#let the suffering begin aaaa 🥺

[koffeenoe]

Good morning ⭐️

[hexmachinations]

❂ = wiping blood off their face .

// ily and ur writing btw :D you always make me happy to see on my dash aaaa!!!!

[reaction memes] Thank you very much, it means a lot! 🥺🥺 Hope you will enjoy this one bit too, then.

Viktor did not often entertain the idea of removing his mask in front of his acquaintances, not to mention strangers. He had an image to uphold, and since the society came to believe that he was nothing but a metal construct by now, he was more than satisfied to keep their faith on that level for as long as it provided him with decency, comfort and privacy. Not many dared to inquire about what lay beneath the mask, and Viktor was confident that the lack of knowledge was a matter of delight to both parties; confidentiality was a part of business, after all, and for as long as he helped those in need, did it really matter who or what was concealed under the steel and cloth?

However, there were moments in his life when his comfort was breached, and his body would suffer from the consequences of one’s actions… then again, could one even predict the course of events when they were dealing with the infamous artisan from Ionia? They came into contact through one of Viktor’s clients and from there –

Honestly, the scientist did not possess the vocabulary to express even to himself as to what he had witnessed. Some people had lived, some completely obliterated in the orchestrated display of colour, noise and carnage. The Chembarons seemed to be entertained. Viktor, on the other hand, not so much. Perhaps there was art in this ‘creative’ way of solving a problem, but he stood completely on the opposite side of the spectrum. Art was a science, and he had witnessed how this Jhin had carefully engineered every trap, every little sound, even the grotesque display of blossoming trees; he was a master of captivating the audience, and this is what the Chembarons needed right now. To not only to send a message, but also to witness how it would turn to their advantage.

Everyone was, after all, chasing aesthetically pleasing conclusions.

It must have been a stray bullet that caught the Machine Herald and pulled him out of the trance. A scratch, perhaps, that sliced at his skin, but uncomfortable enough to have the scientist retreat from the fascinated group. Viktor ended up in a secluded bathroom where he finally unclasped the mask; his hazel eyes immediately found his own reflection and he noted how the crimson was slowly, but surely, cascading down his pale flesh, dripping down on his clothes, the iron corset and even the floor. His third arm, ever so helpful had grabbed a towel to begin cleaning him up, but the movement halted when the door creaked open. The Artisan stood there, his head tilted slightly to the left, eyes regarding the Herald with an odd glimmer; then, as if even his steps were carefully choreographed, Jhin ventured further but as Viktor moved to put the mask back on, a golden arm wrapped around his wrist and forced it down.

“Now, now,” the Ionian tutted and his deft fingers captured the towel from Viktor’s third arm before he carefully began dabbing at the bloodied flesh. Jhin released Viktor’s wrist and he took a hold of his chin, directing his face so that he could get a better look at the scratch. “Let me.”

Viktor could feel blood rushing in his ears, but he was too stunned in the duration of the few seconds that he could not even move. The Artisan was either completely oblivious of the discomfort he had caused or he cherished every moment of it, but he continued wiping away all he could before Viktor regained control over himself. Unceremoniously, he took a hold of Jhin’s hand and directed it away from his face. “No need,” he retorted; the third hand picked up his mask and gave it over to Viktor who quickly clasped it back. He’d take care of the scratch in his own private quarters.

But as he moved to take back the bloodied towel, Jhin waltzed away with ease, the cloth moving after him like an enticing silk. “Until we meet again, Machine Herald.” With that, the click of his metallic heels indicated that the artist was quickly retreating. Viktor contemplating going after him, melting him down if it meant wiping away the evidence of his true being, but he could not help but feel that this would be yet another trap. What were the odds that Jhin had carefully planned every single detail of his theatrics? The presence, the bullets – some meant to scare, some meant to put up a display and deliver a message, and some to reveal unwanted truths.

Until we meet again sounded like an eerie promise now. This artist was a genius in his own rights, but extremely unpredictable and volatile. Viktor suppressed a groan. Whatever was left of this entertainment routine in the Chembaron’s lair, he had no intentions of remaining there any longer.