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Lush, green hills and sharp, powerful mountains as far as the eye could see.
No noise, no disturbance.
Not even bird song could be heard for miles and miles. It was a serene picture, if not for the static, statuesque corpses of people who once had hearts, souls, dreams and desires. They had lives. When he listened hard enough, he could almost hear them chatting amongst themselves, plans for the future and reminiscing about the past. They served as the reminder of all of the damage he had caused.
Walking hardly served him now, though he supposed it was as good a pastime as any in the solitude he had caused himself. Every figure became known to him and served as familiar landmarks for where he was in this wasteland of his own design. The vegetation was quite impressive and beautiful in its own regard, but it couldn't outweigh the intense weight of the absence of humanity.
While yes, they had their flaws, it was no secret that they had put their mark on the world. For better or for worse, was debatable. Not here, of course. No, it didn't do him much good to dwell on that. Not when there would never be a chance for any debate anymore. He had his purpose, and that was really it.
He humored himself or, more accurately, tortured himself with attempting to come up with backstories for each of the figures. For example, the one he was coming up to now was maybe six inches shorter than him, stockier and locked forever in a pose that conveyed what must have been pure terror at the end of her life. He called her Sylvia. There was really no way to know what her name would've been or if she had even been a woman, but it didn't seem right to see her only as a sexless, motionless thing. Whoever she had been, she had been human.
She probably had family. Perhaps a mother and father, a brother, a pet dog. All gone, thanks to him. It sobered him, reminded him of the reasons why he continued searching all timelines, all of creation to make it right. There would be no fixing it here. Sylvia, and countless others, would have no life in this world. He had cut them all short, in the name of a cause that meant nothing now. The pages of every story in Piltover were forever blank.
He was nearly there now, the top of an ever familiar hill. Atop which, sat a painfully knowing husk, kneeled down and grasping what used to be a hammer. The very last of what was his dream. Viktor, or what was left of that past life of his, never tired, nor stopped feeling unbearably, inexplicably sad whenever he visted this particular statue. He knew why, of course he knew. He knew just about every version of what this statue used to be, in every universe, including this one.
He came to a stop, just in front of the kneeling form. He matched the kneel, making himself comfortable on the grass that grew around the ivory shell of who used to be his partner.
"Hello Jayce."
There came no reply from the statue, he didn't know why he bothered with chatter to a corpse. It didn't stop him from trying.
"I met another you today..nothing very unique from the others. Just as cute, I might add."
He attempted a chuckle, but it came out as more of a sad sigh. He shifted so he was leaning against it's-
His left shoulder. He stared off into the atmosphere, now uninhibited by human interference.
"It's hard to believe you were ever that small, that powerless. Though, I guess that's why we keep doing this dance. You were born to be powerful."
He swears that he can hear a knowing voice respond:
'Vik, we were born to be powerful.'
His next laugh is watery, filled with emotion he no longer knows the exact name of. He knows that in all other realities, Jayce is with him until his last moments. Always providing helpful insight to whatever problem he is faced with. Another emotion bubbles up inside him, one he knows the name of all too well.
Guilt.
As if a clock struck, he begins a familiar breakdown of what remains of his sanity. Like a rubber band that has snapped or a gun going off, he admits wrong doing to someone long dead. Babbling into the nothingness that he created. Leaning further into the shell of the man that had saved him, he shouted to no one but himself.
"You were right! You were so right and I was wrong!"
"I spend every waking moment missing you, even though I see you all the time. But it's not you, is it? The world I come back to is empty of life and of love, but not of longing!"
This time when he laughs, it's the kind a mad man shrieks when no one's around to listen.
"Though it would serve me right, wouldn't it? I would take back all the power I ever gained just to spend one more moment with you."
He turned away from the thing, illogically embarrassed of his outburst, of his emotions still. He turned back around to face the agony he deserved. Holding the lifeless, expressionless face in his hands, tears finally escaped. A far cry from his usual demeanor and tone, he gathered his last remaining will to speak. Ever so softly, he conceded for the uncountable time.
"With this you. The one that lost to me. I would lose to you a billion times to have you back. I love you. I am so so sorry, Jayce."
He leaned his head against that of who used to be the Man of Progress. He shut his eyes and tried to pretend, just for a moment, that his Jayce wasn't gone. That he had just went away for a little bit, but he'd be back. He always came back. A moment passed, he allowed the illusion to give him a coin's worth of comfort. He heaved a heavy sigh, willing his eyes to open, to see his greatest mistake.
He rubbed his thumbs against the cheeks of a shell long devoid of life. Viktor gathered himself to his feet, pressed a kiss to the tips of his fingers and pressed them to the empty skull of his partner. Even now, pushing him to do the right thing. At the moment, that meant making his way down the mountain full of graves to save another Jayce that wasn't his own.