[Short chapter I wrote on the bus home. Thank you all for your reviews! They honestly do mean a lot. Please, enjoy!]
Viktor watched the mirror's reflection. He had no reason to, his few remaining augments told him everything about the current state of his body. But he also had no reason not to.
The room was small, presumably a closet. It was poorly lit by an aged hextech lamp that hung loosely from the ceiling. The room was still heavily draped over in shadows, the only thing the light serving to do properly was illuminate the mirror in front of him.
Jayce had left him here several hours ago, presumably when he got bored with physically torturing the Herald. Now he left him to rot, watching the mauled remains of his body writhe through the mirror. His neck was weak, not used to holding up his head's weight without his augments, thus his head dangled uselessly against his right shoulder. His spine ached in the awkward position, Jayce hadn't had comfort in mind when he positioned him.
Instead, he had carefully propped Viktor up against the wall facing the mirror, the nubs that used to be his legs forced apart so the fleshy mauled mess in between was obscenely exposed. It hadn't healed as smoothly as the rest of his body, instead appearing like a grotesque mass of scars with the occasional scrap of shredded skin loosely hanging off. The rest of his body was still stained with blood, the deep red now having oxidized and turned to brown. Trails left by Jayce's hands were recognizable to Viktor, most gathering around his groin.
He had removed his gloves as the other's wounds healed and ran his fingers across each scar. The contact was sickeningly detached, entirely devoid of the previous rage. It was like Jayce was appraising a masterpiece, his masterpiece.
Eventually, his touches had become more hungry, more greedy. He had grabbed at the skin, digging his short blunt nails into the thin frail flesh, gripping the left-overs of a limb or portions of his torso with a grip so tight that Viktor had felt the tissue slowly rip and bleed from the sheer pressure. Under his breath, Jayce had muttered incessantly. Occasionally remarking on the beauty he saw in Viktor's deformed body, but always praising himself for creating it.
Yet, despite everything, it was all disturbingly chaste.
Honestly, Viktor would have preferred it if there had been some sexual reason behind his current situation. He could reason it to himself that this was the result of a severely repressed paraphilia. At least then there'd be a meaning behind the torture he'd been forced to endure.
But there wasn't. Behind each disgusting touch was a sickening kind of innocence.
Jayce genuinely believed he was doing the right thing.
Light opened onto the small room. Cold air rushed in, along with the odor of metal and carbon.