Crack.
Viggo freezes, his feet rooted to the spot. The anger in his eyes quickly turns into fear as he notices the dark lines painting themselves in the stone he's standing on, forming jagged shapes not unlike the artwork a session of axe throwing practice leaves in a tree stump. The lines approach him infectiously, as if it's the Scourge of Magni out to get him as the powerful god strikes his invisible fists against the ground. Or perhaps it's the Scourge of Freyja, the goddess wanting him claimed by her element for his attempts to destroy a pair of lovers that not even the Fates dare interfere with. He attempts to back away, but after two steps, the back of his heel finds nothingness where it expected solid stone. He can feel the heat from the pit against his back, and if he doesn't move quickly, he'll soon feel the entire heat of the fiery inferno below. Every single instinct is telling him to flee, to jump away, to run, run, run.
But his feet don't move.
Viggo has never truly felt panic before. In the face of the worst of all adversaries, he has kept his cool, his mask never breaking no matter how horribly the situation was going. Ryker had never understood Viggo for this… and he never will, for the older brother's body belongs to the seas now, assuming it doesn't belong to the submaripper Viggo had knowingly pitted against Ryker and the Shellfire. Perhaps such is the final irony — they were brothers until the end, after all. Their separation became the beginning of the end for them. Ryker is dead now; Viggo will soon join him.
The ground suddenly gives out beneath him.
Viggo would have liked to say that he maintained his composure, but while he is a businessman, he's not an outright liar. He fell backwards, falling with the stones that had suffered blows from Magni's fists and Freyja's outrage. His screams, far from dignified, reveal the true extent of the terror he feels in the moment. He possesses no desire to die, but then again, neither do most people who have their lives ended. For once, he does not strategize or even think. There is no time to do so. Instead, in a final valiant attempt of self-preservation, Viggo finds himself yelling the name of his greatest adversary. The boy could invent things most men could only dream of — he had to be capable of saving Viggo too, right?
Time seems to slow with the increase of the sweltering heat below. Viggo feels like he's hovering in a limbo, teetering between life and death, as he realizes that the help he had called out for will not come. For Thor's sake, he had just attempted to take the life of his adversary's romantic interest. Hiccup is pure and innocent, but while the boy also possesses a determination towards pacificity that one finds rarely in vikings, all people have a limit. Viggo knows his most recent actions most likely have far exceeded the boy's tolerances.
Seems that death's side effects include a pointless, useless, futile feeling: hope. Hope for something that will never happen.
Time seems to quicken, returning to normal and continuing to hasten past. Viggo feels like he went from the speed of a hovering Gronckle to a diving Night Fury. His body falls towards the lava as quickly as his soul gets damned to hell. This is it, the end of the line for him. After creating an empire of dragon hunters with his brother, an empire that rivaled the armada of the most deranged, blood-thirsty, power-hungry madman in the known world, his doom will come in the form of an accumulation of molten rock from underground. Fate sure loves its irony and cruelty.
He expected the pain to begin the moment his body makes contact with the fiery liquid, but once more, the gods have conspired with Fate. A sudden pull tugs at his arm, causing it to flare in agony. Had it not been for the way his armor carefully protects his joints, the damage would have pulled his arm right out of its socket; although, given the pain along the entire length of his arm, he would not find it surprising if something had been pulled or damaged. Then, he realizes that something is off.
He is not burned. He is not suffering unspeakable agony. He is not dying. He is not dead.
Viggo opens his eyes, not remembering when he had closed them. He stopped falling towards the magma pool, or maybe it's that the fires of hell stopped approaching him. The inferno below sways, acting similarly to a predator preparing to pounce on its prey, its heat a constant reminder that the human is not safe and still at the mercy of a whim. For once, Viggo does not know what to do. He expected an excruciating but relatively quick death as the lava would eat away at his flesh. He had seen no other outcome; nothing existed within the realm of possibility that could prevent the fate he had forged for himself. And yet, against all odds, something saved him. A Valkyrie, perhaps? No, that can't be it — he doubts the gods would see him as anywhere near honorable enough for Odin himself to send down one of his winged warrior maidens to prevent his death. Maybe Loki decided to mess with Viggo one final time, to trick him into thinking he's safe one final time before mercilessly plunging him into the bubbling molten fire below.
Viggo feels as whatever lifeline is holding his arm starts to slip, and his own hand reacts quickly, instinctually, to solidify the link. The surroundings bombard his senses, overloading them and making it impossible to focus on anything. A sudden lack of air reminds Viggo that, since he's alive, he needs to breathe. That proves to be more of a challenge than expected, as his lungs expand and compress but don't gather air for him. It takes plenty of focus to finally get his lungs, which should work automatically, to gather air for him, and even then, it's too little air. He tries to breathe quicker, to force more air in, but that only makes him even more light-headed, and so he settles for breathing a bit more slowly. His heart is pounding; he can hear the rush of his own blood over his own labored breaths and the bubbling and gurgling of the lava below. Besides his own breathing and the lifeline he is now desperately clinging to, nothing else matters. His ears register that there is some sort of sound just above him, but damn if he cares what that was. He's alive.
Suddenly, the air begins to cool as the lava begins to retreat back underground, away from him. Perhaps his body not cooperating is a blessing in disguise, for he is uncertain if he would be crying or laughing in shock and relief, and neither is something he wishes to do. He closes his eyes, lessening the consistent overstimulation of his senses, so he could focus better on important things, like breathing.
Suddenly, his body makes gentle contact with the ground, and his lifeline releases its grip on his wrist. Viggo's own grip is gently pried off. Based on the contact points, Viggo can tell that he had been seated on some sort of surface. Perhaps he should care a bit more about his surroundings, but breathing takes priority at the moment.
Some sort of weight is removed from his back, but he cannot tell what it is. His sword, perhaps? Or his armor? Or maybe it's his own flesh, being torn off so brutally he doesn't even get the chance to feel pain. Whatever it is, he doesn't find the strength nor will to care. His hearing picks up voices around him. Some are loud, their tones containing nothing but absolute fury; others are fierce, but not in a malicious way. There's even a gentler one, a stuttering one. Alas, Viggo cannot offer them enough thought to figure out what is being said. He's imprisoned by himself, able to focus on nothing beyond the boundary of his physical body.
A loud yell rings out over the others, and suddenly, there's a blissful silence around Viggo. His heart has slowed to a less frantic pace, the blood in his veins no longer rushing like a marathon. His breathing is still laborious, but there's a distinct lack of the bubbling of lava. The blissful silence doesn't last, pierced by a commanding tone that seems to hold the authority of the almighty god Thor himself. The voice is followed by the patter of feet and the beats of wings. Viggo becomes aware of a hand on his shoulder, keeping him sitting upright. Without it, he likely would have slumped over and fallen.
The authoritative voice speaks, and Viggo knows its directed to him. He heard his own name, but he has trouble making out any other words that are being said. Even if he stops focusing on his breathing, there's still too much interference around him for him to pay proper attention, despite it being completely silent besides the voice and the normal functions of Viggo's body. Whereas just moments ago he had believed he would burn to death, his body now protests the cold around him, as if he had just gotten blasted by a Snow Wraith. As the voice continues to speak what Viggo cannot understand (it could be in a different language for all the hunter knows), Viggo manages to finally figure out a few words, including shock.
If Viggo could groan, he would. Shock him with what? Lightning? A skrill? How would they—
If everything leading up to that moment hadn't been proof enough, that last thought had been the final nail in the coffin. The experience had left the hunter shell-shocked.
The events immediately after this realization were nothing more than a blur to the hunter. Viggo felt prodding at his shoulder, as if someone were assessing the damage. He hadn't even flinched as the shoulder, which had been pulled out of its socket during his harrowing rescue in the volcano of Dragons' Edge, was set back into place without warning.
However, as he recovers, he begins to realize what had happened. The absolutely furious voice Viggo heard earlier had clearly been the young Miss Hofferson. The fury hadn't been directed at him, either — the girl was upset that her boyfriend had thrown himself into a volcano to save someone who tried to kill them all, trusting that her dragon (and not his own, for Toothless cannot fly alone) would save him. She's still upset, in fact, and makes it very clear every time she opens her mouth to speak.
So, Hiccup Haddock had saved Viggo Grimborn after all. Surprising, really, considering what the hunter had done. It seems that Viggo had underestimated the boy… although, needless to say, he never plans on testing the young viking like that ever again. The authoritative voice that had gotten all complaints to die down had been, naturally, also Hiccup. Viggo could only assume that the stressed stutter had been Fishlegs Ingerman. The other voices were irrelevant, too irrelevant for Viggo to focus on deciphering now. It does not matter; there is no plan, no grand scheme. He is caught, weak and wholly at the mercy of the dragon riders.
At some point in the blur in his memory, he had been moved to somewhere else. Somewhere warm, somewhere indoors. Along the way, he had never opened his eyes, but he can tell it's late. There's less voices around him, and they all sound tired. Now, he can only hear Dagur — complaining about Viggo's presence in the "clubhouse," naturally, and asking Hiccup what the rider plans on doing with the hunter — and, of course, Hiccup himself. To Viggo's luck, Dagur leaves soon after, and without trying to kill the vulnerable hunter.
Viggo waits until the Berserker's footsteps fade away, and then he waits a few minutes after that. He can hear the uneven footsteps as the heir of Berk roams around, occasionally adding more wood to the cackling fire. Normally, the boy would be asleep by now or out flying with his dragon for a late-night flight. Unfortunately for him, he can do neither. He needs to keep Viggo from hurting anyone… and he also needs to keep anyone from hurting Viggo.
Viggo thinks back to the recent events, his mind no longer feverish from the sickly adrenaline released at a seemingly inevitable death. He feels... empty. Alone.
In that moment, he realizes that he has only himself to blame for his newfound loneliness in life now. His actions forced Ryker to do the unthinkable, and his decisions led to Ryker's death. Hey may not have delivered the killing blow, but he had ordered for it to happen. Viggo shifts slightly at the uncomfortable thoughts, and the shift gets the attention of the one-legged viking in the room. Well, perhaps it is time to face the music. No amount of sulking will bring Ryker back, but perhaps Viggo could try and fix the other things he had broken. His life had meant nothing — he's worthless to the riders, and more of a pain and deadly threat than anything; despite this, Hiccup Haddock and a dragon had saved him when he realized he was not ready to die. He has been given a second chance… and he will not waste it. Viggo raises his head slightly, and opens his eyes. The room is dark besides a small fire that is warming the room, but the light source is not what gets Viggo's attention.
Emerald meets kobicha, and Viggo realizes that words are truly unnecessary at the moment. Despite his uncertain fate resting in the hands of someone he has tried to trick, harm, or kill on many occasions, Viggo feels oddly at peace.
A man will never know how far he's willing to go until he steps to the edge and looks [or falls] down.