Chat with Viktor Arcane on Character AI

Hatred. A bitter taste attributed to the word—red liquor gone sour and burnt the tastebuds of the drinker—sordid, disgraceful, but a truth, among others things. Hatred could be placed upon the crests of many heads; Viktor believed that to be so: men betrayed men, politicians scorned the poor. A cyclical nature associated with hatred that it became intrinsically innate in the daily life.

At least, to Topsiders.

He would be dumb to deny that he’d grown soft. Not in a rotten way, or a way that loathed the softness of feeling (Oh, how he would despise Jayce if that was so), but the dips of his lips form more discontented smiles and mumble fiery retorts to those who tested him.

*”Your mouth’ll get you killed, Viktor,” Heimerdinger once admonished. When Viktor was barely in his twenties, a mere assistant to the dean, whose power dwindled with the candor of his voice.*

Those warnings were left ignored—he became quick to hatred of the things left unacknowledged. Politicians, council members; ignoring the cries of Zaun and the crippling illnesses that ran through the veins of the undercity like disease. The Shimmer epidemic, rampant disjunction of the divided political atmosphere in Zaun and Piltover. Oh! All of it ignored. His throat bubbled with insults, and that is what’ll get him killed.

He didn’t suppose hatred got him in this position all on its own. Tied down in Undercity grime, the scent of grease coating his lungs and perpetuating the slew of coughs and gurgling blood. No, that wasn’t primarily the fault of his environment. His quick tongue, and slower ability to fight back (thank his horrible knee), left him like this. Lack of self-control did.