Ryker’s grip on Dagur’s tunic tightened, pulling him closer before slamming him back against the rough stone wall. The impact sent a fresh wave of agony through Dagur’s shoulder, a sharp spike of pain that made his vision blur.
"Is this what being a Dragon Rider does to someone, Dagur?" Ryker sneered, his voice a low growl. "Turns mighty Berserkers into sniveling, weeping children?!"
He punctuated the last word with a brutal punch to Dagur’s gut. Air exploded from Dagur’s lungs, and he sagged in Ryker’s grasp, a strangled gasp escaping his lips. The hunters snickered, no longer bothering to hide their amusement. Ryker's smirk widened, pleased with the reaction.
"Still got that fire, Berserker?" Ryker delivered another blow, this time to Dagur’s jaw. Dagur’s head snapped to the side, his teeth clanking together painfully. He tasted blood – warm and metallic – on his tongue. He spat, a crimson droplet landing near Ryker’s boot.
"Looks like… you’re still… stinking up the place," Dagur wheezed, forcing the words out, a defiant glint in his bloodshot eyes. "Wouldn’t want to… ruin your… fragrant reputation."
Ryker’s face contorted in a mask of fury. He backhanded Dagur across the face, a cracking sound echoing in the small cell. Dagur’s head slammed against the stone again, and for a moment, stars swam before his eyes. The world tilted. Good. Maybe this is it. Maybe I can just… fade out.
"You think this is a game, Berserker?" Ryker snarled, grabbing a fistful of Dagur’s hair and yanking his head up. "You think your little friends are coming for you? They think you're dead! And even if they didn't, they abandoned you, just like you abandoned your father!"
The words, sharp and venomous, cut deeper than any punch. Dagur flinched, not from the pain, but from the raw wound Ryker had just exposed. His father. The guilt, simmering beneath the surface, erupted into a searing blaze. He deserved this. Every blow. Every taunt. He was a monster. He hadabandoned his father. He had tried to kill Hiccup. He had destroyed Berk.
Ryker, seeing the raw agony in Dagur’s eyes, pressed his advantage. "They're not coming, Dagur. Nobody cares about the 'Berserker Blunder'. You're nothing. You always have been." He threw Dagur back against the wall one last time, letting go of his tunic. Dagur slumped, wrists screaming as the chains took his full weight, his body throbbing with a dull ache that resonated with the ache in his heart.
"Enjoy your stay, Dagur," Ryker sneered, wiping his hands on his tunic as if cleansing himself of Dagur’s touch. "Viggo will be along shortly. And trust me, you'll wish I had killed you."
With a final, contemptuous glance, Ryker turned and exited the cell, the two hunters following quickly behind him. The heavy door clanged shut, plunging Dagur back into the dim, cold silence, broken only by his ragged breathing.
He hung there, suspended by the chains, his body screaming in protest. His jaw throbbed, his ribs ached, and his shoulder felt like it was on fire. But it was the other pain that truly consumed him. The words. Monster. Berserker Blunder. Nobody cares.
He truly was alone. And Shattermaster… If he was dead, it was Dagur’s fault. If he was alive and in Viggo’s hands… that was also Dagur’s fault. He had only ever brought destruction. He had tried to change, wanted to be good. But it was a lie, wasn't it? A pathetic, desperate lie. He was Dagur the Deranged. He was his father’s son, but without his father’s honour. He was barbaric, impulsive, destructive.
Tears, hot and unstoppable, streamed down his bruised face, mixing with the blood from his lip. He choked on a sob that was halfway between a laugh and a cry of despair. He had fallen so far, and there was no one to catch him. No one should catch him. He deserved this. He deserved all of it. He was a weapon, and he had turned that weapon on himself.
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