CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED TEN
"Next on the ice tonight, representing Russia...Viktor Nikiforov."
Internally, the audience was wild with excitement, but externally, they weren't sure if they were even allowed to clap. Viktor had entirely ignored them during warm-ups and while he was getting into position. Instead, they waited for a cue from the man, and then cut loose with the storm of applause once he lifted his head. From the middle of the rink though, his angry expression was hard to see by anyone watching the show from the stands. Those watching it on television, however...
There they are, Viktor thought to himself, spotting his father and uncle near one of the only open exit tunnels in the arena. Slightly above them and to the left, the huge screen with a close-up shot of his R.B.F. on full display. He turned away from them and tightly pulled on his second glove, flexing his fingers as he felt his blades scratch to a stop above the frosty blue NHK logo.
Hands came up and then down again in front of himself, and he closed his eyes.
A few seconds later, the music started overhead, deceptively calm at first...a quiet prelude to the Oncoming Storm. Viktor lifted his head, eyes opening slowly as he went, twisting his right leg around himself in a wide arc as he pivoted over the left. When he came full-circle, he pushed away, skating in reverse with his arms out, the sheer tassels hanging off his wrists flowing like water in a gentle stream.
Every stream has the potential to become a raging force of nature though...and on the sudden, thunderous beat, the Russian dug in the left skate to stop, sending a frosty wave of ice up behind himself as the right blade came down in a wide arc, cracking against the ice like a hammer on an anvil. Hands were balled up into fists, arms fully extended as crystalline shards rose, sparkling and dazzling, into the air in front of those burning blue eyes.
So wild, so beautiful and pure
Arms twisted to go palm-up as his fingers extended and he rose up over that right leg, hands descending again around himself as he turned on that blade, raising up the left skate in its place.
All elements divine
The second golden blade slammed down onto the ice, kicking up another flurry of ice. He quickly burst forward after that, practically running on his toe-picks for a few steps before hopping to spin around backwards, picking up speed as quickly as he could before throwing himself into a 3-turn...
The essence of all life
He vaulted off the outside edge of his left skate, kicking the right toe-pick down and throwing himself into the four spins as hard as he could, both arms above his head, and landing on the right outside edge.
The crowd went wild, and both newscasters on the side of the rink were cheering for him as well.
"Viktor Nikiforov IS BACK! Quad Rippon Lutz right off the bat, and PERFECT! If he doesn't get a 3+ GOE on that, I don't know what qualifies!"
So vast, extensive and remote
The Russian wasn't done yet; he pushed hard and fast down the center of the rink, twisting and crossing skate over skate, twizzling as though flying, arms up and fluid like wings that carried him.
Unbridled and erratic, savage but glorious
He leaned into a short arc, swerving back down the center of the rink as he skidded in circles across the ice, down on one knee, only to rise up at the end to vault off his back-right inside edge for the quad Flip, triple Loop combo, one arm up for each.
"Two quads already!" Morooka cried out, watching intently, "This isn't the same skater who performed in yesterday's Short Program!"
It bursts, its energy is stirring
Viktor leaned way over into a layback Ina Bauer, pulling up for a brief backward slide before throwing himself into a quad Salchow, triple Loop combo, extending that left leg out for the landing, but then immediately dropping it to the ice for a transition into an outside spread-eagle.
It calls, its drawing power
Will enchant us with its might
As he finished the arc, the skater twisted his blades to start the straight-line transition, picking up speed as he went in reverse in a diagonal across the ice. Feeling the cold air rushing by, whipping that silver hair against his face like hot embers, he kicked up his left leg, bringing it up behind his back like a Martial Artist preparing to kick, but holding it there for a moment by the blade.
Its massive spirit's bright...
When he let it go, he extended the golden knife-boot ahead of himself, and lowered it only to mohawk himself into what could be called his new signature move...a quad Axel.
LET IT FLOW!
"Where is he finding all the stamina for all these quads!? Skater Viktor is redefining the sport right now! SOMEONE STOP HIM!" Morooka teased, "We aren't even out of the first half of the show! We'll never see a performance like this again in our lifetimes!"
Viktor immediately threw himself into a death-drop, landing in a forward camel-spin.
Its endless beauty WILL EVOKE
He extended his arms as he changed edges, and twisted over himself into the layover variant, still spinning quickly.
A timeless sequence we ALL SHARE
Hands slid down the length of his frame, finding his free leg and grabbing for the blade with the right, pulling it close to his head as he straightened his core for the donut-spin. His left arm went above himself for the added difficulty.
We cannot break through NOR CONTROL
The silver blur finally stood upright again, exiting the slowing spin in time with the slowing tempo of the music.
But to feel its true soul...dare to concede and to connect...!
As the energy of the song picked up again, Viktor thrust into the first step sequence, moving along the ice diagonally from one corner to the opposite. The rink was quickly becoming a beaten ruin of its recently-resurfaced self, blades scratching across it like they were forming cracks in broken glass.
Emerging waves and brightened skies, the sun that burns in your eyes
The wind that blows and pounds
Blades crossed over each other with perfect control, and the Russian twisted and turned along his straight-line maneuver. The burning in his lungs and legs was matched only by the flames rising up the legs of his outfit, but he ignored all of it. All he could see were the blades he'd been made to throw into that fire, and the sparks and roar of the maelstrom that consumed them for weeks on end.
Arms moved up and away as the Russian twisted his core, hips swaying to let his free leg clip the ice with a toe-pick on every other beat of the song, sending a cut of frost with each attack.
It shines, its energy is whirling
It fights, will not be interfered with people who can't feel,
It is all nature's flow
The silver legend moved in an arc around the short end of the rink, twisting slightly into a set of back crossovers, and pinning himself down on his back left inside edge, right leg out behind. A swift kick, avoiding the toe-pick on the ice, Viktor threw himself...
LET IT FLOW!
...up into the quad Salchow, landing on the beat and skating out backwards with it.
"That's his 5th quad! He's going to wear himself out!" Oda called, each of the pair of newscasters inching forward on their seats along with almost everyone in the audience, "Or will he go for the 6th like Canadian skater, JJ Leroy!?"
It's endless beauty WILL EVOKE
Another death-drop, but this time the flying entry was for a sit-spin, increasing the difficulty over the flying camel-spin. The Russian raked his toe-pick across the ice as he landed in a backwards rotation, kicking up a wall of frost and icy shards in its wake and leaving a deep gouge in the ice as well. His fury was all that made it possible to keep the spin moving after so much resistance, cutting through the cold like a hot knife, leaning his core to push the spin into a twist variant. The left arm curved behind himself as the right curved up, touching the top of his head.
A timeless sequence we ALL SHARE
As his arms came in and his core uncoiled, he stretched his free leg out perfectly straight, crouching overtop of it as the spin went on with one arm raised above himself. Several rotations in, the free leg bent again and Viktor rose up a little to pull it in and pin it over his knee. He threw his arms to add a bit of momentum, left arm curving up and out, right curving back and down as he spun.
We cannot break through NOR CONTROL
The silver skater rose back up out of the spin, body facing forward as his free leg kicked around one last time, 'dragging' the rest of his posture with it. Both arms were up ahead of himself as he started moving backwards again, turning his head to look over his shoulder as he quickened his pace around the short end of the rink.
He was officially into the second half of the program now. Fatigue was increasing, and still, he refused to acknowledge it. The fire in his body was energy, not pain...at least not yet.
The music calmed into a deceptively somber lull, but Viktor wasn't done yet. Blades crossed over one another, and the Russian twisted with all his strength, throwing himself into a quad Loop...and then...
But to feel its true soul...
Fans went quiet for a moment, not sure they could believe what they were seeing. Viktor had already moved on to his second step sequence, the battle raging on, but everyone else was still stuck on his last jump combo.
"Did he just...pull a double-quad?" Morooka asked.
Yuri and Yurio were literally on their feet, grabbing at the railing in front of their seats, those bars of metal being all that stood between them and the void of air ahead of them.
Minako was blinking wide eyes, arms lowering her grasp on the Russian flag in weakened disbelief, "That was..."
Its endless beauty will evoke, a timeless sequence we all share...
"A quad Loop, quad Toe-loop!?" Yuri said in a stunned whisper, turning to look at the blonde next to him, "...Is that even possible?"
We cannot break through nor control, we should cherish it...
"...That's got an easy 22 point base value...add the 10% second-half bonus...and the added difficulty of the arm being up on both..." Yurio said in disbelief, "That jump combo could be worth almost 30 points on its own."
LET IT FLOW!
The Russian threw himself down onto both knees, skidding across the ice in a long line, arms going higher up the further back he bent over his skates. Rising up again, he practically threw himself into a rotating kneeling spin, then rose even further up and pushing through a 3-turn to flip around, putting himself back onto the back-left inside edge of his blades...right leg extended behind himself...toe-pick...!
LET IT FLOW!
The world was a blur, and everything was red, but that last jump was landed with the pristine control of a machine.
"...Absolutely unbelievable...someone call a hospital, because half this audience is having a heart-attack right now..." Morooka said quietly, "Skater Viktor just set a new record...8 quads in a single Free Skate... Getting the first interview with him after he gets off the ice is going to be like winning the lottery!"
This endless beauty WILL EVOKE
The Russian legend pushed into the final element of the program, bending smoothly into the camel-spin and immediately reaching for his blade to pull it across the crook of his abdomen and thigh for the standing donut-spin, both arms out to the sides, head tilted down.
A timeless sequence WE ALL SHARE
He lifted his head and threw the free leg to the side, vaulting onto the foot-change and continuing the spin, but lowering himself to a crouching position and holding his left blade up underneath the right, toe barely missing the ice as he rotated, the other arm up in the air. Several rotations in, he broke up again, starting to rise back to his feet, but not letting go of that blade.
We cannot break through, NOR CONTROL
His left leg came up behind his head for the Biellmann spin, and he reached his other hand up to help hold it. When he finally let it go again to kick it around, Viktor's hands came down across his chest, and he descended briefly to start the swift scratch-spin, free leg slightly out to glide across the ice, leaving a light circle of scratches in the gloss. His arms then started to rise up again, and with every inch further into the air they went, the skater spun faster.
It is not in our command...
The audience was on the edges of their seats, watching the blur starting to lower his arms again.
...NO!
The free leg went toe-pick down into the ice, digging deep and gouging a wedge out of the frost, stopping him almost instantly...but he'd made it into the final position, core slightly twisted over his blades, arms tight and fists clenched at his sides, head bent down to face the ice he'd so relentlessly abused.
He'd almost forgotten how to breathe. His ears were ringing and he could feel his legs shaking where he stood, and with each second that passed, every kilo on his frame doubled and tripled its weight. His chest was a tortured ruin of burning pain, the scorching heat of it rising steadily into his neck until he felt like he'd never be able to speak again. He couldn't even hear the audience screaming all around him, not before the blood rushing through his head started to quiet again.
Despite the anguish of every muscle threatening to burst out of him from the strain...despite the pure, unadulterated torment of every bone in his body wanting to crack and break...the Russian turned on his blades, and faced the direction he knew his 'family' had been watching from.
Heavy breaths went in and out of him like dragonfire, but when he saw those slate blue eyes looking down at him from the high vantage of the arena's exit hall...all that suffering went away. The flame in his soul was no longer a slow-burning corruption...but a cleansing elixir that he could feel pouring out from the center of his chest.
His hands unclenched from where he'd balled them at the sides of his legs, opening and relaxing, turning to face palm-up. Slowly but surely, those hands started to rise up, and with it, the sound of the audience crept into the skater's ears. He could hear the maelstrom of screaming, whistles, cheers, and cries...but there was only one sound he wanted them to make in that moment.
The higher his hands went, the easier it was to hear...buried in the volume of the symphony of adulation, but growing.
"...Viktor...Viktor...Viktor..."
Higher his hands went, now in line with his shoulders. Still, he panted heavily, drawing in air like he couldn't get enough, heart pounding like a raging bull thrashing inside his ribs.
"...VIKTOR...VIKTOR...VIKTOR..."
The bear's eyes drifted for a moment, surprised at the crowd...and in that moment...the skater knew he'd won. He was finally free.
"VIKTOR VIKTOR VIKTOR VIKTOR VIKTOR VIKTOR!"
Gloved hands were as high as they could go, bringing that personal orchestra to a crescendo.
Viktor's expression changed from exhausted fury to pained relief, and he could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks like hot lead, slowly, one after the other. He refused to let the tremble in his legs bring him down, and stared for a moment longer before he turned away, letting his arms fall back down to hang limp against his frame. It was only when he completely turned his back on Konstantin that he gave himself permission to cry out, the final embers of his rage coughed out with a loud, exhausted gasp.
He clasped his hands together and dipped his head, bringing his quivering fists up to press the sides of his thumbs to his forehead. The audience was still a mixture of screams and people chanting his name, and the tears just wouldn't stop. He could feel them falling off his chin, even feeling where a few hit the covers over his boots...and he finally dropped to his knees, utterly and completely done.
It took everything he had left to push back onto his feet and hobble over to the rink-exit, but Yakov was there waiting with his skate-guards, jacket, and water bottle. Viktor could practically hear the fires being fizzled out inside his chest as the water went down, and he bit down on the end of his left glove to free his hand and pour the cold liquid there as well, rubbing it onto his face without a care. The jacket hung off his shoulders as he put the blade-guards in place, and moved quietly over to the kiss and cry.
He was still heaving when he finally fell onto the bench, the wall of corporate logos and flowers behind him. His coach sat next to him, arms crossed, and a stoic look on his face like always.
"Vitya..." Yakov started, turning slightly to glance at him.
Cool eyes turned to side-eye the man, not sure what to expect to hear him say.
"Don't ever do that again." The older Russian finally said, "I'll be leaving the building in an ambulance if you do."
Viktor just coughed a pained laugh, feeling truly how sore his throat was only then. Another wash of the cold liquid soothed his voice, "I don't know that I'll ever be able to do this again." He huffed, "I normally feel like I have a jet engine under my butt when I'm out there...but this time, with my father and uncle watching...it was like a nuclear power plant. I'm sure I'll feel like a disaster in the morning. I'll be up all night out of fear of going to sleep because of it."
"You pushed yourself way too hard for this." Yakov went on, "I'll be surprised if you can even walk tomorrow."
The younger Russian just laughed and slouched to the side, leaning dramatically against his unofficial coach as he continued to catch his breath. He closed his eyes and waited for his score, not even caring anymore what it was...just seeing the stunned look on his father's face when the audience started chanting his name...that made the whole thing worth it.
Yuri was rushing down to the prep area as fast as his legs could carry him, and he spotted Phichit quickly enough. The skater was huddled around one of the many televisions set up for the participants to watch, and the anxious figure threw himself into the mass and pushed his way through to the front, "Phichit-kun!"
"Yuri, get in here!"
A hand reached through the crowd and grabbed the man's jacket, yanking him slightly to the side until he was smooshed against his Thai friend. Each pair of arms went around them as they turned their heads to face the screen, watching anxiously as Team Russia awaited the results.
People held their breath. Hands were cupped in front of mouths, some even in front of eyes, not wanting to see. There wasn't a skater in the room who defied the knowledge of what they all felt was about to happen.
"The score for Viktor Nikiforov..."
Phichit and Yuri held onto each other even tighter then, fingers clamping down on jackets as eyes went wide.
"...239.05. He is currently in first place."
"THAT'S A NEW WORLD RECORD!" Morooka yelled into the mic; both announcers were on their feet, "Not only did he shatter the 230 barrier, he nearly broke through to 240!"
Everyone in the audience was standing, too. Many were stamping their shoes against the floor, adding to the tumultuous, deafening roar that had already erupted.
They could hear the thunder of the audience losing their collective minds, but the prep area wasn't quite so noisy. People were in stunned disbelief, choking back coughs as eyes watered, and skaters and their coaches alike stood still in refusal of the number. A few tense seconds passed before anyone was really ready to react properly...and it started with a single person clapping...then two...then several...then nearly everyone.
Yuri turned his eyes, his heart overjoyed but his head filled with new worries.
Viktor just jumped to the top of the leader-board...so that means...
Phichit's expression was a confused mess. He was smiling, and looked happy, but his eyes gave him away. He looked like he was on the verge of tears. The Thai skater hiccupped a nervous breath, but put on a brave face, and turned to glance at his friend, "...Well...that kinda sucks, but...I guess it's fine..." He reached up to rub his eyes on the back of his wrist, team jacket crinkling as it moved, "I'll just...work harder on my Short Program, and try again at Four Continents..."
"Phichit-kun..."
"...I mean...I knew it was a long-shot..." He went on, "Chris and Viktor both have so much more experience than I do...and they have all those quads..."
"You'll get there." Yuri reassured, "You're barely into your second year in the senior division. If Viktor had been in the line-up last year, I wouldn't have even been in the final... I only squeaked in because I got that one Silver over Michelle..." He tried to pat the skater's shoulders to snap him out of it, but Phichit's eyes weren't giving it up.
Rivers were comically flowing down the Thai skater's face, and he smiled in spite of himself, "I'm okay. Everything is...is okay." He said, voice cracking.
"Yuri!" The Russian's voice called.
The young skater lifted his head to glance past his friend, and saw his husband coming through the blue curtain through the parting mass of people. For a moment, Yuri was torn...he wanted to stay by Phichit, but he was desperate for his partner, too. He gave the younger figure a tight hug before finally, reluctantly pulling away, stepping quickly towards the rink-side exit. To the side, he spotted the next competitor looking rather hesitant to go out onto the ice, but his coach was forcing him through.
Viktor had been stepping forward the whole time, one deliberate thunk of his blade-guards against the floor at a time. Yuri thought for sure the man would stop to let them greet each other, but...he was quite mistaken. The Russian simply bowled into him, twisted to the side where the man had bounced off, gathered his partner up and started dragging him along to where his gear was waiting.
"V-Viktor...!?"
"No time to explain. We have to go."
The media mob had less luck than Yuri did at getting the Russian to hold still, barely getting a quick but friendly request for a rain-check from the swiftly-moving skater. One particular bag was quickly yanked up from under a chair, and Viktor was off again, dragging his fully and thoroughly confused husband with him.
Perplexed and surprised eyes followed them until the pair were out of sight.
"...What was that all about...?" One of the other competitors asked, scratching the side of his head.
"Who knows."