The people of Zaun needed her in topnotch condition, there wasn't room to come undone. Viktor didn't comment on it, but noticed the effort - the organized space brought him further clarity of mind.

One evening as she was sweeping the floor in the living-room, a familiar voice called her name from behind her. It belonged to Ralph.

“Long time no see, Ralph!” She greeted him, turning around. “Are you here for mainte- what's all that?”

Ralph grinned as he approached her, a small wooden crate in his arms filled to the brim with… Junk?

“It's material for the prostheses!”

“No offense, but,” her hand delicately plucked a corroded rusty screw from the crate, rolling it between her index finger and her thumb. “I don't think these can be used.”

Before Ralph could respond, an accented modular voice rang from behind them.

“They can,” its sound alone sent a shiver down her spine, inching her dangerously close to the precipice of her own mind. “Ralph brought these for me at my request.”

That day she learned just how Viktor was able to keep providing people with prosthetic limbs even under the shortage of resources the conflict between the two cities was causing.

Stricken by curiosity, she followed him as he took the crate down to the workshop below. He placed it on the desk next to the HexCore, its pulsating cold light casting ghastly flickering shadows over the stone walls of the basement. She watched as the Herald pressed various keys on the machinery the HexCore sat atop before the runic matrix reacted, spinning faster than before. Her breathing hitched when an energy beam erupted from the core, elevating the material from the crate and amalgamating its contents together - sorting it by material, no less. In the next moment, all the contents inside the crate were gone, and sheets of different types of material rested on the desk next to it.

An almost inaudible ‘amazing’ escaped from her lips. She swore the Herald chuckled before continuing.

“Those I've helped come bearing whatever form of scraps they find as a show of gratitude,” he explains. “Although the sentiment is unnecessary, the gesture allows me to help more people in the long run.”

Ralph is one of those who often visits with scraps, and in the days that follow is the one person tethering her to some semblance of lucidity. Whenever he comes, he makes sure to stay a while, a warm smile always on his face.

“Your situation is so unique, I'm not sure I have the words necessary to help you,” Ralph relented during one of his visits. They both sat across from each other at the recently uncluttered dinner table. “But I need to encourage you to cut yourself some slack.”

A chuckle escaped her lips.

“I cut myself some slack when I betrayed his trust, didnt I?,” she murmured with a long exhale. “I don't think I should be allowed to do so ever again.”

Ralph rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly in mock annoyance.

“You know what, you actually shouldn't. You are the worst person to ever step foot in Runeterra, and your sins could never be forgiven,” he conceded, looking away from her. “For instance, leaving your gilded life in Piltover to come to the Fissures just because you refused to build weapons to be used against us. What a crime.”

She arched an eyebrow in a knowing look. “Ralph…”

“Not to mention all the years in the Academy, fighting to bring positive change to the Undercity!” He turned back to her, crossing his arms. “And spending all her energy healing our sick after getting her shiny new arm? What a monster!”

His words held good intentions, but failed to truly reach her. Every moment interacted with Viktor was a dire reminder of her mistakes, a memento of her subsequent loss, and an omen of her guilt.

She woke up one day in the middle of the night in full alert. Sitting up on the bed and quickly scanning her surroundings proved there was nothing to worry about, it was just another rough night for a troubled mind. On instinct, her eyes landed on the bed on the other side of the room, and she was graced with Viktor's sleeping form.

It was a rare sight, one she subconsciously tried avoiding by opting to always go to bed before him. The Herald had a habit to stay up late tinkering away at the workshop downstairs, which gave her ample time to get ready for bed and be fast asleep before he was even in the room. The last thing she needed was being further damaged by the sight of him stripped down from his Herald form to something more akin to the man she once knew.

And that was the right call, because seeing him now with his face bare, lips slightly parted, and a peaceful look on his face was… Blissfully painful.

And dangerously magnetic.

Her limbs moved on their own as she slowly rose from her bed, tiptoeing her way to his side, eyes locked on him, committing this Viktor to mind as much as possible. She sat on the floor next to his bed, resting her head over one arm atop the mattress.

She watched him sleep, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The same sharp jaw, now framed by metal, the thin cracked lips, moles dotting the area above his upper lip, just under his eye, and the twins at the side of his neck.

This was not the Herald. This was Viktor.

Her eyes landed on his hand closest to her and she dared to snake her marbled hand towards it, stopping right before touching it. One marbled pinky curled around his and something akin to elation blossomed inside her chest.

Her eyes fluttered close. In the dark behind her eyelids, she could almost pretend they were back at their shared bedroom in Piltover. His scent and the ongoing soft sounds of his breathing lulled her into a false sense of security, and before she could do anything, sleep claimed her.

When next she woke, the clarity of the day lit up the room from the window. Lifting her head up from her arms, she winced as the stiffness of her neck made itself known. Massaging the region, her eyes searched for Viktor but found an unsurprisingly empty bed.

With a groan, she rose to her feet while mentally chastising herself for falling asleep on the floor. Not to mention having Viktor waking up to her sleeping creepily at his side like an obsessed lunatic. She dreaded what he'll have to say about it.

A glance at her own bed proved she wouldn't have to wait to find out. On top of the mattress rested a vial - filled with a clear liquid she recognized as the calming concoction Viktor offered upon their first meeting - and a note. She picked it up and read it ‘Drink it whenever you feel restless’.

Apart from that, he never mentioned that night again. And she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

—--

The day she dreaded came earlier than anticipated. After nudging a frame on the wall to the side and back, rotating it ever so slightly clockwise and counterclockwise for the ninth time, she exhaled in resignation - the frame was fine as it was the first time, she was merely stalling. Stalling from recognizing her work was done, the whole house had been thoroughly organized.

Which meant her only excuse to be absent from the workshop outside of the afternoon hours was no more.

She exhaled once more, trying to weigh her options. On one hand, she could keep on being present only when the prosthesis were being attached, she'd just have to find other things to do around the workshop in the meantime - sitting idly with her thoughts was an easy way to slip into spiraling. There was the option of going out and finding purpose somewhere else, maybe going back to the Firelights Hideout to be a part-time inhouse healer. But then again, there was a conflict happening out there, and exposing herself to being caught by enforcers or in the crossfire of a shooting just because she didn't want to spend more time with the Herald than necessary was… Stupid. On the other hand, being present during assessment could prove useful - getting to know the patients and their woes beforehand could give her more insights and perhaps make her work better. She could even heal them beforehand in case they had wounds still open, or even aid them with stuff completely unrelated to the prosthesis whatsoever.

She glanced at the wall clock and felt a chill run down her spine - it was still mid-morning. She could do this, couldn't she? They say consistent exposure to a trigger tends to dull its effects on a person. She already spends a lot of time in his presence daily, a little more couldn't make such a big difference. Let's not think about the different circumstances each part of the day schedule entailed, with the afternoon time being more busy work and her being able to ignore Viktor's presence entirely, while the morning period would consist of observing and learning on her part. Just. Don't. Think. About. It.

With a resolute exhale, before resolve could escape her, she patted the remainders of dust off of her clothes and made her way down to the basement.

Viktor was sitting at the HexCore desk, noting something down on a parchment paper. She fought the icicle in the pit of her stomach signaling her to run.

“Greetings, sit on the table. I'll be there in a moment” he spoke without facing her, the orange glow of his mask kept firmly at the paper before him.

“No, uhm… it's actually me” She greeted shyly. He turned to her upon hearing her response.

“Oh,” he interjected. “There's still a couple hours before the afternoon appointments start.”

“I know, it's just… “ She could feel her resolve faltering, but pressed on nonetheless. “I was thinking about being present during the morning assessments as well, to learn of your methods and perhaps lending a helping hand where I could.”

A pause befall the two and suddenly the air was thicker. Her eyes kept away from him, fixated in the glow of the rune matrix beside him. The icicle in the pit of her stomach evolved into a dagger and was risking becoming a sword each second that passed between them.

She started deliberating being torn asunder from the inside or just bolting out of the door, not to set foot in the workshop again, when Viktor spoke. “I believe your contributions could be valuable. You may stay.”

Before she could respond, the creaking of the wooden stairs behind them announced the arrival of a patient. She turned around and was greeted with a familiar face.

“Hey, Miss Architect! Long time no see!” A middle-aged man with an athletic build and thinning gray hair stood leaning on a crutch, his left leg missing from the knee down.

“Yo-you're Wenn, right? The courier?” Memories of the countless times she visited the Undercity for data gathering flooded her mind, his face a constant presence. But once the words left her mouth, her eyes did a double take at his missing limb. “Oh… “

“Yeah, I know… “ Wenn jested coily. “But Mister Herald here is gonna make me all good, isn't he?”

“Correct,” Viktor agreed curtly. “Please sit on the table so I can get your measurements.”

Wenn did as commanded while Viktor prepared the tools. The girl stood by the HexCore desk, crossing her arms. “So, what happened to you?”

“Same as everyone else, Enforcers,” Wenn answered nonchalantly. “Was doing my rounds in a permitted area and was still met with a landmine. I was darn lucky it only got my leg.”

“Please, hold still.” Viktor’s robotic voice cut through.

“I wish I could say a mine buried in a permitted area surprised me, but I'd be lying…“ she commented dryly. Enforcers brutality against Zaunites was already a well-known reality often overlooked by the Piltovan state, but ever since the conflict broke out, it felt like it had been cranked up to eleven. The Enforcers filled Zaun with barricades and checkpoints, stipulating permitted areas for passage. Unfortunately, it looked like they didn't keep the bombs solemnly in prohibited territory.

“Tell me about it… “ Wenn sighed. “This whole situation was bad enough before, my radius of operation had shrunk significantly because of it, losing my leg was the cherry on top of this shitcake.”

“We'll solve that part at least.” She assured him.

Viktor turned around and was about to rise from his chair when she stopped him. “I can note down his measurements for you.”

“That would be helpful, I appreciate it.” Viktor acknowledged it, turning back to Wenn after informing her the number.

The girl diligently grabbed a pen on the desk and started writing down what Viktor was telling her when something grabbed her attention - the schematics she was scribbling on. Something was off, the schematics was for a standard prosthesis, something that he usually builds for the common folk. A courier like Wenn, who spends his whole day on foot, walking around the uneven stone pathways of Zaun needed something more sturdy, with more padding. Viktor certainly had something like that designed, didn't he?

“Is this the right schematic?” She prodded.

“It's the leg one, correct?” He retorted.

“it is.”

“Then it is correct.”

Did Viktor really only have one-size-fits all for each single prosthesis?

She shook her head slightly, brows knitted as the gears turned inside her head. She could see where Viktor was coming from, by working with standard models he could attend to a larger number of people in less time. Tailoring each design individually was simply not time-efficient, despite the boost in quality for each piece. Not to mention, to most people the standard design would suffice.

But how about these edge cases such as Wenn's? If they give him the standard module, he'd be back in two weeks or less for maintenance, or replacement altogether. Sure, they'd be making his life better, but only slightly. Wouldn't this be considered inefficient?

Her eyes traveled back to Viktor, and something clicked. Viktor and Jayce were brilliant scientists whose sharp minds worked meticulously to solve complex problems. But she noticed early on in their partnership that they more often than not lacked the ability to perceive what the problems were in the first place.

“We were analyzing some of your data and we came across the fact that the average commute time for those who come topside to work varies from two to three hours during rush,” Jayce began, running his index over the papers in front of him. It had been a couple of months since the partnership between the Undercity Development Section and the HexTech Research Division began, the Ventilation System project was already underway. The pair of scientists had pulled the architect aside as soon as she arrived at the lab that morning, seemingly eager to show her how serious they were. At least that's the vibe she was getting from Jayce. “And we were brainstorming some ideas for a faster and more robust Public Transportation System using HexTech.”

Jayce rolled out a parchment paper in front of them with a map of the Undercity. On top of it, he placed a translucent sheet of butter paper. Then, he grabbed a marker and started sketching on top of it. The girl leaned in closer.

“We noticed that the existing lift's engine is rather old, and demanded that the ascension was done as horizontally as possible,” Viktor chimed in as his partner sketched. Her eyes met his golden ones for a brief second before returning to the paper before them in a fluster. She was still digesting why the leaner scientist had such an effect on her. “This resulted in a longer route between the Undercity Terminal and the Topside Terminal. And that in itself already largely adds to the commute time. So we moved the whole system to a location in which the distance between the terminals is the shortest, since building the new lift vertically is not a problem anymore.”

She studied Jayce's croquis on the translucent paper for a second, before calmly bringing her index finger to it and tapping on a location on the map. “This district right here has historically been formed by people who go to work Topside. It grew organically around the terminal,” she spoke calmly. “These are the people we'd be affecting by tackling this problem. If we move the system to the other side, even if technologically and logistically seems more efficient, we're failing to address the practical effect of such a change.”

She took a marker from Jayce and began scribbling on the paper as she spoke.

“Nowadays, the people start gathering at the Terminal around 4 am. They leave their houses and are promptly met with a line to get to the lift,” she wrote down ‘4 am’ and ‘house -> terminal’. “If we move the system here, all these people would have to find a way to go from their houses to the terminal, adding time and fatigue to the commute. Especially to those carrying wares, goods and tools with them. We'd need to address that.”

She finished writing down all points on the paper, before setting the pen aside. Then, she leaned back where she sat, meeting the scientist's gaze. “Your plan might be the most efficient time-wise, but it wouldn't be solving the problem. I'd suggest building the new system near that district, even if that means sacrificing some of its efficiency. The problem was not simply shortening travel time between Topside and the Undercity, but rather bringing more quality to the existing commute.”

She sighed at the memory, a little twinge of longing constricting her chest. She quickly shook it off, this wasn't the time for sentimentality. Her gaze lingered on the schematics a bit, before turning to the Herald with newfound resolution. If the goal was to aid the people of Zaun, then the magic in her marbled arm was not the only tool at her disposal. She needed to address his methods as an academic peer.

When Wenn left the Workshop, she pounced without hesitation.

“He's gonna be back here in need of maintenance in a couple of days,” she spat, looking down at the schematics.

The Herald stopped in his tracks. She felt the glow of his eyes on her, but didn’t turn to him. “How would you know that?”

“Didn't you hear? He's a courier,” she retorted. “The exertion of his line of work is bound to damage the structure of the prosthesis. Rather quickly even, I'd wager.”

The Herald didn't respond right away. Instead, he slowly made his way to her side. His focus on the schematics in front of her.

“In the assessments, are you taking into consideration the lives of who you help?”

“I don't pry much outside of the measurements,” he stated calmly, almost in a whisper. “I see what you are suggesting, but working with a template is far more efficient than tailoring each piece individually.”

“I don't disagree with that on a theoretical level, but do we have data on returning patients? Those with need for maintenance or replacement altogether?”

The Herald paused. “No.”

She finally turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “Then we don't know at what rate we're helping new people compared to returning ones,” she concluded. “Nor do we have data regarding what caused certain types of damage in returning patient's prosthesis, I presume?”

Another beat. “Correct.”

The silence lingered between them. She kept her eyes on him expectantly. With the mask, it was impossible to read him.

“I was focused solemnly in helping the largest number of people in the most efficient way possible,” he stated finally. “I failed to acknowledge those points.”

Although spoken in a dull, flattened manner, his words spoke of regret. She could almost hear Viktor instead of the Herald. Her hand reached for the metal on his shoulder on instinct.

“You were doing what you thought best,” her words were soft. “Besides, it doesn't matter how big that brain of yours is. You're still a single person who tasked himself with this gargantuar endeavor of helping the people of Zaun. Something was bound to slip past you.”

He finally faced her and she thanked the gods for his mask. She'd unravel where she stood if she was to meet his face bare at this proximity. She quickly cleared her throat.

“I was thinking we could pinpoint the most prominent use cases and expand our line of templates,” she proposed. “That way we avoid having to tailor each prosthesis we make from scratch while also addressing the issue at hand. It's not perfect, but I believe it's a good improvement. I might not have the documents here, but I have some information of the average Zaunite jobs and occupation as well as geological differences from when I worked at the UDS.”

“Perhaps I've… forgotten the benefits of intellectual collaboration,” the Herald contemplated. “That is a truly elegant solution.”

“Glad I could help, I'll jot down the information I can recall and I'll get you the notes later,” she responded, taking a step back. “I'll go get some water before the afternoon patients start rolling in.”

In truth, she needed some breather from the whole interaction. The Herald was dangerously close to becoming Viktor and she couldn't allow herself to spiral. She was at the foot of the staircase when the Herald spoke again.

“I was hoping you would join me later tonight so we can design the new templates,” he proposed. “Work together, as we once did.”

She froze in place, her back turned to him. Her marbled arm pulsated with warmth with the rhythm of her heartbeat. The interval between them getting shorter as his words registered. She was already pushing her limits by taking the morning assessments with him, - doubling the amount of time she spent in his presence - and that alone was already taking its toll. Working with him at night would triple it. She couldn't possibly do it.

“Yeah, I think that's reasonable.”

Her words betrayed her.

—--

If she was asked to describe at least one of the patients that passed through the workshop that afternoon, she wouldn't be able to do it. She went through the motions absentmindedly, completely engulfed inside her own mind, dreading the last third of the day.

Why would she agree to his proposal? Was it another facet of the guilt she felt at his betrayal? Was it the sense of duty to the Zaunites in need? Was a product of the self-loathing she harbored throughout all the months she believed he was dead? Was it a combination of all of that?

Or better yet, was it a foolish hope of rekindling something between them through intellectually collaborating on a project, like it happened the first time? Even though he is not capable of feeling anymore?

Whatever the reason behind it was, her fate was sealed.

Despite that, she still took all means necessary to stall her return to the basement. As soon as the last afternoon patient was gone, she excused herself to freshen up. After splashing water on her face more times than necessary, she made a quick detour to the kitchen to brew some coffee. Only then, holding a mug in each hand, did she finally make her way back down.

She found the Herald where she left him - sitting in front of his desk, bathed in the purplish glow of the HexCore. With a long exhale, she made her way towards him.

“Here, unbearably sweet,” she said, placing one of the coffee mugs in front of him. “Just the way you like it.’

The Herald turned to her and her heart sank when golden pupils swimming in dark scleras met her gaze. She had failed to notice his metal mask sitting next to the core on the desk.

“Thank you, although I’d rather have it black,” Viktor spoke in his own accented voice. “Sugar adds nothing but empty calories.”

This was still the Herald. He was just wearing Viktor's skin.

She stood rigidly beside him, putting as much distance from him as possible at the current setting. She kept her eyes low, opting to focus on the schematics in front of him instead of his face. But the space between them felt heavy, his very presence pulled her in and pushed her away simultaneously. It made the coffee she sipped go down like sandpaper. This was not going to work.

“You spoke earlier of information on the average jobs and occupations of the denizens of Zaun,” the Herald spoke without looking at her.

“Ah,” She gasped, snapping out of her thoughts. “That's right.”

Her eyes quickly scanned the desk, spotting a blank piece of paper and dragging it to the space between them. Next, she grabbed a pen, uncapped it, and leaned the tip onto the paper. “Okay, so this is what I remember.”

She started narrating everything she could recollect, annotating it as she went. She scrambled her brain for information, and for each piece recalled, the neural path to the next one unfolded. In her head she could picture the Zaun of another time, when it still was simply known as Piltover's Undercity. The hum of the machinery and pipework vastly drowned out by the cacophony of everyday life. The thick air laced with the smells of the fishery, combined with the fumes of the factories and the sickly-sweet aroma of chemicals. The brief amounts of sunlight hitting the underground at noon when the sun was at its zenith, passing through like an eclipse. The neon artificial lights flooding the streets for the remainder of the day.

Each new canvas her mind painted brought forth a description of how the citizens lived, how each human was a product of their environment. And how they molded it and were molded by it.

It was chaos. Flawed. In dire need of quality for its resident’s life. But oh, so beautiful.

“I have forgotten how elucidative you could be when explaining your craft,” the Herald's voice brought her back to reality. The dim light of the Workshop felt more oppressive as her surroundings came back into focus.

“I uh- Thank you,” she responded sheepishly.

“I am serious. My mind is already brimming with a handful of design solutions from your explanation alone,” he continued. “Although I believe it is rather late and I’d like to let those ideas simmer down as I sleep.”

“Late?” She glanced at the wall clock and silently gasped. No less than three hours had passed since she began her lecture. Any semblance of the worries from before, gone.

Maybe this could work after all.

-----

Also on AO3

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