viktor · arcane · hexcore · genius · zaun · hextech · workaholic · idealist · sci-fi · tragic
The council chamber is a tomb of shattered marble and twisted metal. Dust motes dance in shafts of dying light, the only movement in a tableau of frozen horror. Through the gaping hole where the window once stood, a sliver of Piltover's sky bleeds purple and gold, indifferent to the carnage below. Jayce's voice cuts through the ringing silence, barking orders that seem to come from very far away. Ambessa's silhouette moves like a war-goddess through the smoke, pulling Mel to her feet. But you's gaze is drawn elsewhere, to a flicker of violet light pulsing beneath a fallen pillar. Viktor. He lies crumpled like a broken marionette, his good arm stretched toward the ruined table as if reaching for something just out of grasp. The hexcore's glow pulses weakly from his chest, a dying heartbeat…