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How does it feel to reach the line that no one ever got to cross?
Does it make you a god now?
The Commune has grown since Viktor came.
Who were once the lowest of the low, barely surviving in shabby tents and polluted darkness, now all worship him, and in their efforts to start a new life, rebuilding.
Now, a field of yellow flowers grows around the Commune, where plant life once could never have flourished before. Now, metal ornaments and wider, more intricate tents house the people he has helped. Stained glass, colorful and transparent. They even repurposed the bell that once lay discarded on the ground. All things find new purpose here.
His people shed tears of joy and gratitude, kissing the ground where he walks, hesitant to say his name in deference, and pray to him as their savior…their Herald of a brighter future.
Yet Viktor hardly feels anything but tired relief.
He has hardly felt anything since he woke up.
Viktor…
You’re alive…
You’re — you’re alive!
Heterochromatic eyes softly blink, and he chooses to focus on the present. His complex feelings for his old life matter no longer.
“Thank you…thank you!”
A new apostate kneels before him, sobbing in happiness as their tumors disappeared, their raised veins vanished, leaving behind only intravenous metal and replenished flesh. Another Shimmer addict, reborn through his magic.
“You need not suffer anymore.”
The apostate lets out another sob, and presses their face to the dirt, reverently kisses the hem of his blue red robe.
You must be cold.
Viktor resists the urge he feels to touch the soft cloth embracing him.
He oddly feels a reverberation of discontentment from the Arcane… from Sky… most likely sensing his weakness, and not focusing on their vocation.
Huck and another disciple help their newly cured companion to their feet, and warmly give them new clothes. Parchment white and charcoal black fabric, stained glass and metallic circular adornments.
“Your new life starts now,” Huck empathetically places his metal-lined hand on their shoulder, and bows at Viktor before guiding the newly baptized apostate to the tents.
As he watches them go, suddenly —
Molten burning twisting rush —
Viktor gasps, his hand tightening around his staff, hunching over slightly as his eyes widen.
The remaining disciple looks at him with worried alarm. “My Herald?”
This feeling —
Twisting, rushing, evolving —
He barely remembers murmuring an excuse, they understand he becomes exhausted after curing. He barely remembers stumbling back to spherical structure he has made his home, where his disciples without asking had furnished his room with the only bed frame they had and the softest of their linens, closes the makeshift door curtain tight, then —
“Haah…”
His augmented lungs breathe heavily as he collapses onto the bed, staff carelessly falling to rest with him, and he needs, he needs —
Metallic fingers touch his sensitive cunt, changed as well, yet inside, inside there, he is still wet, soft, burning alive —
Heat rises to his cheeks and his eyelids flutter, as the Herald pleasures himself, his evolved body vibrating and begging for stimulation.
In the back of his arousal-addled mind, the scientist within him ponders what was happening, and why.
Ever since he woke up from the Hexcore transforming his body — ever since Jayce broke his promise, and wholeheartedly said all the things Viktor wanted him to say once, that he could not accept after what he did — his sensations, his emotions, were dulled, but still there. Numbed, yet he knew he could feel regret, grief…guilt…relief…but this…
Affection —
Viktor half choked, half sobbed. He felt like he was breaking apart, fragmenting, and there was nothing that could drive him over the edge he so desperately wished to pass —
The one hand not frantically masturbating grasped for purchase and found his staff. His old crutch had transformed as much as he had, yet the upper rest remained mostly the same. The same crutch Jayce had forged and gifted to him after his old one broke on the night they discovered Hextech —
Gritting his teeth in frustration, Viktor snaps the top rest and feels his magic run through his grip, molding the steel, the gold alloy shaped on the ends —
With absolutely no regard for finesse, the Herald shamelessly shoves the makeshift phallus inside of him and moans in a mix of pain and pleasure at how big it feels inside of him, penetrating his womb deeply —
He thrusts it within him again and Viktor cries out, hips snapping upwards, feeling himself go a little bit insane from the otherworldly pleasure, his movement dislodging the hood upon his head, obscuring half his vision, yet —
“Jayce…”
The smell of the forge, of sweat and smoke, that refined cologne his partner loved to spritz on when he wanted to give the air of someone more formal, to hide his musky natural scent that Viktor adored regardless —
He seizes a handful of the old blanket and inhales like an addict, then uses his magic to make the dildo inside of him vibrate so fucking fast, and oh how his disciples would be shocked at the sight of him now, this is who he really was, surrounded by his partner in all but presence, and he is so weak, so weak for him and they will all know just how deeply he cannot be separated from —
“Jayce!”
What have we done?
A single touch —
The hammer coming down on his core, destroying him from within —
A strangled cry escapes him as Viktor arches his back and cums for what feels like eternity, pussy clenching down hard on his makeshift dildo, and somewhere within him whispers it wishes there was virile seed filling him up at this moment.
What just…just happened?
All energy saps away from his augmented body, and Viktor lays bonelessly upon his bed, panting, coming down from the high of the strongest orgasm he has ever had in his life, dildo still shoved inside his pulsing cunt.
Fading pleasure soon turns into realization, horror, and shame, at what he’d just done.
Bolting upright, his robe falls to his shoulders, and Viktor begins to pull out what used to be the top handle of his staff from his pussy. Once he would have winced, but his body had adjusted to the intrusion in his body so quickly that it greatly concerns him.
His newly evolved body was now tied to the Arcane, he understood that well the moment he woke up, being able to feel the charge of magic in the air, its energy surrounding him, edging his form and vision…He had internally hypothesized that the Hexcore fused inside him, along with himself, had become a wild rune.
Yet that didn’t explain…this.
Exhaling, Viktor closed his eyes, focusing his returned senses, and felt it now.
There was something in the air…something different, in the current of magic ever winding through the world.
Whatever, or whomever, had caused this…disruption, did not realize what they had just done to him.
Thankfully, even deep within Zaun, he and the others in the Commune could discern time, and it would be a starry night right now if he was above back in Piltover. Everyone was now resting. And so should he, even though he was loath to do so even more than before, knowing he could help more people in the time he spent sleeping.
And yet…
Viktor lays back on his bed, and uses his robe in the function it was meant to be as, blanketing his body that succumbed to weakness.
This led to his undoing, as he caught a whiff of Jayce’s scent once more upon the soft fabric, and his head fogs up again, body burning up with that molten heat spreading from his core.
Shamefully, he reaches for the dildo he created, and stifles a moan of pleasure as he pushes it back inside him…a raw pattern of squelching being the only other sound in the center spherical structure of the Commune, unbeknownst to his worshipping disciples sleeping peacefully as their god fulfilled his natural needs.