#skyvic

The laboratory was a sanctuary of amber light and the rhythmic, metallic ticking of a hundred different experiments. For Viktor, it was also a prison of his own failing biology.

He leaned heavily over his desk, the scratch of his pen against parchment the only sound until the soft clink of a ceramic mug announced her arrival.

"You’re vibrating, Viktor," Sky said softly, her voice a gentle anchor in the sea of his racing thoughts. "Or perhaps it’s the table. Either way, the friction is likely to cause a fire."

Viktor looked up, his deep-set eyes blinking as he adjusted to the new light in the room. Sky stood there, her lab coat slightly oversized, clutching a cup of tea she had undoubtedly brewed to his exact, bitter specifications. She was the only person who could navigate the chaotic geography of his workspace without knocking over a single vial.

"The Hexcore is... stubborn," Viktor muttered, his voice raspy. Gods, when was the last time he ate or drank anything? He reached for his cane, but his hand cramped, a sharp reminder of the clock ticking in his veins.

Sky didn't offer pity—she knew he hated that. Instead, she set the tea down and moved to the chalkboard, picking up a piece of chalk. "You’re focusing on the organic transmutation again. You’re trying to force the magic to mimic the cell, rather than inviting the cell to join the magic."

Viktor watched her. He often found himself watching her when he should have been watching the shimmer of Hextech. There was a quiet brilliance in Sky—a grounded, earthy intelligence that balanced his ethereal, often dangerous ambitions.

"Inviting it," Viktor mused, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. "You make it sound like a social engagement, Sky."

"Science is a conversation, isn't it?" She turned, her expression softening as she saw the sheer exhaustion etched into his features. She stepped closer, crossing the professional boundary that usually sat between them like an invisible wall. "But you can't have a conversation if you’ve forgotten how to breathe."

She reached out, her fingers hesitant before they brushed against his hand—the one resting on the desk. Her skin was warm, a stark contrast to the cold metal and stone that defined his life. Viktor didn't pull away. In fact, he turned his hand over, allowing his fingers to curl slightly around hers.

The air in the lab shifted. The looming threat of the Hexcore, the pressure of Heimerdinger’s expectations, and the shadow of his illness seemed to retreat into the corners.

"I don't have much time for breathing, Sky," he whispered, his gaze dropping to their joined hands.

"Then let me do it for you for a moment," she replied.

Sky leaned in, her movements cautious, giving him every chance to retreat. When he didn't, she pressed a lingering, feather-light kiss to his cheek. It was a gesture of profound tenderness, a promise that she saw the man behind the genius—the man who was worth saving, not just for his mind, but for his soul.

Viktor closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against hers. For the first time in weeks, the frantic hum of the Hexcore in his mind went silent.

"Stay," he breathed. "Just for a few minutes."

Sky squeezed his hand, her heart thumping against her ribs. "I’m not going anywhere, Viktor. Not until the tea is cold and the equations make sense."

The moment was fragile, a rare suspension of the laws of physics that usually governed Viktor’s life. He pulled her closer, his face buried in the crook of her neck. Sky smelled of old parchment and the faint, sweet scent of the dried lavender she kept in her pockets—a scent that felt more like "home" than any place he had lived in the Undercity.

But as he squeezed her, a cold, sharp blade seemed to twist in his lungs.

The warmth of the embrace shattered. Viktor wrenched himself away, his body doubling over as a violent, racking cough tore through him. It was a wet, hollow sound that echoed off the cold stone of the lab. He pressed a handkerchief to his mouth, his knuckles white, his entire frame shuddering with the effort to keep his feet.

"Viktor!" Sky’s voice was a frantic chord. She reached out to steady him, her eyes widening as he pulled the cloth away.

It was stained a brilliant, terrifying crimson.

"Oh, gods," she breathed, her face draining of color. She looked from the blood to his ashen skin. "Viktor, you’re—you’re dying. I have to get Jayce. He can get the Academy physicians, he can—"

She turned to bolt for the heavy lab doors, her footsteps frantic on the tiles.

"Sky! No!"

Viktor lunged, his fingers catching her wrist with a strength born of pure desperation. The jerk of the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his chest, but he didn't let go. He leaned heavily against the edge of the chalkboard, his breath coming in jagged, wheezing whistles.

"Viktor, let me go!" she pleaded, tears pricking her eyes. "He needs to know. You can’t do this alone."

"He... he can't know," Viktor rasped, his voice a ghost of itself. He shook his head, his damp hair clinging to his forehead. "Not yet."

"Why?" she sobbed. "Because of your pride? Because of Hextech?"

"Because of the work," he countered, his grip on her hand tightening as he pulled her back toward the amber glow of the desk. "Jayce is... he is the face of this future. He is the dreamer. If he sees me like this, the dream stops. He will drop everything to save a man who cannot be saved, and the breakthrough will slip through our fingers."

He looked at the Hexcore, pulsing rhythmically on its pedestal like a cold, violet heart.

"This is the only way, Sky. No distractions. No pity." He looked back at her, his eyes burning with a feverish, haunting intensity. "I need your silence more than I need a doctor. Help me... help me finish this. Please."

Sky looked at his hand—thin, trembling, and stained with his own life’s blood—and then at his face. The romance of the moment had been replaced by a grim, heavy reality. She didn't run. She stood there, her heart breaking in the silence of the lab, and slowly, she placed her other hand over his.

"I'll help you," she whispered, her voice thick with the weight of the secret. "But I won't watch you disappear, Viktor. I won't."

The following hours were a blur of chalk dust and the low, rhythmic scratching of lead on paper. Sky sat perched on a high stool, the heavy silence of the lab only broken by Viktor’s shallow, whistling breath. She watched him constantly over the rim of her glasses, her heart jumping every time he shifted or cleared his throat. She was a sentry guarding a crumbling fortress, her eyes tracking the way his hand shook as he adjusted the alignment of the lenses.

"The resonance is stabilizing," Sky whispered, marking a final variable on the ledger. "But the energy consumption equation is no longer enough to describe the mass-energy conversion here, Viktor. The Hexcore is hungry."

Viktor didn't look up from the core, his face bathed in a sickly violet hue. "It is not hungry, Sky. It is efficient."

The heavy oak doors swung open with a bang that made Sky nearly fall off her stool.

Jayce sauntered in, looking like the literal golden boy of Piltover. His hair was slightly tousled, his collar unbuttoned, and he carried the lingering, expensive scent of Mel Medarda’s perfume and high-end wine. He looked refreshed, vibrant—a cruel mirror to the two exhausted shadows huddled in the dim light.

He stopped, his gaze bouncing between Sky and Viktor. He raised a brow, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face. "Late night for the research team? I didn't realize you two were so… dedicated to the overnight shift."

Viktor didn't move, his hand instinctively clenching the blood-stained handkerchief hidden in his pocket. Sky felt her pulse thunder in her neck, terrified that Jayce would see the tremor in Viktor’s frame or the paleness of his lips.

"We were just finalizing the stability matrices," Sky said, her voice a pitch too high. She jumped down and stepped between Jayce and Viktor’s discarded, bloodied cloth.

Jayce didn't seem to notice. He leaned over the desk, squinting at the chalkboard. As his eyes scanned the complex web of equations they had just woven, his smirk faded into a look of genuine, profound awe.

"Viktor… Sky…" Jayce breathed, tracing a line of Sky’s handwriting. "This bypasses the thermal bottleneck entirely. If these calculations are right, we’re not just talking about a power source anymore. We’re talking about an evolution."

He looked at Viktor, clapping a heavy, enthusiastic hand on his shoulder—a gesture that made Viktor wince, though he masked it with a tight nod.

"I knew you were a genius," Jayce laughed, his eyes bright with the thrill of the breakthrough. "But this? This is incredible. You two make quite a team."

He turned to the Hexcore, oblivious to the fact that Sky was watching Viktor’s knees buckle slightly. "We start the trial at dawn. Get some rest, both of you. You look like you've seen a ghost."

The silence of the midnight lab was broken only by the hungry hum of the Hexcore. Viktor moved with a desperate, feverish speed, his hands trembling as he input the final sequences. He could feel the cold fluid back in his lungs—the illness reclaiming the territory he had stolen.

He didn't just want to walk; he wanted to live.

He stepped into the stabilization field and initiated the full-body integration. The reaction was instantaneous and cataclysmic. It wasn't a gentle glow this time; it was as if he had been struck by a bolt of lightning that refused to ground. His back arched, his mouth locked in a silent scream as the violet energy tore through his chest, his arms, his very spine. He was pinned in the air by invisible talons of light, unable to move, unable to breathe.

"Viktor!"

The door slammed open. Sky stood there, a fresh cup of coffee in her hand. The mug shattered against the floor as she saw him. "Viktor! No!"

She didn't think. She didn't calculate. She ran toward the shimmering, violent heart of the storm.

"Sky, stay back!" he tried to roar, but his lungs were filled with ozone.

She reached into the field, her hand catching his. The second her skin touched the hex-energy, the power surged with a blinding, white-hot intensity. The Arcane didn't just pass through her; it consumed her. The light was so bright it turned the world into a void of pure screaming energy.

Then, the floor rushed up to meet him.

The lab was deathly silent, save for the cooling hiss of the Hexcore. Viktor stood over the mound of ash, his new, metallic fingers trembling as they hovered over Sky’s glasses. The grief was there, but it felt filtered—processed through a mind that now hummed with the cold, logical frequency of the Arcane.

The doors burst open. Jayce skidded into the room, his face pale, his breath coming in ragged stabs. "I heard the noise! Viktor, I—"

Jayce’s words died in his throat. He looked at the smoking machinery, then down at the floor. He saw the ashes. He saw the cracked lenses of the woman who had lived in the shadows of their greatness. Finally, his eyes moved to Viktor.

Viktor didn't look human. The violet crystal had climbed his neck, tracing the line of his jaw and encasing his torso in a shimmering, translucent shell. He looked like a god carved from starlight and iron.

"Viktor?" Jayce whispered.

"She touched me," Viktor rasped, his voice vibrating with a metallic resonance. He didn't look up. "The stabilization failed. I told her to stay back, Jayce. I told her... and now she is nothing but dust."

He expected the horror. He expected Jayce to scream, to call him a monster, to cast him out of the light of Piltover. He braced his new, reinforced spine for the rejection that had followed him since the Sump.

Instead, he felt a hand—warm, heavy, and unmistakably human—rest firmly on his cold, crystalline shoulder.

Jayce didn't pull away. He stepped into the wreckage and pulled Viktor into a fierce, crushing embrace. He didn't care about the sharp edges of the metal or the terrifying hum of the magic pulsing beneath Viktor’s skin.

"I’m so sorry," Jayce choked out, his voice thick with tears. "Viktor, I’m so sorry."

Viktor froze. The logic of the Hexcore struggled to compute the sensation of Jayce’s heartbeat thudding against his new chest. "You saw what I did. What I am. I killed her, Jayce. I let the magic take her."

"No," Jayce said, pulling back just enough to look Viktor in the eye, his own face wet with tears. "You were trying to survive. She knew that. She loved you, V. She wouldn't want you to hate yourself for this."

Jayce reached down and carefully picked up Sky’s glasses from the ash, tucking them into a pocket over his heart. Then, he looked at Viktor’s transformed body, not with fear, but with a profound, aching tenderness. He ran a hand over the glowing violet plates of Viktor’s arm.

"It healed you," Jayce whispered, a small, broken smile touching his lips. "You aren't dying anymore. That’s what she wanted. That’s what we both wanted."

Viktor leaned into Jayce’s touch, the cold steel of his forehead resting against Jayce's warm shoulder. The metallic humming of his body seemed to soften, syncing for a moment with the steady rhythm of his partner.

"I don't know if I'm still the man you knew," Viktor admitted, his voice a low hum.

"Then I'll get to know the man you've become," Jayce promised, squeezing his hand. "We’ll figure it out. Together. No more secrets, Viktor. We’re going to finish this, and we’re going to do it the way she would have wanted. We're going to save everyone."

In the dim light of the destroyed lab, the Man of Progress and the Herald of the Evolution stood amidst the ashes of the past, looking toward a future that was as terrifying as it was beautiful.

The following weeks were a blur of grief and shifting gears. Viktor lived in the silence of the lab, a ghost haunting his own workstation. He spent hours hunched over Sky’s journals, his metallic fingers turning the delicate pages with agonizing care. Every time he saw his own face sketched in the margins—drawn with such unshielded love—a fresh wave of agony ripped through him.

He sobbed, a sound that was now a jarring mix of human rasp and mechanical hum. In a sudden, blinding fit of rage, Viktor stood and swung his cane—the one he no longer needed—at the Hexcore.

"You took her!" he screamed.

The wood shattered against the stone, but as the blow landed, a bolt of agonizing feedback surged through Viktor’s body. The Hexcore lashed out, sending a terrifying neural shock through the parts of him made of its magic. He collapsed to his knees, panting, his vision swimming in violet sparks.

He realized then, with a hollow dread, that he was no longer separate from the machine. He could not destroy it without destroying himself.

"Fine," he wheezed, tears dripping onto the cold floor. "Fine."

He wiped his eyes with a shaking hand. If he couldn't destroy it, he would master it. He would not let her death be a meaningless accident. He would make her sacrifice the foundation of something eternal.

Viktor gathered the small glass vial containing the shimmering grey remains of her ashes and placed it on the console, right next to the glowing core. "You will be with me, Sky. Always."

He worked through the night, a man possessed. He combined Sky’s biological theories on organic conduction with Jayce’s structural runes and his own mastery of transmutation. The equations began to align into a perfect, terrifying symmetry. He had found it. The solution to the Great Beyond.

He moved to the heavy oak doors and turned the deadbolt. He didn't want Jayce’s pity tonight. He didn't want anyone to stop him.

Returning to the desk, he found a half-empty bottle of Jayce’s expensive, foul-tasting brandy. He took a long, burning swallow, feeling the alcohol bloom in the small part of his stomach that was still flesh. It didn't dull the pain, but it stilled the tremors in his hands.

Viktor stood before the humming Hexcore. The violet light was blinding now, sensing his intent. With a steady breath, he pricked the tip of his finger. A single drop of deep crimson blood—the last of his old life—fell onto the surface of the stone.

The lab erupted.

The transformation wasn't a strike of lightning this time; it was a slow, agonizing rewrite of his soul. He felt the magic burrowing into his marrow, replacing his nerves with threads of starlight, turning his remaining flesh into something unyielding and immortal. He tried to hold onto the image of Sky’s smile, but the sensation was too much. The pain was a roar that drowned out his thoughts.

The lab felt cold once the others had left, the violet glow of the Hexcore casting long, jagged shadows against the chalkboards. Viktor leaned heavily against the console, his knuckles white around the handle of his cane. The hum of the machine was no longer a mechanical sound; it was a siren song, vibrating in the marrow of his brittle bones.

"You look like you're about to collapse," a soft voice said from the doorway.

Sky was there, her brow furrowed with that familiar, aching concern. She stepped into the light, her eyes darting to the Hexcore and then back to him.

Viktor didn't look at her. He couldn't. If he saw the kindness in her eyes, he might lose his nerve. "I need to work, Sky. I’m fine."

"You were in the infirmary two hours ago, Viktor. You aren't fine."

"I need coffee," he interrupted, his voice sharp, raspy. "Strong. As strong as you can make it. I cannot... I cannot think through this fog."

Sky hesitated, her hand hovering near the strap of her bag. She clearly wanted to argue, to drag him back to a bed, but the intensity in his gaze silenced her. "Alright," she whispered. "Don't move. I’ll be back in ten minutes."

He watched her go, the rhythmic tap of her shoes fading down the hall. The second the door clicked shut, the silence of the lab became predatory.

Viktor turned to the Hexcore. It can change matter. It can change me.

He didn't hesitate. He reached out, his hand trembling as he initiated the sequence. Shimmering, violet tendrils of energy lashed out from the core, coiling around his braced leg like hungry vines. He expected pain, but what he felt was a searing, transcendental heat. He gasped, his back arching as the arcane power bit into his withered muscles, knitting flesh and bone back together in a violent, magical rewrite of his own biology.

When the light faded, the heavy iron brace on his leg fell away with a clatter. Viktor stood, breathing hard. He tentatively put weight on his right foot. No pain. No weakness. He felt... whole.

The sound of the door latch clicking made him bolt upright. He scrambled to his chair, pulling his pant leg down to hide the transformation and leaning his cane against his side just as Sky entered with a steaming mug.

"Here," she said, walking toward him. "I put extra—"

"I changed my mind," Viktor said, his voice coming out harsher than he intended. He didn't look at the coffee. He didn't look at her. "I need to be alone, Sky. Completely alone. Please... leave."

Sky froze, the mug shaking slightly in her hand. "Viktor? Did something happen? You look—"

"I said leave!" he snapped, slamming his hand down on the desk.

The hurt that flashed across her face was like a physical blow to his chest. She set the mug down on the edge of the table, her eyes shimmering behind her glasses. She didn't say another word; she simply turned and walked out, her head bowed.

Viktor watched her go, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "I’m sorry," he whispered to the empty room. "But I have to know."

He grabbed his cane—not because he needed it, but as a prop—and made his way out of the Academy.

Once he reached the open promenade of the bridge, away from the prying eyes of the scholars, Viktor stopped. He looked at the cane in his hand. For years, it had been his third leg, his mark of shame, his constant companion.

He let it go.

It clattered onto the stone, and Viktor didn't look back. He took a step. Then another. He began to jog, his heart hammering against his ribs—not with the flutter of a dying man, but with the roar of a survivor.

He broke into a full sprint.

The wind tore at his hair and whistled in his ears. The world became a blur of gold and blue. He ran past the statues, past the sweeping arches of the city, his feet hitting the pavement with a strength he had never known. Tears blurred his vision, spilling over his cheeks as a sob of pure, unadulterated triumph broke from his throat.

He wasn't the shadow anymore. He wasn't the dying boy from the Lanes. Under the starlight of Piltover, Viktor was finally running.

Viktor slipped back into the lab, his chest heaving—not with the jagged, wet rattle of his illness, but with the glorious, clean burn of exertion. He felt electric, his blood singing with a vitality he hadn't known since he was a child playing in the soot of the Sump. The shadow of death that had followed him for months had been burned away by the violet light.

The laboratory was dim, save for the low, rhythmic pulse of the Hexcore. In the corner, Sky sat at her small workstation, her head bowed. She was silent, her shoulders slumped in a way that made a sharp pang of guilt pierce Viktor’s newfound euphoria.

He felt terrible. The way he had snapped at her—the only person who had stayed when the world turned dark—felt like a stain on his triumph. He sighed softly, walking toward her. He didn't pick up the cane. Instead, he leaned it against a nearby desk, the wood clattering loudly in the silence.

Sky looked up, her expression guarded and hurt, but as she watched him move, her eyes widened. She stood so abruptly that her chair scraped the stone, and her hand caught the ceramic mug she’d brought him. The coffee spilled across the table in a dark pool, but she didn't even notice.

"Your leg," she breathed, her voice a fragile thread of disbelief. "Viktor, you’re... you’re walking."

Viktor didn't answer with words. He reached down and pulled aside the heavy fabric of his cloak. In the violet glow, his leg was no longer flesh and bone. It was a masterpiece of shimmering, translucent purple crystal and shifting metallic plates, built directly from the essence of the Hexcore.

Sky drifted toward him as if in a trance. She knelt, her eyes sparkling with a raw, academic curiosity that quickly softened into something much more intimate. She reached out, her fingers trembling as she ran a single, warm fingertip across the humming surface of the hex-flesh.

The contact sent a jolt through Viktor that had nothing to do with magic. His core tightened with a sudden, sharp surge of desire—a physical reaction so potent it made his breath hitch. He wasn't just healed; he was alive, and for the first time, he was acutely aware of the woman kneeling before him.

She looked up at him over the rim of her glasses, her face glowing with wonder. "This is incredible," she whispered, her hands flying up to clutch at her dark curls in disbelief. "Viktor... you are incredible."

Before he could find his voice, she stood and pulled him down into a kiss. It was impulsive and warm, tasting of the lavender tea she always made. Viktor felt his face heat up, a deep blush creeping into his cheeks. He was the Great Academy Mind, the partner of the Man of Progress, and yet he was utterly embarrassed by the simple, profound affection of a girl who had seen him at his worst.

Sky pulled back, her eyes bright with a new fire. "The runes! The sequence Jayce showed you—it wasn't just gravity, it was organic stabilization!"

She ran to the chalkboard, the spilled coffee forgotten. Viktor stood back, watching her. He watched the way her hand flew across the slate, scribbling down the rune combinations with a speed that matched his own. He watched the way her curls bounced, the way the chalk dust coated her fingers, and the way her mind worked with a ferocity that rivaled any Council-appointed scholar.

For the first time, he wasn't looking at a lab assistant. He was looking at a partner. He saw the curve of her smile, the light in her eyes, and the sheer, unbridled beauty of a woman who loved the world as much as he did.

"Sky," he murmured, though she was too lost in her equations to hear him. He didn't need the Great Beyond anymore. He had everything he needed right here in the amber light.

The morning sun filtered through the high windows of the lab, cutting through the haze of chalk dust and stale caffeine. Viktor hadn't left. He had slept for perhaps an hour, slumped over a ledger, but the fire in his veins wouldn't let him rest for long. His stomach groaned, a sharp reminder that he hadn't eaten since the previous day, but he ignored it. The breakthrough was a more potent fuel than any meal could ever be.

The evidence of his obsession was everywhere—countless empty ceramic cups, all brought by Sky throughout the night, littered every flat surface like a graveyard of porcelain.

"Is there any actual blood left in your system, or is it just pure espresso at this point?"

Viktor started, his pen skidding across the page. Jayce was standing in the doorway, looking far too rested and radiating that effortless Piltovan charm. He was smiling, leaning against the doorframe with an amused glint in his eyes as he surveyed the wreckage of coffee cups.

"It is a necessary stimulant, Jayce," Viktor rasped, though he couldn't help a small smile.

Jayce stepped closer, his expression shifting. He began to look at Viktor with an intensity that made the heat rise in Viktor’s cheeks. It was a look of profound admiration, the kind of gaze that made Viktor feel, for a moment, like he truly was the "Man of Progress" Jayce always claimed him to be.

"You look... different today, V," Jayce said softly. "Stronger."

Viktor took a breath. He knew he couldn't hide it forever. He slowly pushed himself up from his chair, but instead of reaching for the cane leaning against the desk, he stood straight, balancing perfectly on both feet. He pulled back the heavy fabric of his trouser leg, exposing the limb.

The violet light of the hex-flesh pulsed with a steady, hypnotic rhythm, the metallic plates shifting seamlessly as he flexed his calf.

Jayce’s face went entirely blank. The charismatic smile vanished, replaced by a shock so deep he looked like he’d been turned to stone. For a long minute, the only sound was the low hum of the Hexcore.

"Incredible," Jayce finally breathed, his voice a mere whisper. He moved forward as if drawn by a magnet, kneeling down with the same academic awe Sky had shown, though his touch was more hesitant. "Viktor... this is revolutionary. The medical applications—the people in the clinics, the injured workers... this could change everything."

Jayce looked up, his eyes shining with hope. "Can you replicate it? Can we do this for others?"

"Yes," Viktor said, his voice firm, though a shadow crossed his mind. "I am already calculating the parameters for a full-body integration."

He didn't mention the dark side of the miracle. He didn't tell Jayce that the second he stepped away from the Hexcore's immediate radius, a familiar, cold ache began to claw at his chest again. The illness wasn't gone; it was just being held at bay. It was as if he were a dying fire, and the Hexcore was the only fuel that could keep the embers glowing. He needed it. He needed more of it.

"We’ll start the schematics for the prototypes immediately," Jayce said, standing up and clapping Viktor on the shoulder. "We're going to save so many lives, Viktor."