Muj Milacek | Viktor Arcane x Reader | Revised

Chapter 1

"you and atlas are one and the same, my dear. cursed to hold a weight you can't bear, and still standing. not because you can but because you have to." - m.h.

You were spinning, lost in an endless sea of vibrant blue and electric buzzing. Your body felt weightless as if you were suspended in a cloud. Specifically, a cloud that spun at a vomit-inducing rate.

Your arms flailed about, grasping for anything to anchor you down. But the air was thick and heavy, suffocating you with each breath. It felt as though your lungs were filling with cotton instead of oxygen. You desperately squeezed your eyes shut, praying for it all to stop. But when you opened them again, the disorienting spin continued. You had no such luck.

You didn't remember how you got here, nor could you remember anything from before you found yourself ensnared in this swirling vortex of azure lights, but you had a feeling this was not your doing.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as you spun within that boundless ocean of colour, the dizziness clouding your mind while you fought to keep your stomach's contents in check. Gradually, the spinning slowed, and fleeting images materialized before your eyes—faces and scenes that tickled the edges of recognition.

A girl with vibrant pink hair wielded a massive gauntlet on her fist; contorted with furious rage as she screamed and delivered a powerful punch to a woman with a metallic arm. The next moment revealed the silhouette of a man tumbling from his seat, panic etched across his face, an ominous, spiked orb that radiated paralyzing fear sat looming before him. Brief flashes followed—tiny green bombs detonating with startling intensity, and a towering structure made of steel, crowned with a glowing eye, collapsing into ruin.

There was something achingly familiar about these visions, though their exact significance eluded you. You had no time to think any further when a soft voice echoed from somewhere distant, calling out to you through the haze.

"Go forth my child," they whispered, their voice carrying the weight of centuries worth of wisdom and guidance. "Like a blazing comet streaking through the darkened sky. Your mission is clear: to mend their broken bodies and souls, to rescue them from certain death. You hold the key to their salvation, the only hope for a future free from destruction."

The voice was unfamiliar, yet its gentle melody wrapped around you like a warm embrace, lulling your senses into fleeting tranquillity. As your eyes wandered, they were drawn to a piercing white light below. It began as a mere pinprick, but as you plummeted and twirled through the air, it swelled in size, expanding relentlessly until it consumed you entirely. The light's intensity spat you out with such force that your surroundings morphed into a whirlwind of indistinguishable shapes and colours.

You panicked, convinced this was your end. You were hurtling forward at a terrifying speed, knowing that the slightest impact would reduce you to nothing more than a grotesque splatter on the wall. But fate was on your side. The room into which you were launched began to decelerate your rapid descent, wrapping you in a sensation reminiscent of the eerie blue void's weightlessness. The force wasn't enough to halt you completely and you slammed into something unyielding. Your head snapped back with a bone-chilling crack as your skull collided violently with the structure. A cry tore from your throat as darkness encroached upon your vision, leaving only blurry silhouettes of two figures suspended above you, your consciousness quickly fading as they spoke.

"What was that?" one exclaimed, his voice tinged with a distinct American accent.

"Obviously a girl, Jayce," the other retorted with a thick Slavic accent, his words cutting through the dense fog of your waning consciousness. If you hadn't been slipping into oblivion, with your vision now swallowed by darkness and your hearing reduced to a distant echo, you might have found humour in his dry remark. The final sensation registered was a firm grip encircling your wrist, drawing you toward a figure whose identity felt hauntingly familiar. If only you could remember...