Chapter Text
As Viktor slowly made his way down into the cave where Doctor Reveck had made his residence, the temperature dropping as he descended into the damp caverns, the weight of his decision to leave truly began to sink in. He had left Jayce alone to face the Council-who had no idea about his transformation, and would have every motive to kill or experiment on him. Or, barring that, they'd find some way to convince him to make Hextech weapons.
Why had he left Jayce alone with only the Hexcore and their research? Yes, Mel was there too-but she was busy with politics, and he doubted she'd be able to find him before the rest of the Council did. He had to go back.
...No. Not yet. He couldn't go back yet-especially not when he was literally standing just outside the Doctor's lab. Taking a deep breath and (unsuccessfully) trying to push his concerns for Jayce away, he crossed the threshold.
The Doctor barely gave an indication that he noticed Viktor's entrance, merely shifting slightly as he worked on an organ. "I was wondering when you would return, Viktor."
Viktor resisted the urge to glance to the side. He had learned long ago to Not Ask about Doctor Reveck's experiments for his own peace of mind, so he very pointedly Did Not Look at the partially-assembled wolfman strung up from the ceiling. (He didn't want to know, he didn't need to know, it wasn't his business-) "I need your help, Doctor."
"I assume that your experiments with the Hexcore did not succeed." He placed the organ he was examining in a tray. "A pity."
"Actually, it was successful." He pried his fingers back and pulled off his glove to reveal the lifeless metal to the Doctor, who had finally turned to look at Viktor. "But the cost was too great-an innocent life was sacrificed." The ever-present guilt swelled up, wrapping around his heart. "As such, I seek an alternative solution to curing my sickness that is not tied to the Hexcore."
Doctor Reveck actually looked surprised, before his expression returned to its normal expression. "If that's the case, then I believe that I can provide a solution." He rose from his seat, making his way over to the other side of the room. "But I must inform you: there is a chance that your disease has progressed so far that any cure I provide might not be permanent."
Viktor winced at the confirmation of what he'd already suspected, tightening his grip on his crutch and letting out a sigh. "It is fortunate, then, that I might have a more... Permanent solution in mind." He took a deep breath. "But I cannot implement my solution if I don't survive this." It had come to him when Councilor Medarda was tying the tourniquet-an unhinged, insane idea that nonetheless felt like the obvious solution he'd been missing. He'd been drafting blueprints and schematics in his mind to keep himself awake while waiting for Jayce to wake up, his sleep-deprived mind spiraling on himself and pushing the idea ever-further and further. Slowly, he looked up, making direct eye contact with the Doctor. "I need all the time I can get, Doctor-even if it's only a few months."
Doctor Reveck nodded. "Very well. I shall prepare the procedure." He picked up a scalpel and began to clean it, only to pause and look back at Viktor. "If I may ask, Viktor, what is this more permanent solution?" His calculating gaze swept over the Zaunite, expression unreadable.
Viktor weighed the odds of telling him, before remembering that he didn't have many other options and that he'd already left the realm of "sane and rational" when he'd resurrected Jayce and subsequently lasered his own leg off. "You are aware how prosthetic limbs are common in Zaun," He started, watching his face to see how he'd react. Disappointingly, the Doctor's face remained neutral. "My solution is to create a prosthetic for my lungs."
"Mechanical lungs?" Reveck considered it for a moment as he filled a vial with Shimmer, something about his countenance almost... Approving, as if Viktor had just delivered unexpected good news. "That type of augmentation has never been successfully created-but if anyone is capable of such a feat, it would be you, Viktor." He moved away to gather the rest of the supplies he'd need, only to pause and look back at Viktor. "Although, are you truly certain as to that course of action? It would not stop at your lungs-and such a path would demand everything of you, even your very soul."
"My body is on the line, Doctor," Viktor stated bluntly, "As is the future of the Undercity. If I wish to continue my work and truly make a difference, I must do this." And on those words, he cast aside his hesitation and lay down on the operation table, staring resolutely at the cave ceiling. He had no doubt that this was going to be taxing, but it was necessary: the only way he could ensue Hextech stayed out of the Council's hands, and to ensue the Hexcore didn't consume his partner's soul, was to fight for it. And he couldn't do that if he wasted away from his illness. (He would not die to this.)
"Very well." Slowly, the Doctor loped over to the table, a few vials of Shimmer, a scalpel, and a few syringes in hand. "We shall begin." He reached down and began to tighten the leather straps on the table around Viktor's body and limbs, securing him firmly in place. As soon as the final strap was done, he lifted a syringe, tapping it to get rid of the air bubbles. "I must warn you, this will be painful." And with that, he brought the needle down.
Reveck was right: it was painful. Viktor had thought he knew pain, both from the amputation and the agony of the Hexcore transmuting his leg, as well as a lifetime of chronic pain-but all of those experiences paled in comparison to the Doctor's procedure. It felt like someone had set fire to his bloodstream and sent lightning arcing through his blood, lighting every nerve and neuron in his body alight with sheer agony. A pained guttural scream tore from his throat as his vision turned purple from the Shimmer injections. Acid and fire and electricity all tore through his cells in a horrific trifecta, his lungs feeling like they were being incinerated and remade at once.
Every time he thought the pain would stop, it instead became worse. He screeched and writhed against the leather straps, his fingernails digging into the operating table had enough to draw blood as every cell in his body screamed in agony as it blossomed with the sickly corruption, dying and rebirthing at once in a never-ending rictus of endless torment.
Eventually, it got too much-and he finally fell into a blissful unconsciousness.