Work Text:
A loud click. A dull thud. The echoes of grunts, struggled and panting, reverberating off the high ceiling, the circular walls of the Hexcore’s chamber. His creation, all his work, slowly, painfully, being unmade by his own hand.
Jayce does not know if his inability to hear the siege on the surface is more or less concerning than if he were able to. He’s too far down; he couldn’t possibly be aware of what’s going on nearly a mile above where he stood, straining himself to pull free the canisters from the ovular dome sitting in the room’s center. And yet the fear of what could be, of what he knows is being done, pounds through his chest, into his ears, heavy and constricting.
He thinks of Caitlyn, peering out through a peephole, taking a shot against the backlines of the Noxian forces. He thinks of Vi, swinging recklessly in the face of an overwhelming armada, one she barrels through with her gauntlets. He thinks of Mel - He thinks of Mel giving orders, firm, brow furrowed in concentration. He thinks of Mel shielding the Piltoven forces, drawn out onto the field, unleashing the magic he had dreamed of wielding his entire life. He thinks of Mel standing proud on the edge of the battlefield, sharply focused, attuned purely to the rhythm of the combat in front of her.
A sharp crack. A loud gasp - snap .
And he thinks of Mel falling to her knees, a spear through her chest. Of Vi pushed up against an immovable brick wall, buried under a sea of blades. Of Caitlyn peering out one more time before a bullet ricochets from the field and strikes her through the -
Jayce shouts through the effort it takes to pull free the canister, and his fingers slip. Gasping, he staggers back, narrowly catching himself on the edge of the platform before he can topple over. He pants. Looks down at his feet. No. No more distractions. He needs to -
He thinks of Viktor. He knows he’s coming. Nothing they can do out there - no matter what happens - can stop him. He’s too determined, too single-minded. His partner has changed, Jayce knows that much, but that aspect of him - his ambition - that cannot have been extinguished. The inevitability of it only stokes Jayce further. Inevitability - the thought briefly passes into his mind, and he suppresses a chill. The last time he heard Viktor’s voice, metallic, tinged with the coldness of scientific impartiality, he had told Jayce that his plan was as such. And yet through the reverberation of the dull, mechanical drone of the machine doll’s body, Jayce could have sworn he heard a splinter of a smile in him. A fractal of twisted delight at the prospect of enacting his ideals with him. As partners . It sounded almost saccharine. Viktor spoke of surpassing his humanity, and yet in this instance, Jayce could swear he felt it within him. A remnant of who he was. Is.
But that was weeks ago.
How much of that splinter remains?
He twists the canister.
In the same motion, the otherwise silent room is filled with the bright, high-pitched screech of metal. The welded doorway screams and shudders with the force of a hot, piercing laser cutting clean through it, and perfectly symmetrical, burning, orange light carves through Jayce’s defenses. He stumbles again, whipping around to fix his gaze in the direction of the terrible sound just in time to watch the ruined metal fall and give way in front of him. Jayce releases his hold on the canister and reaches for his hammer, warped and ruined, the wielder of its corruption just beyond the shadow and dust of the clattering steel. Two bright lights, equally as orange, and brilliant, and terrible as the beam which cut clean into the Hexcore’s chamber, shine into the room, and in the next moment, their source steps out into the dim light and into Jayce’s view.
The first thing he notices is how straight Viktor is standing. And Jayce knows it’s Viktor, in spite of all visual evidence to the contrary. Viktor is slowly striding towards him, reality itself seeming to gently ripple and ebb with each step taken. He - It? Jayce is unsure how to refer to what stands before him, its purplish, thrumming skin, mangled with precision-made, golden, mechanical intricacies, lining the sides of its shins, its thighs, wrapped around its thin, twig-like arms, and fixed tightly in place on the underside of its chest, like surgical incisions. Jayce watches as Viktor’s long, spindly fingers wrap loosely around the cane - the staff - that it holds, gently tapping along the polished floor. Jayce catches sight of Viktor’s cloak, wrapped loosely over his shoulders, split in two as it flows from its warped, emaciated body. A purple, humming, runic halo twinkles behind it as it walks forward. And then he sees its face: its horrible, blank face, at once a steel mask bursting from its skull and cleaving its head in twain, and just beneath, a simulacrum of Viktor’s human features, split down the middle. Neutral. Emotionless. Sleeping.
The Herald speaks.
Despite the circumstances, Jayce...
The warping is worse now. The distortion bleeds into every syllable, into every intonation, into every lack of breath between The Herald’s pauses. It makes Jayce’s heart sink below his lungs. He grips the handle of the hammer tighter, his teeth gritting behind his lips. The Herald continues:
... I am. Pleased . To see you.
He can’t be imagining it this time. The accent falters, the mechanical twinge giving way for just a moment. On pleased . I am pleased to see you . Jayce’s spine straightens.
“There must be some part of you still in there, Viktor.” He holds firm. The Herald does not break its stride.
I am more than I ever was.
It echoes through the whole chamber, ripping its way into Jayce’s very mind. His brow creases, and he turns fully to face what approaches him. He readies his hammer, glittering with Hextechan light, at his side.
“I won’t let you through.”
I had assumed as much.
The Herald is closer now. Much closer. Jayce had not noticed how tall Viktor had gotten from a distance. He feels another stab of fear plunge into his chest, muddled with sorrow. Had he always been like this? Just too hunched and concentrated in all he did for him to tower above Jayce as he does now? Jayce nearly forgets when he had seen Viktor stand at his full height, balancing on his cane, half a head shorter than him. He remembers a time when he was speaking with Viktor early into their work and being struck with an impulse to rest his chin atop his head. He remembers having similar impulses when he leaned over his shoulder while they suffered over equations and calculations night after night. He remembers envisioning Viktor making a soft, odd noise at the contact, a flash of confusion in his eyes as he jerks away, the shame of which would draw Jayce from him, compelling him to not act upon the thought.
He remembers watching Viktor shrink as his spine curved over the years, as he leaned on his cane more often, as time ravaged his body. As his hair grew out. Soft tufts of brown. He looks up to the matted, embryonic slickness that hangs shoulder-length from The Herald.
His stomach lurches.
The Herald looms above him. Stoic. The head remains fixed, gazing directly in front of it, hollow, glowing orange staring beyond Jayce, as though the body does not register his presence.
I have offered you salvation. A chance to join me in the Glorious Evolution. And yet you refused.
Jayce forces his head upwards. “What you offer isn’t salvation. Everyone you’ve touched has been stripped of their autonomy! Those people didn’t have a choice!”
Choice is... False.
The grip on the hammer grows tighter, the core burning within its blunted edge. The sickness - the sorrow in Jayce’s chest - it wells to a crescendo of anger inside of him. Viktor - the man who once promised him that there was always a choice, a man full of compassion, and bitterness, and spiteful resilience - cuts clean through his former ideals like sharpened metal. Jayce’s foot shifts, just slightly, and he braces the hammer, and he -
The Herald looks down at him. Jayce freezes, blood ice-clogged in his veins. He feels its eyes boring into him, through him, but searching for nothing. It is as though they can see, plainly, all of what composes him as though it were written along his skin, taking in every piece of information with industrial efficiency and speed. Jayce swallows.
You do not have a choice in taking part in this.
The Herald, slowly, as though to not provoke a wild animal from striking, raises its arm from its side. Jayce cautiously watches the hand, balancing on his heels should it make any sudden movements.
However...
The hand stops just before it reaches Jayce’s chest, ghosting above his clothing. Not touching, but -
Something.
Else.
A promise. A command. A threat . To stay still. To remain completely, utterly motionless, lest he come in contact with the tips of The Herald’s fingers. And then they would be done talking.
Have you considered it, Jayce?
Jayce’s mouth is suddenly dry. A moment passes. Have you considered it? Anger stirs within him again, and he bears his teeth up to the thing holding him in place, untouched.
“The future you imagine isn’t worth considering! I’ve told you, you’re - !”
Not -
The staff in The Herald’s other hand curls around the shimmering, blue orb suspended within it, and the room is alight, a quiet rumble shaking the ground and nearly sending Jayce tumbling. The Herald doesn’t falter. It’s still close, its hand still poised just above Jayce’s flesh. A flinch away from contact, from tearing into his ribcage and crushing his lungs, just as its puppet crushed Jayce’s throat when last they met.
- my goals.
The Herald brings its twisted visage closer to Jayce’s face. The motion is fluid, surprisingly fluid. A movement defying the hydraulic stutter of the machine. Jayce feels a subconscious desire to recoil from the horrid thing as it draws closer, but the gaze of The Herald, the glow of the inorganic orange, transfixes him. His mouth gapes for a moment before he forces it closed.
Have you considered why I gave you an offer at all? Why I posited... A choice. If choice does not exist?
Jayce’s eyes narrow as he peers up into the blank mask. He feels his muscles tighten, contracting, the human reflex at work in spite of the warning The Herald’s fingers hold. The machine remains still. And yet, in the question, Jayce sees an opportunity.
“Because you wanted me to go with you willingly.” His gaze sharpens. “Because despite your ambitions, Viktor, you didn’t want to hurt me. You told me that. You hoped just as much as I did that it wouldn’t have to come to this.”
Hm.
The Herald begins to move again, its arm still outstretched towards Jayce. Jayce swivels to keep himself face to face with it as The Herald begins to circle him.
You are... Partially correct.
It continues its path, slow, tapping its staff in time with every other step. Does Viktor even need it to walk anymore? He seems to be fine without it, bar the obvious. Maybe it’s a force of habit, another glimpse of his partner peeking out through the Arcane.
You have successfully inferred that I wanted you willing. I wished to see if you would accept my vision, yes, and the prospect of combat with you was... An unnecessary hindrance to the final outcome.
Another lapse. Another beat of conscious suppression.
But...
The staff clangs one final time against the floor. Viktor ceases his movements, and he stands, his eyes bearing down into Jayce’s.
I wished for you to accept more than my ideals.
Closer now. Jayce felt a bead of sweat trickle from his temple.
I wished for you to accept me .
A beat.
Jayce spits, “What’s the difference?”
The Herald draws back, and its wrist relaxes, freeing Jayce from the implication of its touch. Subconsciously, Jayce relaxes in turn.
You have become well acquainted with the scope of my power. Of what I have done. But done is only the word you have used. Done . A neutral and a negative. It is what I have accomplished that defines what I am. But not… Wholly.
Its hand extends, and it now turns its head towards it, fingers flexing and twitching, inspecting its movements. The Herald looks up.
I wished for you to accept what I have accomplished. But also what I have become. A more perfect form. I wanted you to become part of that form, Jayce. Above all else. Your inclusion would only create an even more perfected Evolution. I wanted you to embrace that.
Viktor pauses for a moment, a space where he would take a breath if he still had the need to.
I wanted you to embrace me.
Jayce’s rage mingles with anguish. This time, he steps forward.
“You didn’t need to become this if you just wanted me to accept you!”
The air around The Herald grows dim, a warbling shudder of Arcane essence tearing the space into purple, ligament-like strands. Just for a moment. Then, the air settles.
I realized something, though, while I gathered my strength. While I forged myself into what you see before you.
The Herald takes a step to match Jayce where he stands now, close again. So close. Jayce can hear the dull hum of his partner’s core, the subtle creaks in the lining of his slick, bony abdomen.
Your resistance allowed for an opportunity.
“For what ?”
A chance to experience something inconceivable had you embraced me before. To forge a memory, a point of comparison, to recall, and to relay. The start of a glorious union.
Jayce’s nose scrunches up, and he bares his fangs.
“What’s your game, Viktor?! Why not just assimilate me now? What do you want with me?!”
Simple.
Viktor extends his hand, not to harm, but as a welcoming gesture. As if to ask Jayce to take it.
I wish to show you the limits of your flesh. The feebleness of all that you experience. To drive my way into you and control your senses, bodily. So that when we are one, when you join me in the vast sea of consciousness, I can pry it from your memories - our memories - and show you the strength of what awaits you by contrast.
Jayce squints, more confused than accusatory.
“You want to torture me?”
Worse.
The Herald lunges forward, feet planted firmly on the ground, but its outstretched hand moving independently of the rest of it, like a Chemtech tube dislodged from its holster - like a snake - and it grabs Jayce’s wrist. Terror surges through him, and he grunts, moving to raise his hammer. The Hex Claw quickly rises from its holstered position between The Herald’s shoulder blades and fires a beam, now bright blue, into the handle of the weapon. It’s sent flying, loudly clamoring to the ground far outside Jayce’s reach. He jerks away, desperately attempting to wrench himself free from the iron grip, but Viktor’s other hand reaches with the same blinding speed and grabs him by the elbow. The claw extends past The Herald’s shoulder and grasps Jayce by the chin, slowly pulling on his jaw, to make him face it again. Jayce struggles against it, growling his resistance. The Herald leans down, now only an inch or so separating the mask from Jayce’s nose.
I wish to give you pleasure.
Jayce lets out a strangled sound, stunning him into laxness, as he gives up his resistance for a moment. Another stuttering, puzzled noise escapes his throat as he blinks rapidly.
“What?”
I understand that physical bliss is a factor of humanity that most who resist cling to, whether consciously or subconsciously. I wish to show you the height of that bliss, to give you all that can be accomplished with a form as soft and imperfect and weak as flesh, so that when you return to the thought of it when we are one, you may see how much it pales in comparison to rapturous unity.
Viktor’s hands slowly begin to move up Jayce’s arms, but he does not loosen his grip.
I am going to rip orgasm after orgasm out of your body, and when you no longer have a need for this vessel, you may see clearer than any one of my pupils what it means to Evolve.
Jayce’s eyes go wide.
“You can’t be serious…” His voice comes out as a whisper.
Do I appear as though I am capable of joking?
Jayce blinks up at him again. The terror renews. He can’t possibly be thinking of having… of doing something like that to him. A battle rages around them where both of their ideals lay at stake, where his friends and allies may be lying dead under soot and rubble, and he just… Offers this? Jayce tries to pry himself from his grip once more.
“You’re insane !”
On the contrary, Jayce… I am quite in my right mind.
Surprisingly, The Herald’s grasp softens, giving Jayce a bit more room to struggle. Jayce now doubles his attempts to free himself. But the effort, though increased, is futile. The steadfastness of The Herald is too great. A surge of adrenaline, a wrenching yelp, but nothing comes of it. Eventually, Jayce gives in, panting heavily in the restraints of Viktor’s limbs, and in this moment, he recognizes that this is what Viktor wanted. He gave him just enough room to tire himself out faster, taking the act of doing so out of Viktor’s hands.
You observe your first limitation. My form vastly supersedes yours in terms of strength, endurance, and will. I could stand here for days, keeping you locked just as you are, and while you tire and weaken yourself, my ability will remain unchanged.
Even more shockingly now, The Herald releases him, the suddenness of the act causing Jayce to collapse onto the ground. He catches his breath, and he has the mind to look around desperately, search for his hammer, a weakness in The Herald’s stance. But he doesn’t. He picks himself up by his elbows and stares up at it from where he lay.
“What about the others? Do you not care at all about what’s going on, right now, just above us?!”
This is your first prerogative? To question the time and place? Not to refuse me outright?
“I-”
But Jayce cannot think of an immediate retort. Perhaps it's the residual adrenaline, keeping his mind buzzing with fear and fight-or-flight. Perhaps it’s the suddenness and casual tone that The Herald took when propositioning him in such an absurd, preposterous manner. But as he looks into the unflinching gaze of The Herald, he cannot help but conjure images of his partner into his mind. Think back to the pauses in his speech in this room, indicating that maybe, just maybe , he was still in there. No machine seeks out sex, nothing cold and unfeeling.
But at the same time, he can’t imagine that Viktor ever would have… No. Never with him. Especially not after everything he did to him, let alone for lack of attraction. Jayce betrays him, over and over again, pushes him aside, blasts a hole through his chest, and he comes to him wanting this? No. It can’t be.
And yet -
Your attempts to rationalize the scenario are palpable. Good. You still retain logical analysis.
The Herald taps its staff.
But your mind is still clouded with human belief. It matters little what is done here, so far from the combat. Whatever we partake in, in the interim between my victory and now, matters not for anyone above, for all of them shall embrace the same freedom once I have completed my work. Furthermore, your view of my proposition is also flawed. You believe that this exchange cannot occur without something innate to flesh? Even as I once was, I never needed my organic body to fulfill anyone’s desires. I needed only invention. An invention whose design I have improved… Vastly upon. Which you shall see in due time.
The Herald’s knees bend, and it begins to crouch.
However, pleasure, in its weakness, can only be given when it is received willingly. This is the fallacy of it. The paradox that humanity cannot achieve happiness without consenting to it when offered. Humans may remain in stubborn, conscious misery for their entire lives, and they will suffer for it needlessly. This is the flaw I most wish to correct.
Its fingers idly wrap around the base of the staff.
As a result, I cannot accomplish my goal if you do not consent, as it is imperative that you remain imperfect for it to take full effect. Should you refuse, our union shall still commence, but you will be unable to grasp the fullness of my ideals as I envision it. So, for the final time, you are offered a choice, Jayce. The outcome is predetermined, but it remains a choice. Shall you experience ultimate pleasure at my hand, or shall we quicken the progression of our union and do this as you decided we should when last we met?
Jayce is at a loss for words. He still can’t quite wrap his head around the totality of what The Herald is suggesting. His mind keeps flickering between his worries of the battle, his terror of the situation, The Herald’s offer in and of itself. And then another frightening thought, one which stirs something in him that he does not wish to name, mixing with his fear and revulsion.
If only it were Viktor asking me this.
And it frightens him because this is Viktor. His partner is standing right in front of him, as he well knows, and is asking to have sex with him. The surrealness of that fact is making Jayce’s head swim. But it also frightens him because why - why is he thinking that? Why is he envisioning this question being asked only a few years prior when something incomprehensibly vast and powerful is standing not two feet away from him, promising him that no matter what he decides, he will be assimilated into whatever network of intellect that composes it? Why is he wishing that Viktor - his Viktor - was giving him this ultimatum?
Instead of answering those questions, Jayce decides to take a step back. Play this game by The Herald’s rules. Think logically. The fact of the matter is that The Herald is wrong: about many things, but one thing in particular that Jayce latched on to when it spoke. It does matter what happens between The Herald getting its hands on the Hexcore and now, because all of what happens between then and the present moment is time . Time that can be spent delaying the inevi - giving an opportunity for his allies to succeed and then work their way down to him. To help combat this final threat before it can reach the point where it becomes unstoppable. And then maybe - just maybe - they can have a better chance at ending this once and for all.
So.
Jayce takes the logical approach.
He breathes in, closing his eyes for a moment, then looks back to The Herald.
“I accept.”
As predicted.
The Herald is fast. Jayce had witnessed it firsthand when it had restrained him, but its whole body now moves with angular, jerking twists that are almost imperceptibly swift. It looms above him in an instant. Jayce hears the mechanical clicking of The Herald’s joints as it positions itself, pressing its hands against his shoulders and pushing him back onto the ground. Jayce gasps, hands reflexively reaching up to protect himself, but The Herald had predicted that, as well. The Hex Claw reaches for his wrists and pins them above his head with a force that nearly crushes his bones.
Jayce hisses. Blood rushes to his head, and he’s not sure if it’s the fear, or the absurdity of it all, or if he’s losing his mind, but he laughs .
“Seems having a third arm really comes in handy , doesn’t it?” The Herald, for the first time, seems surprised; though, Jayce cannot be entirely certain. Reading emotions on the face of something that claims not to have any, especially when it is expressionless, is difficult.
You have changed less than I had anticipated.
Jayce chuckles again. If he’s going to stall this out, he might as well try to have a bit of fun with it. Viktor always liked a challenge.
“Glad I could defy your calculations then, Herald .” Jayce grins . The machine tilts its head.
Curious.
It wastes no more time, the hand holding Jayce to the ground now searching for the latches of his armor, finding and undoing the straps with automated precision. Jayce cooperates as The Herald works to remove the pauldron from his shoulder before it begins its task of undoing his coat. It keeps the Hex Claw in place, using its as-of-yet unoccupied hand to dislodge his belt. Jayce’s pulse quickens, and he puffs out steam into the icy room. He feels every emotion at once - fear, arousal, disgust, sorrow, rage, rebellion, submission - swirl under his skin, in his stomach, pouring out of his lungs and into the stale air. He closes his eyes, and his head spins, knocking back onto the floor. He feels the urge to vomit, or scream, or beg for more; he can’t be certain what he’s landed on at any given moment.
The Herald undoes the final button on his shirt - when did it get his jacket off? - and reveals his torso in a single motion. The Herald pauses, taking its time in analyzing what now lies in front of it. Somewhere, in the bile-slick sea of emotions that have welled up inside of Jayce’s core, he finds room for self-consciousness, opening his eyes to The Herald’s leering, monotonous gaze appraising him. Its hand reaches down.
You have lost muscle definition.
Jayce had felt it somewhat through his clothes, but The Herald is cold . Even in the conditions of the room, kept frigid and sterile, The Herald’s touch is freezing against his skin, siphoning the warmth of any retort he could have concocted to its comment. But the cold is not that of metal, cooled from the forge, polished and ready for use. No. It’s shockingly organic. The bumps and ridges of The Herald’s skin, contorting as it travels along the lines of Jayce’s body, hold the pliability and tackiness of something that was once alive. It’s almost clammy, but that could just be the temperature playing tricks on Jayce’s mind. Its hand begins to feel like a moist strip of fallen oak. Like a sliver of ice along his abdomen.
Like a corpse.
Sick. Jayce decides that he feels sick.
The Herald puts both hands on either side of the exposed stretch of skin, like it’s splaying Jayce open for autopsy. Then, its fingers glide across his chest, circling his pectorals. Inspecting him. The Herald’s fingers find Jayce’s stomach, and he sucks in a breath. It drinks in the tiny croaks and chill-spurred whines that it drives from Jayce’s throat. But eventually, The Herald seems to decide it has had enough with the prodding and returns its focus to Jayce’s belt, apparently having also been undone as Jayce’s head was swimming before. The leather snakes out of its upholstery, and The Herald examines the lining of Jayce’s pants before sliding them off of his hips, down to his knees. Jayce hisses again, the frigidity of the room hitting him right between the legs, even through his boxers. Slowly, as if cautious, one of The Herald’s hands extends towards it. Though, its touch now, through the cloth, is…
Gentle.
Jayce has enough will to struggle his head off of the ground, and he looks up.
Viktor’s shoulders are relaxed, his head tilted slightly to the left in the way he sometimes gets when he’s lost in thought. His hand grazes just above the outline of Jayce’s length, which is now slowly stiffening, though Jayce can’t quite place if that’s due to the temperature of his partner or the contact itself. Viktor’s chest heaves for a moment, as though with breath - another force of habit. He remains expressionless, but the look Viktor gives as he fixates on Jayce’s length is… Considering. Almost… Reverent. Jayce feels something catch in his throat - a sob, his breath, his heart? Everything is so unclear. He makes the tiniest noise, and it echoes faintly off the walls.
The Herald snaps up to face him, the facsimile of emotion disappearing from its skeletal form, now rigid. It shocks Jayce’s senses, and he finds himself transfixed by its stare once more. He thinks that this is what mice must feel when a boa rises from the brush and locks eyes with it, stunned still and hypnotized all at once. The Herald then hooks its fingers along the rim of his underwear, and in a swift, fluid tug, he is released.
Before Jayce can react to the sensation of the air, the hand returns to his skin, wrapping tightly around the warm, reddening flesh of Jayce’s cock. He gasps, a strangled sound stifled by the constriction of the predatory, serpentine grip. It’s so fucking cold . The heat from his body doesn’t even seem to be warming it as The Herald offers Jayce an experimental squeeze.
Now this -
The pads of its fingers roll up and along Jayce’s length, pausing just a moment for its thumb to swipe the head of his cock. Jayce chokes, writhing beneath The Herald’s touch.
- lives up to my estimations.
The Herald begins, and it is relentless. Mechanical, evenly-spaced movements up and down and up and down and up and down and -
Arousal. No - fuck - yes, it’s definitely arousal now.
Viktor is experienced, Jayce can glean that much in his sporadic lucidity as he strokes him. Jayce squirms, suppressing the little, pleasured mewls the act is drawing free from his throat. He looks down, and he notices that The Herald’s attention is now fully fixated on his cock, watching every twitch, every pulse, what feels best, what micro-adjustments must be made. It’s collecting data, like a processor, only with the critical capacity of a human mind on how to best perform its desired function. An artificial intelligence rooted in the organic.
Jayce feels emboldened. He smirks, rolling his hips.
“This your plan, Viktor? You just - nngh! - jerk me off like a piston until I cum for you? I thought you wanted to blow my mind. If I wanted to - mm - if I wanted to get milked by a machine, I would have just gone to the Undercity, and - AH -!”
The Herald takes its free hand and slams Jayce’s hips into the ground. The hand wrapped around him takes advantage of the shift in position and picks up the momentum. Jayce tries to squirm again, take back the initiative, but The Herald’s strength keeps him prone beneath it. He feels the lightning-surge of pleasure crackle through him as it strokes him faster than he would have thought humanly possible.
Know this, Jayce:
The Herald pushes his hips down just a bit harder, threatening to crack his pelvis under its weight. Jayce groans, wrenching his neck to the side, still unable to pry his hands from the Hex Claw’s grip.
Your efforts to test me have proved effectual thus far, as you have observed. Understand what you risk if you attempt to instigate me further.
Jayce can feel soreness beginning to spread in his lower back, but he can pay it little mind with The Herald’s near-blistering speed bringing him closer and closer to the edge. If he was in his right mind, he’d almost think to be embarrassed with how quickly this is going to make him cum. He’s never considered himself a quick sh -
“ Fuck! ” Okay, okay, okay - Jayce can’t think anymore. Time for thinking is very, very much over. The Herald strokes him vigorously, wrist snapping up and down with a robotic whir. It moves itself upwards along Jayce’s body. It takes its other hand from his waist and brings it up to his chest, pinching down hard on one of Jayce’s nipples, and Jayce throws his head back just as The Herald starts to hover over him. His lungs heave, his heart explodes, and he -
Come undone, Jayce. Experience the first of many.
And Jayce does as he’s told.
With a ragged howl, ropes of white shoot into the air and onto his stomach. The Herald refuses to slow down as it drains him of all that he has. Jayce twists, his lower body now free, wriggling and kicking beneath his partner as he rides it out, trying desperately to escape the pleasure and, paradoxically, absorb himself further into it. The Herald does not relent, not even after the last dribbles of cum eke their way out of Jayce’s flushed head. Jayce bites back a scream, kicking more fervently against the machine as pleasure quickly turns to pain, turns to pleasure, turns back to pain.
“Vik -!”
Before Jayce can manage the rest of his name, Viktor slows, gently, and then stops. Jayce pants hoarsely, thighs shaking from the overstimulation. The Hex Claw releases his arms, and Jayce pulls them down to his chest, turning over to his side: an action Viktor leans back far enough to give him room to complete. Over the course of several seconds, Jayce holds himself there, catching his breath, collecting his thoughts, remembering his shame as he feels the fold of his pants still resting along his shins. He swallows thickly around nothing, and he thinks:
Too soon. That probably disappointed him.
Which Jayce immediately registers as the dumbest thought he’s ever had, because what he should be thinking is: That barely bought them any time to figure out where Viktor is and send people here to help.
There is a small clink as The Herald takes a seat behind him.
Do you understand now? Had we been one, I could have continued my machinations well after you reached this mortal climax. You would have no refractory period. Nothing to keep us waiting from experiencing all that we may offer each other. You would never know the agony of aftermath ever again.
Jayce tries to steady himself. After a beat, still breathing hard, he turns over and locks eyes again with the machine. He feels beads of sweat drip from his matted hair and into his beard, both mussed with sex and salt.
“Maybe,” he pants, “but we’re not finished here yet. You promised me that you were going to - how did you phrase it? - rip orgasm after orgasm out of me? You didn’t think just one was going to get me on your side, did you, Vik?”
The Herald is motionless for a moment. Then, it rises to one knee - Viktor’s good knee. Force of habit.
I did not.
The Herald is on him again, twisting him onto his stomach by his forearm. Jayce gasps as The Herald pushes down against his shoulders, crouched above his back. It presses its thumbs on the underside of his shoulder blades, making his muscles clench beneath its ministrations. There’s another whir that sounds halfway like a hum as The Herald inspects his movements, revelling in its ability to precisely manipulate Jayce’s spasms. As if Jayce was a gear Viktor was fiddling with, or, perhaps more aptly given the squishiness of human meat, a stress toy being popped in and out of place.
Jayce finds his footing enough to speak again, managing a smile. “A massage, eh? Not what I would picture as your definition of ultimate pleasure , but I’ll take it.”
I shall provide you a true massage soon enough.
Slowly, The Herald’s hands work their way downwards, and Jayce feels its lower body - skeletal and jagged - rest on top of his somehow-still-clothed shins. Its fingers trace the curvature of his spine, clicking against each new ridge of bone, mapping the faded scarring of his back. Another inquisitive whir. The Herald takes one hand and clutches Jayce’s right hip, kneading it in a gesture that seems almost apologetic, while the other tentatively reaches the arch of his ass. It takes a moment for Viktor to move further, the slightest hint of trepidation in his hesitance, before he cups his cheek, smoothly gliding over it. Then, slowly, he takes both hands and spreads Jayce open for him. Cool air floods Jayce’s core as he is exposed, and a shock of terror races up his spine as he realizes what Viktor plans to do.
“W-Wait, do you have any -?!”
Something wet and cold, cold, cold begins to pour against Jayce’s uncovered flesh. He winces hard and twists himself around to catch a glimpse of Viktor holding his clenched fist above his ass, squeezing something in his palm. He watches as a dark purple liquid pours from Viktor’s hand and onto Jayce’s tender skin, and his heart rate spikes again. It feels like oil , motor oil, and Jayce has been covered in the stuff before, slick with grease in places he didn’t think were possible, but this is different and so, so, so, so cold . And it’s slightly thicker, less the consistently of engine fluid and more like
Blood.
Viktor looks up at him.
Did you believe that I would grant you this opportunity and not be prepared?
Jayce stammers, transfixed by the sight of Viktor’s slick, purplish blood flowing free from his hand and over him. Inside of him. Preparing Jayce for him . It makes his heart hurt, imagining Viktor cutting himself open to do it. It makes him want to curl in on himself and shrivel into nothing. It’s horrible. It’s disgusting.
It’s the hottest thing he’s seen in his life.
And that’s the scariest thought he’s had in the flood of emotions he’s been drowning in since the day Viktor died.
The Herald senses his conflict.
Do not be afraid. This act does not harm me. I no longer feel pain.
The Herald relaxes its grip, wiping the remainder of the fluid along the fingers of its opposite hand. Gently, it probes the tips of them against Jayce’s hole. Jayce twitches.
That is another limitation of humanity. Pain. Suffering. Agony. All of humanity is subject to the whims of displeasure and needless torment. And to what end? To register when something must change? When an action is ineffectual?
The Herald pushes in, and Jayce’s body seizes up. It takes its free hand, wound still fresh and weakly spurting fluid into its palm, and steadies Jayce’s thigh. Jayce feels the blood leak onto his skin, seeping into his pores, and his own blood turns cold for a moment. The Herald lets out another sound, the hiss of a valve releasing steam, like a soft, gentle hushhhhhh. Jayce steadies his breathing, pitiful whines muffled by the floor he rests his cheek on, and he gets the message. Slowly, one at a time, his muscles relax, and he invites Viktor in deeper. Equally slow, Viktor pushes further, exploring his partner as Jayce tries with every fiber in his being to keep himself from tensing.
It’s not that it feels bad . It’s strange, but definitely not unpleasant. He feels full. Very, very full, which is somewhat concerning considering that this is only one of Viktor’s fingers and Jayce knows that they are extremely narrow. It’s just the sensation is so… Unfamiliar. Being taken apart like this. And the danger of The Herald suddenly using its machine-like strength or speed to rip him in half from the inside out doesn’t escape Jayce’s mind either. Both sensations keep him on edge, but as Viktor continues to work him open, he feels his apprehensions begin to melt away. As he focuses on keeping his breathing steady, he registers that The Herald has begun monologuing again.
Pain is redundant. When you and I are connected, you will understand this to be the case. The visible evidence, the logical processing of unsatisfactory results, serves as more than enough to indicate when something is a failure. There is no need for bodily suffering when ineffectiveness and error can be analytically perceived and distanced from, so that its cause may be identified and corrected. The process, in my experience, is also exponentially faster. Think of the change that can be accomplished when pain and suffering are nonexistent. Think of the change you are witnessing now, now that I can no longer experience either.
The Herald adds another bony digit, and it begins to finger him faster. Not quite the same speed as the handjob - Jayce is very thankful for that - but enough for him to really start feeling a stretch. His exhales come out as punchy moans, and he feels The Herald begin to scissor him open, the sensation of which sends a chill running up his spine. The feeling of its fingers gradually loses its alien quality, and Jayce can’t help but wonder if this is what his partners have felt when he’s had his fingers inside of them, twisting closer and closer to their core. He wonders if his insides feel as warm as they did, pulsing against his hand as he focused all of his lust into driving them over the edge.
He wonders if his fingers felt this cold.
The Herald adds a third, and Jayce wonders if it maybe should have given him more time to adjust because oh that’s a lot. That’s way too much - He's way too full. Jayce almost manages to gasp out something along that sentiment when he feels The Herald’s middle finger curl inside of him, and -
Ah.
So that’s where that is.
The sound Jayce makes is embarrassingly loud and languid, and the echo it creates causes The Herald to stop all of its movements. The sudden lack of stimulation forces Jayce back into his body, and he feels his entire face flush dark with blood. He breathes hard and heavy, but he can’t bring himself to move elsewise, frozen with surprise and shame. Eventually, he manages to stutter something against the floor, turning his head just enough to see the shape of The Herald out of the corner of his eye.
“I-I don’t know what that - I’ve - I’ve never -”
The Herald thrusts all three fingers back inside of him with full force. Jayce shouts, unable to silence himself. He arches his back to meet The Herald’s fingers, moaning pitifully, as it fucks them into him hard, seeking out the spot they grazed over and over and over again. Each jab into his prostate has Jayce seeing white, blotchy light that he can almost trick himself into thinking are stars. He thinks Viktor’s going to kill him.
Viktor hoists himself up and leans his torso - cold - against Jayce’s back, and the Hex Claw buzzes back to life. It strikes, clutching Jayce’s chin, and forces his face off of the ground while Viktor’s hands work to fuck him and steady his body.
Curiosity compels me to ask, Jayce:
Viktor leans in, the cool steel of the mask pressed into Jayce’s ear, as if he still had a working mouth with which to whisper into it.
Have any of your other partners done this to you before? So broad, so strong - I cannot imagine most had the strength, even the conceit, to have you spread out as you are now, plunging their fingers into you like this. Tell me, am I truly the first who gets to see you as you are: pliant and pathetic as I stretch you open?
Jayce can’t reply. The pleasure is mounting inside of him, reducing him to a moaning, writhing mess. He barely registers that he’s being asked a question, and when his brain catches up with his ears, he can scarcely even process the metallic lilt to Viktor’s voice. He just hears Viktor, egging him on, berating him like a prideful lover deflowering his virgin bride. But Jayce is no blushing maiden. At least, he didn’t consider himself one before now.
Viktor makes a garbled, grating sound somewhere inside his metal skull, and he pries his chest away from Jayce, fingers still working inside of him. Jayce whines from the lack of contact, and The Herald addresses him.
I wouldn’t have the need to prepare you if you were mine, Jayce. I would be inside you fully, all around you, destroying you, building you back up, over and over again, at any time, if only you had accepted my proposal. Flesh needs preparation. Like a lamb before the butcher. You are no lamb, Jayce. Not before me. Not even like this. You deserve to become part of something greater - experience something more .
Jayce can feel the tightness well up inside of him, a second climax working its way through him. He starts hyperventilating. The pressure, the fingers, the sweet, sweet, impending release - he starts to shake again. Viktor nearly punches a hole through his stomach fingering him, or at least that’s what Jayce feels like he’s doing, and it stretches him completely, and it’s so much, too much, and it’s so, so good -
Jayce releases onto the floor, moans echoing through the chamber, his hips stuttering and writhing. Viktor coaxes him through it, but this time, he is merciful enough to slow down as the aftershocks recede. Jayce feels him start to gently rub his insides, thankfully avoiding his prostate as the pleasure subsides. Jayce has half a mind to worry that something inside of him is going to bruise, but right now, all he can think about is Viktor’s fingers working their magic, easing him out of his orgasm. The shame he felt before in the brutal afterglow of his previous one does not return, and as Viktor pulls the blood-soaked, skeletal digits out from him, Jayce finds the strength to flip over onto his back. Viktor is staring down at him again, once more sitting at a distance. Jayce huffs with exhaustion, hoisting himself onto his elbows and bringing himself to sit, as well.
“Well,” Jayce pants. “Not half bad. Always wondered what that felt like.”
My hypothesis was correct, then. You have never experienced anal stimulation.
“Oh, cut the bullshit, V.” Jayce grimaces. “You think I didn’t notice the way you spoke to me just now? Think I was too fucked out to hear how your voice sounded, knowing you were taking one of my firsts?”
Viktor pauses.
I do not understand what -
“You’re overcorrecting your speech is what I mean.” Jayce tilts his head onto his shoulder. “You worked yourself up, and you let a bit of you slip. Don’t pretend like you didn’t throw a fit at yourself with whatever noise that was before you started rambling about your philosophy to distance yourself from me. You were enjoying yourself. You felt good . Doesn’t seem to me like something a cold, calculating machine does to keep distance from his experiments.”
Jayce imagines that if the blank, unfeeling mask Viktor dons could emote, it would blink. He hopes it would, anyway, since the unmoving silence of The Herald is getting disconcerting. Maybe he pushed it too far. Maybe the fun’s over, and he just blew his only shot at keeping The Herald at bay, and he’s sitting here, almost completely naked - who even knows where his hammer is? - and is about to be killed by his former partner. Maybe this is the excuse it was looking for to prove to him that it was no longer human. It had warned him of what it could do to him if he tested it again, and maybe this is the moment where it can make good on its threats and tear his body into perfectly symmetrical, evenly spaced pieces, effortlessly and without remorse.
Viktor shifts on his heels, and proceeds to stand.
You always had remarkable perception. You’ve identified a concealed flaw.
Jayce blinks, stupefied. Viktor takes a step towards him.
This is why I need you, Jayce. Why I’ve always needed you. It is you who sees through even my own illusions. It is you who adapts to my flaws. My attempts at deception. But this deception is why I am incomplete. Why I must accomplish this final task and acquire the perfected analysis of the unbiased mind.
The Herald stands over Jayce now, and Jayce can see the sharp angle of its long neck, bent nearly 90 degrees down to look him in the eyes.
Once this is over, you shall complete me. All of us will be one mind, a perfect machine, and you and I shall serve as its core. A glorious, flawless unity.
Jayce cranes his neck up to him, and anguish floods his system.
“I never had to adapt to your flaws, Viktor.” His chest tightens. “Without you, I couldn’t have done any of what I accomplished. We didn’t make up for each other’s weaknesses. You brought out my greatest strengths. I can only hope that I did the same for you.”
Viktor stares, then looks away, a soft robotic click as his joints shift. He stays like that for a moment, like he’s restarting. Like he’s composing himself. Then, he looks down again, and Jayce finds a chill in The Herald’s glare.
I could have removed any semblance of free will you had to get you where you lie.
Viktor holds out a hand to his side. His staff rattles from where it had been discarded on the ground, springing to life and returning to his grasp with a resonant ching .
But I did not. Because I wanted to prove a point.
The Herald looks to the ceiling and holds the staff aloft, blue light collecting and humming at its crest. Jayce pushes himself backwards with his hands, but in his hurry to move away from whatever Viktor is doing, his brace dings against the floor and pain rockets through his knee. He shouts, doubled over on his side, clutching his poorly-healed leg, hissing and growling like a wounded animal. Viktor’s head snaps to him. He lowers the staff. He observes Jayce, gaze tracing the metal-working on his leg. There’s a click , like a gear snapping, or a tongue popping. Then, Viktor raises his staff again, slower now, blue light softly spilling out from the twisted handle wrapping around it. The Hex Claw reacts to it strongly, its pincers twisting and spinning in the azure glow. Then, it folds in on itself, and the iron limb jutting out from Viktor’s back plunges into him. He makes no sound, but his body reacts with a short stagger, quickly corrected as he regains his posture. Viktor looks down at Jayce as the man’s pain begins to subside.
I will not lie to you; I was hoping you would be resilient enough to continue rebelling against me. Because we are not finished here, Jayce. And I am... Quite eager to demonstrate my latest innovation. What I can truly accomplish with this body.
Jayce sucks in a breath through his teeth as the last of the shocks of pain turn to dull discomfort. He squints up at The Herald, turning himself back over.
“More of your ultimate pleasure, then? I have to say that I’m thankful.” He musters a smirk. “I was worried you’d give up just now.”
I surrender nothing , Jayce.
Viktor opens up the hand clutching his staff, and it returns to its fallen position.
The question is this: Are you willing to give up before I am done with you?
Jayce takes a breath. The fear is back, creeping up through his chest, but he pushes it down. His conviction takes hold, his resolve to do as he promised himself he would for the safety of all of Piltover.
And, perhaps, just a bit of eagerness.
And, perhaps, even something more.
“Never.” Jayce’s grin melts into an earnest smile. “I’ll never give up on you.”
Viktor’s chest falls involuntarily, a simulated exhale. Then, just as suddenly as it had happened, he straightens again.
We’ll see about that.
Another hum, this one low and darkly pulsing. It resonates from somewhere inside of Viktor’s torso, but as the humming gets louder, Jayce begins to notice his partner’s abdomen start to glow with deep, purple light. There’s a tearing sound, like fruit being peeled, and then, in the barren space between Viktor’s legs, a sharp, claw-like appendage emerges. Jayce gasps, watching as the Hex Claw reappears at The Herald’s groin, pulling the bone apart and ripping its way through the cold, grinding exterior of its body. Then, the purple glow bleeds out onto it, and the shape of the mechanical limb begins to morph, its jagged edges shifting into a smoother, softer-looking shape. Now, the Hex Claw, coated in purple fluid, Viktor’s very essence, ceases its movement and slithers out as a phallus, the gold-metal lining of Viktor’s skin wrapping around the length like veins. Jayce gulps.
Are you impressed? This is, of course, quite the recent development. When I had first emerged from the Hexcore, my anatomy had been drastically altered, as you saw firsthand. I later discovered my ability to improve the minds and bodies of others with the changes that it had bestowed upon me. Naturally, my first instinct was then to see what could be done with my own form. I tested a few methods, but when I had completed my latest evolution and returned, briefly, to my study, I discovered that I could transmogrify the Hex Claw into... Quite the interesting device.
Viktor’s fingers wrap loosely around the base.
Of course, as I can no longer feel pain, pleasure is completely out of the question. Though, as you have already perceived the flaw remaining in my mind, I shall make a confession. I had no such instrument in my human life, as you know, but my curiosity about its usage remains even now. I wonder how it would feel were I to have something such as this before, to be inside of someone else.
He looks down at Jayce, seated still between his legs.
Inside of you.
Jayce’s knees part subconsciously, and he blinks down at himself as he realizes it. But even as he looks away, he can’t forget the fact that Viktor’s dick is hanging just a few inches above his head.
Luckily, when you are mine, I shall share in your memories of being consumed by warmth. And my curiosity shall be sated. Now...
Viktor reaches down and grabs a fistful of Jayce’s hair. He pulls his head up, forcing him again to look him in the eyes.
Rest. My preparation was not for nothing. You shall cum again, and you shall do so untouched while I fuck you. There will be no alternatives.
Jayce’s spent cock jumps. He hears a quiet, staccato hum that vibrates his scalp where Viktor’s hand is connected to him, and Jayce’s heart skips a beat. Viktor is laughing . Not mockingly, though, no. It’s that soft chuckle Jayce sometimes heard when Sky complimented him on his work. Or when Heimerdinger told a joke so far removed from his understanding, he couldn’t help but be amused. Or when Jayce would fumble over his words trying to work out a formula, his brain moving faster than his lips, before Viktor would tell him to breathe and start over.
It’s a very sweet laugh.
Jayce feels a twist somewhere in his soul, and he leans back, just as Viktor asked, as his hair is released. The Herald walks backwards, admiring the body below him.
I had envisioned taking you from behind, but your injury has complicated the matter. It is best in this position, then. Your pleasure will be maximized in compromise.
Jayce looks up.
“You’ve imagined this?” The smirk returns, and he parts his legs wider. “How often have you thought about fucking me, Viktor?”
He expects a sharp reprimand, for Viktor to leap on him and break his other leg, for teasing him. Instead, Viktor shuffles back, missing a step as he takes in the full image of Jayce’s form. He doesn’t respond to him, and it makes Jayce’s eyes widen. How often had he thought about this? For how long? Did he think about this before… Had he imagined Jayce, spread out for him on the floor of their laboratory, in one of their apartments, in this very room? And how many times had he -
Jayce can’t get lost in his own fantasies. Not now. Not when all of this could be over so soon. Which. Which would be the worst possible outcome, as all of his efforts have been to stall The Machine Herald from obtaining the power it needs to enact its plan. Which would. Which has no bearing on how often Jayce has thought about - how often Viktor has thought about this.
Jayce sweats.
Viktor does not answer his question.
Instead, The Herald folds itself onto its knees, joints squeaking like spring locks being bent into place. It begins a slow crawl - deliberately slow, prowling - towards Jayce. When it reaches him, The Herald takes Jayce’s parted legs and gently spreads them open farther, resting his ankles on top of its shoulders. Jayce’s breath catches, but he does not resist. Why would he? As far as his plan is concerned, he has Viktor right where he wants him.
Viktor’s unblinking eyes travel along Jayce’s chest. When he is fully seated, Viktor reaches out and touches it again. Jayce tenses to brace for his icy fingers. But with his partner pressed against his lower half, and the hardness of his creation nudging into his tender thigh, he has less need to constrict his muscles as hard as he had during their first contact. The sensation is less probing this time around, too, and more exploratory. Like Viktor is touching him not to measure his proportions for analysis, but to travel gingerly along the lines and edges of his partner. The ridges of his creaking fingers press into the softness of flesh, relishing in the way muscle gives so easily to pressure. He smoothes over the hair, splayed against Jayce’s chest with two orgasms worth of sweat.
Jayce wonders if The Herald is fascinated or disgusted by the feeling of the organic in its new form - if it finds Jayce a wonder or a symbol of weakness that it cannot wait to expel. But Jayce knows Viktor. Even now, he knows him. There’s a deliberate tenderness that he cannot help but use with Jayce. Perhaps he is committing the feeling of Jayce’s skin to his memory if this is truly the last time he will feel him. Jayce hopes that somewhere beneath the metal, Viktor is wondering if he’s going to regret ridding him of it.
Viktor splays his palm open over Jayce’s heart. Jayce’s heartbeat starts to quicken, and they both feel the change in his pulse along their skin. Jayce imagines Viktor grabbing a hold of his chest and tearing a chunk of flesh from him, where his hand lies. He imagines him crunching down onto his ribs and sending shards of bone into his lungs. He imagines him pulling out his beating heart, valves and ligaments still attached, and holding it skywards, crushing it in his hand with an ease unlike anything a human being is capable of. He imagines watching red, vascular fluid leak between Viktor’s fingers as he presses his other palm to Jayce’s skull, and he imagines everything going white.
Are you afraid, Jayce? Do you fear my strength even now?
Jayce takes a breath. Then, he reaches up to rest his hand on top of Viktor’s, his heartbeat steadying. He holds it there for a moment, then gives Viktor a gentle squeeze.
“My heart’s still beating.” Jayce looks down to where their hands meet. “I’m alive because of you, you know. In… In more ways than one right now, I guess. But I’m going to keep living no matter what you say, or what you try to do to me. Because I chose to keep living -” Jayce smiles up at his partner - “because of you .”
Viktor’s head perks up, and he meets his gaze. Jayce sees his wrist spasm involuntarily, like a bit of wiring got zipped somewhere in his arm. The hiss of steam, the falling of shoulders, and Viktor’s hand presses deeper into Jayce’s muscle. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to feel. Like he’s keeping Jayce in place. Like he’s making sure he’s real. And he stays there for a moment. A moment too long for it to be a pause for analytical processing. Then, he snakes his hand free from Jayce’s grasp, moving to hold onto the insides of his thighs. Another moment passes.
Is that why you agreed to this, as well? To go through with the selfless act of doing something for me? Or was your intent solely to delay my progress for your comrades?
Jayce blinks rapidly. He tries to stammer out a defense, a deflection. Viktor looks down, staring beyond him again.
I am not a fool, Jayce. I know you never intended to comply with my efforts for any reason other than strategic gain. It has no bearing on my success, one way or the other. My point will be made no matter what you feel in regards to fulfilling this desire. As I have said:
The Herald leans forward, and Jayce senses the tactile presence of its glowing design between his legs. His gasp is stolen from his lungs as The Herald pushes his legs back, angling the tip with his entrance and locking their eyes one final time.
Choice. Is. False.
Jayce is speared by The Herald’s massive length in a single, swift motion. The sound he makes borders on a scream, arching his back off of the ground as Viktor wastes no time in plunging himself into him over and over again. His moans come out as hiccups, punctuated by each thrust The Herald makes into him.
He’s big. He’s very fucking big, and it’s unlike anything Jayce has felt in his entire life. If his fingers had felt like they could tear a hole through him with how deep they got and how fast they went, Viktor’s cock feels like it could split him in half and keep going. The rational part of Jayce’s brain - astonishingly somewhat intact - knows this to be impossible, but the image sticks, even as pleasure sears across his skin and burns into his retinas. It’s like ascending to heaven. It’s like being dragged into hell. It’s the kicking and screaming and thrashing of every single neuron in his body firing all at once, and he loves it. He can’t get enough of it. He desperately wants to escape. He wants to claw his way into Viktor’s body and be consumed by him completely. He wants to cry. He wants to laugh. All he wants is Viktor, Viktor, Viktor, Viktor, Viktor -
Viktor presses his body against him, wrapping his arms around his partner, like he’s scooping him into a hug. Jayce mewls, reaching out through bleary eyes and clutching onto Viktor’s back like he would fall into oblivion if he didn’t, trapping his legs in place with his own. In the cage of Viktor’s limbs, muffled by pounding thrusts, Jayce hears a voice unmistakable to him, one that lights up every signal of recognition in his mind. And yet it’s foreign, alien, like a distant dream, or a forgotten friend.
“I always wanted to do this. Always. I thought of you all the time. Every day. Like this, in the lab, anywhere we went together. I wanted to destroy you. I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to lick your wounds. I wanted to overload your senses like a motor being run too hard, and I wanted to fix you up again. Every second, of every minute, of every hour, of all the time I had known you, I had loved you. And I wanted you to love me, to destroy me, to piece every broken bone, or crinkled lung, or dying organ back together inside of me. I wanted an eternity with you. An eternity I could never have.”
Viktor pulls his head out from the crook of Jayce’s shoulder. He glides a hand from Jayce’s back along his neck, along his pulse, and onto his cheek, and he cups it. Through ragged breaths and unrelenting pressure, Jayce manages to stare up at him, lips parted, moans slipping free.
“But now I can. I can have an eternity with you, like this, in the dream of my mind, as one person, surrounded by the collective consciousness of a great, new world. A grand utopia. With you. All you must do is come with me, and my last selfish act can be realized. You said you live because of me. Then become one with me, for me, and you will never have to worry about living again.”
Tears flow from Jayce’s eyes, and he can’t tell if it’s because of what his partner is doing or what his partner is saying. His hands reach up from Viktor’s back and tangle in his hair.
“You don’t have to do this for me. Not - ah - not for anyone else!” Jayce tries to speak, but it’s so hard to focus like this. He can barely even hear his own thoughts over the bruising pace Viktor has set.
Miraculously, as if to give Jayce just a bit more room to retort, Viktor actually slows enough to where thinking is possible again. Jayce’s lip quivers. He still cannot identify the source.
“Everything you want - we can have that without all of this.” His grip on Viktor gets tighter with a particularly well-angled thrust. “You don’t have to sacrifice the world to make it a better place. You - mm - you don’t have to make me a part of you to get me to stay. You don’t have to change - ”
“I had to change myself for this . I never would have been able to tell you any of this, had I stayed as I was. And you never would have listened to me if I were the man I used to be. I am stronger than I ever thought possible. I am better this way, even if I cannot feel you as I wanted to when I could still want .”
“I never would have rejected you, Viktor!”
“You rejected me at every turn.”
“If I had known -”
“But you hadn’t.”
“But I know now! I accept you now! I accepted you then! And I would have stayed with you like this, just as you were."
“It’s too late for -”
“No! It’s not too late. I told you I’d never give up on you. I have done everything I’ve done these past few months for you . I care about you, Viktor.”
“Jayce -”
“I l-!”
Shut up.
The Herald grabs Jayce by the neck and forces him back down. Jayce chokes around its fingers, grasp tight, constricting his airflow. He scrambles, desperately clawing at its grip, twisting himself to be free. The Herald’s other hand shoots up to Jayce’s wrists and pins them up his head with a loud, reverberating BANG . Pain shocks Jayce’s system, thrumming in time with his pulse, now fully erratic. In the same instant, The Herald picks up again, nearly folding Jayce in half at the waist, pounding him relentlessly. Jayce feels its oil-slick blood dripping from his hole and trickling down his ass from the force of its thrusts.
I will finish what I started. You will be mine. All of this will be over soon.
Its voice is monotone, unfeeling, cold, cold, cold . The Herald was right. It really can’t feel pleasure anymore. It thrusts ceaselessly into Jayce, strangles the life out of him, purely to prove a point, to -
- finish what I started. You will be mine. All of this will be over soon.
Jayce notices somewhere in the oxygen-deprived haze that The Herald is repeating itself, over and over. Like a scratched record, or an automaton with faulty code. Stuck in the same loop, with the same cadence, with the same automated, unemotional tone. But it’s not a glitch, Jayce realizes. It is a purposeful repetition. The Herald is trying to convince itself that what it’s saying it’s true.
It is you who sees through even my own illusions.
Jayce starts to see spots at the edge of his vision at the same moment a coil of pleasure begins turning over in his gut. His head, pinned to the floor, can only show him the domed ceiling, but he tries to drag his eyes down to see The Herald, to watch its movements. His throat tightens, watching Viktor as he thrusts with fervor and intensity, gaze fixed on his stomach, and Jayce comes to the horrifying realization that he’s about to cum for the third time in a single hour with a hand around his throat. Black blotches pepper his view of Viktor’s body, and at the exact moment before he loses consciousness, he lets out a dying rasp, and his whole body seizes with climactic pleasure. Viktor fucks him through it, and Jayce thinks that his earlier thought was right, that Viktor’s going to kill him, not even bother to try assimilating his mind, in spite of everything he said, as he feels his eyes roll into the back of his head, and he -
Viktor lets go, and Jayce gasps loudly and painfully. He doubles over onto his side, frantically catching his breath and violently coughing onto the floor. Jayce only realizes Viktor released his hands, too, after he clutches his throat and feels the tender flesh, windpipe thankfully undamaged outside of the growing redness and awful soreness in his esophagus. As Jayce collects himself, Viktor pulls away completely. Jayce shudders and whines, hoarsely, as his cock is dragged out from his ass, leaving him empty and covered in purple sap. Jayce catches his breath, breaths still ragged, and turns over to see Viktor stand completely. He watches as the glowing, purple phallus starts to shake before being sheathed into Viktor’s body with a wet shlick . There’s a pulsing, shuddering hum, and Viktor’s back cracks open with a grating, metallic tear, and the Hex Claw, fully reformed, reemerges, spinning as if to recalibrate.
The black spots fully dissipate, and Jayce turns over onto his back, staring dumbfounded at his partner. Viktor is silent, and his head is turned fully away from him, refusing to meet his gaze. Jayce pants, straining with effort from his unbelievably sore muscles and tired joints.
“I meant what I said,” he breathes. “There’s still time. I know you’re in there, Viktor. We could end all of this right now.”
Hollow stillness. Viktor’s core thrums with pulsing, soundless light.
Jayce pulls himself up, groaning with the effort. Somehow, he manages to stand, leaning heavily on his good leg. He tucks himself away, still sticky with fluid, his and Viktor’s, but he couldn’t care less about that now. His shirt is still open and his jacket is discarded, but all he can focus on is the man who stands before him.
“‘Cause I promise you that as long as I’m still standing, I won’t let you go through with this. I care about you too much. Like I said, I -”
You have much more stamina than I remember.
The Herald faces him.
After all of that, you still have the will to fight me.
Jayce blinks, then clenches his fists.
“I’m only willing to do what’s right. For the good of the world. And for you, Viktor.”
A moment.
You talk so much about doing what you do for me . In spite of all arguments posited against you. You baffle the cognitive mind with your stubbornness. The illogicality with which you operate continues to confound my expectations. You are an utter anomaly, Jayce Talis.
Jayce can’t decide on an expression he wants to twist his face into.
But as I have stated -
The Herald reaches out a hand, and its staff is summoned to its side.
Progress cannot be prevented.
Suddenly, Jayce can no longer feel the ground. The lights around him begin to flicker rapidly, and he sees The Herald slowly lift off the floor.
The Hexcore .
No! Not after all of this -
But he knows. Jayce knows, as he begins to float, suspended in the air, catching out of the corner of his eye the image of his hammer, long since abandoned, floating up with him, that this was not for nothing. If this is Viktor’s final test, his final push of Jayce’s resolve, whether he knows it or not, then so be it. He cracked the armor. He saw through Viktor’s facade, his deception, and he knows that if The Herald were truly heartless, truly inhuman, he wouldn’t even have given him the chance to fight back now. It’s still Viktor. It’s always been Viktor.
Jayce glides towards his hammer as Viktor begins to rocket upwards out of the dome. Jayce pulls a switch on the handle and feels himself shoot up towards him.
Viktor wants to run away from him again?
Jayce won’t let him get the chance.