SO, IT'S BEEN A REALLY LONG TIME. I WILL ADMIT, COLLEGE WORK GOT A BIT HECTIC, WHAT WITH MAKING UP THE LOST TIME DUE TO THE... WELL, YOU KNOW. ANYWAY, I GOT A BIT OF TIME, AND SEEING THAT THERE ARE STILL PEOPLE COMING TO READ THIS THING, FIGURES IT'S NOT COMPLETELY ABANDONED. FOR ME, I HAVE A LOT MORE OF THIS STORY TO TELL, AND THERE IS A LOT MORE OF IT FOR YOU GUYS TO READ.
BUT FIRST, REVIEW REPLIES.
I GET THAT THERE ARE A FEW QUESTIONS, AND I HAVE TO GET ON THE CLEAR WITH ALL OF THEM BEFORE ANYTHING.
Namikaaze Yuuki : To answer yours, it's not meant to be that; it was never meant to be that. Astrid would have always confronted Fishlegs about that in the future anyway. An uncomfortable, but informative interaction between the two was always going to take place. It will not be this chapter, but one of the future ones where Fishlegs had calmed down a lot. The guy was really belligerent the last time he interacted with Astrid, remember? She even tried to protest, but Fishlegs wouldn't have any of it at the time. So, to answer your question: having a bruised ego is really not enough of a good reason to project your hurt on others. Don't you worry.
Waric-124 : Ah, don't I know it. The Hiccstrid fans have always been vocal about this. I'm a part of it too, after all, so I know. Still, the circumstances that this story is in is different, as you would have probably noticed. Hiccstrid isn't possible here, friend. At least, not in the close future anyway. Probably not at all, if this story goes with the plot I have in mind. But in any case, what's wrong with a little mix and match every now and then, eh? We don't have to compulsorily read about the same couple in every story of this fandom, now, do we. It's fine to change things up a bit here and there; at least, that's what I think.
WITH THE QUESTIONS ANSWERED, I SUPPOSE I NEED TO TELL SOMETHING ELSE. SELF IMPROVEMENT IN WRITING IS A GOOD THING, AND WHAT SEEMS TO BE PERFECT AT THE TIME CAN SEEM SUB-PAR TO ONESELF AFTER A YEAR PLUS OF HIATUS. SO, AS I HAVE BEEN RECENTLY REREADING THE CHAPTERS, I HAVE FOUND SOME PARTS I WOULD DO DIFFERENTLY FROM NOW. SO, TO START, AN'S WILL ALWAYS BE AT THE HEADER OR FOOTER SECTIONS OF THE CHAPTERS, NEVER IN BETWEEN OR IN BRACKETS. ALSO, I INTEND TO CHANGE THE STYLE OF WRITING OF THE SPOKEN BITS OF THE STORY. SERIOUSLY, WHY HAD I THOUGHT THAT ITALIC WAS THE WAY TO GO BACK THEN WILL ALWAYS BE BEYOND ME, BUT IN ANY CASE, I WILL BE CHANGING THAT. ITALIC WILL ALWAYS BE RESERVED FOR THOUGHTS AND IMPORTANT POINTS FROM NOW ON.
ANYWAY, THANKS FOR READING THROUGH MY 'CHANGES' RANT. I SUPPOSE ALL OF YOU ARE HERE FOR READING THE NEXT INSTALLMENT OF THE STORY.
SO, LET'S GET ON WITH IT, SHALL WE?
ONWARDS:
Eleven days. It has been eleven days since Astrid Hofferson let slip of the fact that the pride of Berk, the light of the Archipelago and the supreme peace-bringer between man and beast was, in fact, absconding. The truant boy was not home, and no one knew where he was. People were looking for him, but so far, he was nowhere to be found.
Because if he was indeed found, Johann would know immediately. Or, at least, as immediately as a Terror mail took to travel from his informant, stationed at Berk, to him, currently moored at the piers of Outcast Island.
Johann was there for a good reason: to release chaos onto the Archipelago once again. That is, if his plan went to realization.
Swirling the tumbler of... whiskey, they called it, right? Oh well, whatever. He could care less about the confounded name. He had acquired, or rather, looted it from a south-plying trader who no longer graced this world. No regrets there, seeing that it was much more appreciated by him than any cosseted brat who might have bought it anyway. Because, say what you would about the milksop southerners, they made a hell of a drink to deluge you anger in.
Right now, though, he wasn't able to completely enjoy the drink as his thoughts clouded in. Even in the dark and silent night, his mind was rampant with anger and anticipation. He sat silently at his table below deck on his ship, looking at the sole candle giving the cabin light burning on it, and hoping for the sake of their lives that the men complete the task at hand with extreme prejudice and sincerity.
Those idiots better be as good as Viggo says they are, he thought.
His unsettled thoughts were realized, of course. Because, right at that moment, two bulky Dragon Hunters were putting on their final effects before starting their mission. It was a parlous one, no doubt, and they needed all the equipment they would ever need if things got remotely dicey.
Johann had to smuggle them into the island, of course. That wretched boy created problems even when he was missing off the face of the archipelago. Him and his big mouth having made Outcast Island an ally of Berk.
Of Berk! What a sick joke! The very people Berk had ousted from their lands were now working with them!
And Johann thought Alvin was a vindictive person.
"I'm surrounded by fools and cowards. Fools, and fucking cowards. Joy be mine, eh?"
Taking the finishing swig from his cup, Johann slammed his glass down; just as the Hunters finished getting ready. They were dressed minimally, but not because of lack of warmth.
Johann wasn't joking when referring to Viggo's men. Big and bulky they may be, but they were capable men who would be able to handle such a delicate mission. One had specially made dragon-leather sack strapped to his back, sealed to protect the precious cargo inside from water.
One after the other, the two men swung their legs over the railing of the ship, then using the ladder stuck to the outside of the hull of Johann's wooden ship, they slowly lowered themselves into the dark water of the bay. Then, as silently as possible, they made their way to the pier a bit far from Johann's ship, to avoid being connected to that ship. The lack of beaches and the port being the only way in via water meant they had very little choice. The cover of night helped in stealth greatly.
Once a fair bit away from the ship, they hid beneath the pier, listening for footsteps. No sound was heard. The bulky, sloppy Outcasts weren't known for their quiet tread, so it was safe to assume no one was there. They came out from under the pier, and slowly pulled themselves onto the pier and crouched behind some barrels. Still nothing. They looked around to find no one. The entire port was completely deserted.
Well, the outcasts weren't the best at night-time guard duty, so there was that.
Shivering a bit due to the cold, but focused on the mission far too greatly to be sidetracked by it, they started the slow and silent path across the spread-out piers and to the main port, then a quick sneak by the braziers that haven't been lit since the Dragon Integration, and several empty guard posts. That got them to an ascending terrain, sparsely decorated with rocks, which increased in size and numbers as the terrain became steeper.
The two hunters made short work of it, jumping over the small ones and hurdling over the big ones, while being as quiet as possible. Soon, they came to a rock wall.
Now came the hard part: rock climbing.
The wall was over a hundred meters tall, but had step like indents as it went up. That should make progress easier.
They got out their equipment: several extremely sturdy ropes and hooks of different sizes, made of extremely strong Gronckle-iron. Fastening the rope ends to the belts at their waists, they got to work. The Hunter with the leather sack went first, with the other hunter bringing up the rear.
They made fast progress, as it became routing work of securing the hooks to points and ledges, and pulling themselves up. It took a bit of time, judging by their sizes and by how careful and quiet they had to be, but eventually, they made it to the top of the wall, on which they knew was a pathway. Before pulling themselves up, however, they stopped just below the edge, and listened. This time, their caution bore fruit, seeing that soon, conversation was heard.
"... sooner we get this ove' with, the sooner I can grab meself a cup o' mead."
"That makes two of us, don't it."
Two guards, by the sounds of it. They had a burning torch with them, lighting the way. The fiery yellow glow could be seen getting closer to the ledge where the two hunters were hanging a couple feet below from.
"You ever wonde' why Alvin makes us do them rounds still? Not like those fire beasties will come back. The Hooligan runt took care of tha'."
The two hunters pressed themselves as close to the rock face as humanly possible to avoid detection. They even held in their breath.
"Only thing I'm wonderin' about is me cup o' mead waiting for me."
"But still-"
"Bugger off, ye chatty clod. Not interested at the mo'."
The outcasts passed the hunters and kept on walking, not being alerted in the slightest.
"Only thing yer ever interested in, aren't ya? Twat."
"Keep talkin' and I'll make ya into one, ya fuckin' halfwit."
The arguing outcasts' voices got distant as the light from the torch got more distant. The moment they were out of earshot, the hunters climbed the rest of the way and over the ledge, coming to their feet as soon as possible. After gathering their climbing tools, they took off after the guards as fast and silently as possible.
"Takes one to know how t' make someone one, ain't tha' right?"
"Really can't shut yer mouth, can ye, yak shite?"
Pulling out their thin metal tubes and darts containing extremely fast acting toxin, they took careful aim when they were close enough; the fire in front of the outcasts helping with highlighting their silhouettes. The bickering duo were too preoccupied to notice.
"I'll stuff yer face with-"
Both hunters released their darts simultaneously. Both hit true, right in the middle of the nape of their necks.
"Ah, motherfu-"
Torch dropped onto the ground instantly, both outcasts shot their hands to their napes, locating and pulling out the tiny metal darts. Their blood shined on the pointy needles of both.
The two never even had the chance to look who fired the darts. Almost comically, both heavyset men crumpled onto the ground.
The hunters hastened over to the outcasts, checking for their pulses at their necks.
There was none. Both had moved on.
Acting quick, they systemically stripped the guards off of their uniforms and donned them on. The light clothing they had come with meant they could put the uniforms on without shedding their own's and without having to leave behind clues for the outcasts to find.
After adjusting their equipment to better suit their new attire and reloading their dart tubes for better convenience, they made short work of throwing the bodies over the ledge. The corpses hit the rocky ground way down with sickening squelching noises, mangled beyond recognition for sure. The hunters couldn't check, it being too dark after all. The paid no heed to it, though. Picking up the still burning torch, they both took off the other way than the one the outcasts were heading. Courtesy of Johann and his knowledge of the Outcast Island, they knew that the outcasts were heading back into the village, if their conversation wasn't enough of a pointer. They couldn't go that way, seeing as walking through the village may be a risk. The uniforms will only take them so far if they get caught right in the center of the village.
The other way, however, led far from the village, from where they could find a better and stealthier way to sneak into the village and into the tunnel leading to the prisons. It was an inconvenience, but it was the only way to the prisons that wasn't climbing a very steep and tall cliff face, with nothing but pointy rocks and water waiting below. That way was dangerous enough that the village infiltration seemed a much preferable option.
They didn't have much time, seeing that they had just killed two outcasts. Search parties may be sent out soon. So, the hunters hurried the other way, while still being quiet and keeping an eye out for more patrolling guards.
No more guards came that way, and they soon emerged away from the seaside to a dry barren rocky surface. Not waiting around, they made their way towards the village. It didn't take long to come up onto a rocky cliffside overlooking the Outcast village, because the empty rocky topography, with the randomly scattered leafless loki tree, and dark night meant that legging it across the terrain was swift.
Laying low and peeking over the ledge of the cliff, the hunters looked for any signs of activity. Barring a couple of moving torches and a distant hubbub of voices, there really was no indication of life in the settlement. Most had passed out drunk, it seemed. The torches scattered around the village gave a scope of its size. It wasn't big, but if alerted, the hunters would be easily overwhelmed.
They looked to where the prison tunnel entrance was. They could make out two torches lighting the entry, but not much else. Covert missions in the dark had its drawbacks.
The two started on their descent, using their climbing equipment to go down. The usual skinkt of the hook and the shuffle of their feet as they climbed down was slight as always for them, and soon, they landed on solid ground again. They were at the boundary of the village now.
The outcasts had not bothered with any wall to surround their village, what with there being a rock wall surrounding most of it. Guards were scarce, too. Access was easy to the inside of the village, but there was still risk in going that way. So, they decided to walk around the boundary towards the tunnel, but being this close to the village, they got out their darts and kept them on the ready.
This time, they spotted a guard walking towards them. The difference was, this time, the guard spotted them as well.
The outcast paused and swayed for a moment, but not because he suspected infiltrators. He raised his torch to see the two properly, but could only make out two bulky men in outcast uniforms: the usual description of just about every outcast.
"I thought I was the only bugger on guard duty out 'ere tonite'."
The guard was drunk, if his slurry voice and swaying shape was anything to go by. The hunters looked at each other: killing him was the best course of action, but there was no way to dispose of the body right outside the village limits and while being surrounded by an impenetrable rock face.
Finally, one hunter shook his head.
"Change o' plans.", he said with his best impersonation of the generic outcast gruff voice.
"You are relieved for now.", the other hunter said while emulating the same kind of tone.
The outcast swayed a bit more, blinking at them. He lowered his torch.
"Is tha' so? Say, why ain't cha two carrying a torch? It's migh'y dark out."
The hunters tightened their grip on their dart tubes.
"Forgot to take one."
"Besides, we can see just fine."
"Hmm.", the outcast seemed skeptical, but he relented after a moment with a shrug.
"Tell ye what, gents, take mine. I'm off t' the hall for a drink, and I can go there with me eyes shut."
The outcast laughed at his own joke, while the hunters didn't react. He didn't mind, probably because he was already drunk enough to not care. He came forward to hand over the torch. Both the hunters stiffened, what with the chance of being not recognized for an outcast so up close with a blazing torch in their faces. Still, one of the hunters took it from the outcast's hands.
The outcast took a moment to look at their faces.
"Say, I ain't... you two... who did you say you two was again?"
The itch to kill him was never greater, but the hunters reigned it in.
"Seriously? You see us every day!"
"Go on home, yer drunk like hel already."
Taking offence on their insinuation of him being an apparent lightweight, the outcast stepped back, vexed; his skepticism with them forgotten.
"Already? I'll have ya know, I can handle a lo' more! I'll show ya two fuckers!"
With that, the angry outcast turned heel and walked away towards what the hunters supposed was the main hall. Both irritated beyond words at the point, one raised his eyebrows while the other scratched his forehead due to frustration. Soon, both shook their heads, and discarded the thought of whether they made the correct decision; someone would have found the body soon if they had killed him there.
As for the outcast, the man would be probably so drunk by tomorrow that he wouldn't even be able to remember them.
Putting out the torch, they threw it away. Last thing they needed was a source of light illuminating their faces.
They resumed their quiet way towards the tunnel. They got to the entrance soon: a tunnel opening craved into the rock with a torch on either side of it. Two guard posts were also present, with a guard manning both on either side of the entrance. Both had armour and weapons on.
What the hunters needed was a distraction, and they were prepared. They needed to avoid suspicion and detection, which in this case meant leaving the guards at their posts while they finished their mission at the proson. The sudden lack of guards at the mouth of the prison tunnel could turn out to be disastrous.
They would be sufficiently dealt with later.
One of the hunters pulled out a sealed glass vial filled to the brim with a green viscous liquid from his belt. Taking careful aim across the hunters, he threw it as hard as he could while still being hidden. It flew over the helmet donned guards and landed on the stone roof of a house quite a way beyond the periphery of the tunnel entrance.
The moment the glass vial hit the roof and shattered, the green liquid spurt out onto the stone...
And promptly caught on fire.
Deathgripper acid.
Suffice to say, the distraction was a success. The guards whipped around at the sound of glass shattering, and rushed over as soon as the acid fire roared to life. Grabbing the opportunity, the hunters rushed over into the tunnel. Once inside, they pressed themselves against the wall, listening. There was yelling and curses, but none of it was towards the tunnel, and no voice came closer chasing them.
It was the perfect distraction. The sudden and unexplainable fire could only result in one conclusion: dragons. Not only will it help create a distrust in the outcasts on the winged fire-breathing lizards, it would be impossible to trace it back to the hunters. Unless the lot climbed onto the roof, found the shattered blackened glass shards and somehow linked it to infiltrators on their island.
Not only that, the fire would go out soon after it started, so chances were that they blame it on a vivid hallucination on the guards' part and don't even bother to investigate further.
They were in the clear.
Creeping forwards into the dark tunnel with the shouts becoming really distant, with no torches to give any semblance of shape of the tunnel itself, the hunters kept an avid ear out for any movement or sound. There was none. Soon, by feeling their way forward using the walls, they were at the end of the tunnel.
They could smell the sea before they saw it.
At this height, a fall to the sea would be fatal. Even if someone survives the fall somehow, the sharp jagged rocks waiting right below the water surface would do the job, no questions asked.
The hunters looked back at the tunnel. No sound came through. The commotion was left far behind. One of them then peeked out of the tunnel to look at the prison door, and saw that it was being guarded by one lone outcast.
Perfect.
The outcast was pacing towards them, and had not seen them. The hunters withdrew into the dark tunnel to not be seen. The outcast came to the tunnel mouth, looked in once and saw only darkness, and turned around to pace back to the prison door. The hunters rushed out, and the next moment, one of them had a knife around the guard's throat.
The other quickly rid the guard of all of his weapons.
The guard, frozen in fear mostly due to the extremely sharp blade against his throat, didn't even dare to gulp. Completely incapable of saving himself, he just stared as the other hunter came face to face with him.
"Blade's covered with venom, so don't move or talk. That steel breaks skin, you die. Blink if you understand."
The guard's limbs started to shake in fear as he blinked. The hunter then pulled out his dart tube and held it right in front of the poor outcast's face.
"Same story here. Darts for long range, and I have incredible aim. You try anything funny, you die. Blink."
The guard acknowledged.
"Good. We need access to the prison. We know it's locked from the inside, with people guarding it. We want you to get them to open the door. We will take care of the rest. Blink."
The outcast looked like he wanted to say something, but decided against it; probably due to the knife that would pierce his skin with any neck movement. He blinked.
"Again, no funny business."
They didn't wait for him to blink; they released him. The poor man looked like he would fall to his knees, but his legs held.
"We don't have all night."
The guard didn't acknowledge them immediately. He just took a few deep breaths and stabilized his legs before going to the door. He looked to the hunters, one of whom waved his metal tube as a mock warning while readying what looked like a transparent vial of green liquid, while the other had already taken aim. Steeling himself, the guard knocked.
The wait was brief before the door opened. There were four guards holding spears in attacking positions behind the person who opened the door.
The hunter holding the vial didn't wait or hesitate. The moment the door was open wide enough, even before the five guards at the door noticed the two uniform wearing outsiders, he threw the vial at their feet with all his might.
The glass vial shattered upon impact, splashing all six men, the bottom of the metal door and some of the rocky surroundings with the green viscous liquid.
Everything caught on fire instantly. Everyone and everything.
That was the beauty of Deathgripper acid. While it may burn right through wood and metal, it didn't have that devastating of an effect on rock. So, while the armour wearing guards and the door started to burn and disintegrate, the stone foundation around them didn't. Which meant that the prison wouldn't collapse onto itself the first chance it gets.
That would came later.
The ones inside the door shrieked and ran inside while burning alive, while the other man, also burning alive, saw it the best course of action to chuck himself over the ledge and into the churning sea a fair few leagues below.
A long fall and jagged rocks don't mean a lot when a man is burning alive.
The hunters didn't hear from the burning fallen man again, but the faint screams of agony were still coming from inside the door. They weren't loud enough to be heard properly from outside the prison, let alone on the other end of the tunnel. So, they didn't have to rush when they finally entered the prison chambers of Outcast island.
Time to start the final phase of the mission.
Jail would never cease to be harrowing for some people. Keyword: some. For Dagur, though, it was just a minor inconvenience after a while. Those pesky rods that kept him inside and away from seeking justice for himself didn't fill him with despair, it just fueled his anger to the point where it can easily roll over the archipelago lest he be set free.
The previous Chief of both Berserker and Outcast islands had fallen from grace quite a while ago, and all at the hands of a pesky fifteen-year-old and his pet Night Fury. Or, at least, that's how he saw it. Therefore, it was bad for his overinflated ego and wrath the more time he spent behind bars. And as of the current date and time, he had spent a little over a year in a dank cell of Outcast Island.
A bit of that time was spent on how to get out of his cell, part of which he utilized in terrorizing the guards until the point where even potential double-crosser-turn-allies didn't dare come close to him. Most of his time, however, was spent in coming up with rather alarming ways of dismembering the remaining limbs of Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the third before brutally killing him, with every plan somehow more terrifying than the last.
Some nights, that's all he did. He didn't sleep at all. Instead, he just lay awake on his hard cot and imagined the pain and suffering he would cause his 'brother' the moment he would get his hands on him next with great relish.
This just happened to be one of those nights. He was wide awake, imagining how he would peel every layer of skin from the boy's penis before cutting the remaining bits out. Dagur would do everything himself, obviously. Hiccup would be gagged and heavily restrained, so Dagur wouldn't become deaf from his incessant screaming or make a wrong move with his knife while the boy moved around too much.
It had to be just right.
He also mused briefly if his brother was big enough to be tortured sufficiently by this method. It was incredibly hard to do the procedure if someone was not endowed well, after all. It would be funny for Dagur, but bad for the torment part of his plan for Hiccup.
Maybe he would bring Astrid in for that part of his plan. It would add severe embarrassment and mental torment to the list of things the boy would have to endure. Would serve his right, Dagur decided gleefully.
His musing about a now sixteen-year old's penis was cut short by the distant sound of the rapping of the metal door.
Now that was unusual. Dagur had been in the prison complex long enough to know that.
He didn't think a lot about it, though. He didn't even raise his head to look out of his cell. He just shut his eyes and went back to his thoughts.
Then came the blood-curdling screams.
Dagur was up before his eyes were properly open. He ran to the bars of his cell, but the position of his cell was such that he couldn't see anything. He was far too inside the prison complex to hear anything other than the screams of men, so he had no way of knowing what was going on. He had no idea who was screaming in the first place, but Dagur dearly hoped it were the blundering halfwits who dared to keep him locked up in this prison.
So, he waited, while the screams continued. That is, until soon, swishing metallic noises sounded. What could only possibly be weapons being swung through air, these blades silenced the shrieks one-by-one, until it was just the cheering and random questions by the other inmates. No answers were given to anyone by anybody, and soon everyone started to fall quiet at the lack of response.
Anticipation mounting, Dagur waited. There was no sound of footsteps, but he could just feel that whoever it was, was coming to him. Whether to help him or kill him, remained to be seen.
The wait lasted moments, as not one, but two men soon turned down his alley from the main corridor. They were heavyset outcast-uniformed men, who were really quiet for their size. That alone confirmed it for Dagur that these were actual trained killers, and definitely not outcasts.
"Am I about to die here?"
The hunters came to a stop outside his cell just as he stated his query. None of them answered, but one of them fished out a scroll from his belt. He handed it to Dagur, and both of them stepped back as the Berserker tore open the binding and started to read what the message had to say.
If you are reading this, then it means that my men have succeeded in their mission. They are not there to kill you, but to help you escape.
I'll keep this short: I'm giving you your freedom back. And the chance to exact revenge. My role ends here, so my men will leave you after you are completely free.
How you escape and build your army is entirely on you, but take this stab at a second chance as a free gift from me, and as a gamble on my part at a better future of this archipelago.
I will help you with one other thing though. I have a feeling that you would want to dispose of the useless and incompetent people that constituted you crew and armada. They did fail you extravagantly, reducing your power from the chief of two islands to a shit-stain prisoner. I have something that might help you take care of that.
After all, if you were to take over Berk, you need better men. If you want to defeat Hiccup Haddock, you need a lot better men. I'm sure you know how to find them, so I'll leave that to you and your devices.
If you agree to this, let it be known to the two men sent to free you. They will handle the rest.
I will not disclose as to who I am now, but I will someday if you succeed. Everyone needs friends, and now you know that you have some, no matter how anonymous. I will keep a lookout for your endeavours, and I look forward to your victory and to being a potential ally in your fight against Berk and its dragons.
A friend.
A friend.
Dagur never had friends. Never ones who weren't afraid of him, anyway. That was probably his own fault, but this was not the time to muse over these things.
As for who this overly generous friend was, Dagur would reserve that question for later.
He quickly looked over to the waiting men and nodded.
"Let's do it. All of it."
The men turned around, and walked away. They snuffed out the torches lining his alley on their way out.
Dagur was confused by their actions, but only for a second. Whatever the plan for killing all of the traitorous bastards that he called his men was, it must require preparation, and apparently no light. So, he just held the bars and waited, smiling that truly unhinged smile of his and relishing in the fact that he will get justice soon.
On all fronts.
The hunters made quick work of extinguishing all torches in the room except one. The berserkers lining the cells began questioning and shouting again, but one quick venomous dart and a corpse solved that. The raucous bunch looked horrified as a man, alive moments ago, now lay still on the ground in his cell with his cellmates moving as far away from his body as possible. No one uttered another word after that.
Taking the last torch, they used the light in the otherwise completely dark chamber to work. The hunter with the leather sack took it off and lay it gently on the ground. Tearing it open, they took out an enormous metal box with a huge button on top, two glowing fireworm filled sealed glass lanterns, and three gas masks.
Placing the torch by the metal door, they took the box deep into the chamber and placed it on the ground. The two hunters wore their masks, before one of them pushed the button on the box.
It immediately started spewing out green gas that began to fill the room. The gas began creeping into the closest cell, where people started coughing without preamble.
Not having much time, the hunters rushed to Dagur's cell again, and handed him a mask, and the keys they had taken off of one of the guards' corpses.
"Make it quick. You have until the gas reached the torch burning near the door."
They left the lantern outside the prison cell and left.
Now, Dagur was completely alone.
He had no idea what gas they were talking about, seeing as the gas hadn't reached him yet. Nevertheless, he wore the gas mask and unlocked his cell using the keys. Picking up the lantern, he admired the contraption of trapped fireworms providing light, but only for a moment. Remembering how he was told to hurry, he ran down the alley until he came onto the main chamber.
He heard many of his men coughing, but also a faint hissing sound. He raised his lantern to notice a green gas filling the room steadily.
A gas that he recognized even in the extremely dim lighting.
Oh.
He immediately turned around to look at the door. Situated quite a bit far away, and resting against some rocks near the ajar door was one solitary burning torch.
Oh.
Dagur laughed maniacally at how diabolically brilliant the plan was.
Of course!
Zippleback gas!
He had until the gas reached the torch by the door, upon which the entire prison complex will blow to bits, killing everybody. Even if anyone managed to survive, the prison being a glorified cave, it will cave in and kill them.
It was absolutely glorious, and Dagur loved it.
He should leave as soon as possible, but he couldn't help himself. Heading off to the cell of his previous second in command, he found the man barely staying conscious while coughing to keep the gas out of his system.
Anyone who failed Dagur has to die. No exceptions.
"You know, I know that you know you are going to die; that all of you will die, so I'll do this quick. Know this, I could hope that you go to Valhalla and live your days of eternity in peace, but I won't."
His voice came out muffled due to the mask, but he didn't care. He moved in closer to the man, who had started to choke on the gas at this point.
"I sincerely hope that you go to hel, and get tortured for having failed me. I hope that all of you burn for all eternity, you traitorous bastards!"
The man was almost dead due to the gas anyway, so Dagur was not sure if he understood. No matter, he had said what he wanted to say, and it was time to get the hel out of there.
He broke into a run, rushing for the door and the torch. The gas thinned as he got closer to the torch, and was nonexistant when he reached the door.
Not for long, though.
Dagur took off his mask, and looked back into the prison that was his home for the past year. The prison that was rapidly filling with gas and will soon be the fiery grave of many people.
"Fuck this place."
Throwing his mask away, he crossed the threshold and smelt fresh air for the first time after one whole year of dank smelly air. It was like gulping elixir of life, and he couldn't get enough.
But now was not the time.
He looked around. The two men who saved his life had made off. Dagur scoffed; not like he needed them anymore anyway.
Turning to the metal door, he pulled it close and latched it. If he noticed some of the bottom of the metal door suspiciously having melted and being on the rocky ground, he didn't think a lot about it.
Then, he ran away as fast as he could. He intended to clear the tunnel joining the village and prison before it blew up, so he ran faster than he ever had in his life.
He cleared it, and immediately backed defensively. He needn't have, seeing that the guards at the mouth of the tunnel weren't moving. Darts stuck out from their necks, and they were dead.
There was no one else around, and judging by the distant jovial noises, the people were all busy enjoying.
Dagur chuckled. His 'friend' meant it when the letter said that Dagur would be completely free.
The prison had still not blown up, and Dagur was all the better for it somehow. He didn't need to face the village in combat right now.
He still grabbed the dead guards' swords for good measure; one in each hand. Wasting no time, he rushed towards the docks as fast as possible, while being stealthy.
While on the direct route down to the docks from the village, he came across two guards, but both were dead with darts sticking out of their necks. He didn't give the dead much thought, but he did become a bit annoyed.
He could have handled those two outcasts, thank you very much.
Never mind.
He was soon at the docks, with no human in sight. There were a couple of ships, but one stood out. A small ship that could be manned by one, and which had a blank sail. A trader ship, and even after the Dragon Integration and allyship with Berk, only one trader dared to come to Outcast Island.
Which meant...
"Trader Johann, eh? Would you look at that."
He made to move towards the ship, but an explosion sounded in the distance. Dagur looked back, but the prison being on the other side of the island away from direct sight, he couldn't see the fiery carnage. Not that he wanted to be close enough to watch, because soon, the sound of rock falling and crashing filled the sir, and a cloud comprising of dust and smoke rose in the distance.
No way any of the prisoners would have survived after all that, Dagur thought as he smiled maniacally.
Still, all of it made quite a ruckus, and Dagur could hear voices in the village starting to rise. He didn't have much time.
Turning around, he ran for Johann's ship as fast as possible.
The loud boom in the distance reverberated around the ship, and Johann was finally at peace.
The mission was successful.
He didn't trust the men; then again, he never trusted anyone to start with. The men were tough, but the Outcast torture methods were famed at making people talk if they took anyone alive. Viggo had guaranteed that the men would rather die than getting caught, and that they were equipped for the same, but there was always the fear of his decade long façade being tore apart on a gamble.
It was an important bet, because releasing the wrath of Dagur on the Archipelago when the main force of peace of Berk was in enormous disarray was the perfect answer to unleash chaos. If Johann knew Dagur and his deep hatred of Hiccup, and if Dagur had his deranged way, war would be waging across the archipelago extremely soon.
And it would be perfect for him and his plans. Dagur's war would be devastating for the Dragon Integration, and when the Dragon friendly villages start to use Dragons in the war against the orthodox unfriendlies, everything that Hiccup, and Berk, had worked on and achieved will undo itself rather swiftly.
That would only mean better business for him and the Grimborns. Plus, it would bring him closer to ending Berk than anything else now. A win-win.
Still, this was not the time to daydream or to formulate future plans. He quickly downed his whiskey before keeping the cup away. Taking in a deep breath, he readied himself mentally as he would have to act like a buffoon again.
Because there was only one way out of Outcast Island for non-flying people: ships. Johann's happened to be the only one that could be manned by one. So, he knew Dagur would come to him.
He hated himself for one more moment, before assuming the persona of Trader Johann and climbing up the steps to the main deck.
He didn't have to wait long, as Dagur was climbing the gangplank moments later. Both came face to face immediately after.
Johann started the conversation, however painful it was for him.
"Master... Dagur? But I thought.. you..."
Dagur raised his eyebrow. The red-haired git wouldn't even be on this ship without his help, Johann thought. Egotistical harebrained idiot.
"Never mind that, it's so good to see you again, master Dagur."
The red haired man just scoffed. He dropped the two swords from his hands, which Johann pretended to not notice.
"I'll bet, Johann."
"If I may ask, master Dagur, what was that explosion that rocked me out of my sleep a few moments ago? I was rather tired after an arduous day of trading my wares, so I figured I would ask-"
Even Johann was slightly surprised when he saw Dagur's fist coming at his face before it connected. He had expected it, but Dagur was much more impatient than he had given him credit for.
Which was probably a good thing when it would come to waging war and chaos upon the archipelago, he mused as he lost consciousness.
Dagur didn't really have time for Johann's bullshit right now.
Because it was time to get the hel out.
Letting Johann stay where he was out cold, he took care of the moorings quickly before setting sail. He didn't care if he bumped into other boats and ships, as long as he was clear of the island's people and defences.
Looking back, none of the people had yet come to the dock, but with it and the sea clearly in sight of the village, it won't take long. It would still take them a lot of time to mobilize all forces and ships, by which time Dagur would be long gone.
Soon, Dagur was out of the bay of the island, and a free man to boot. He was technically a fugitive, but no one would care about that when Dagur showed up with an armada on his back.
Acquiring which would define his next moves, currently. He would need a ton of money to buy competent warriors and ships.
He knew just where to start, though. It was Trader Johann's ship, and he was sure that he would find something in the trader's chambers on the ship to get started with. Everything was looking good.
Mentally patting himself on the back for a job well done, Dagur whistled lightly as he quickly put distance between himself and Outcast Island. He swore to himself that he would come and destroy it all the first chance he got.
He would probably bring his Skrill for the job. Yes, would that be incredibly destructive and wholly just!
But for now, there was only one thought that kept him awake enough to keep going through the night.
I'm coming for you, brother.
DAGUR WOULD SOON HAVE TO RESTRAIN, GAG AND MOVE JOHANN BELOW DECK WHEN HE WOULD COME TO. HE WOULD TOLERATE HIM FOR A WHILE, BEFORE BEING COMPLETELY IMPATIENT AND THROWING HIM OVERBOARD. HE WOULD UNTIE HIM, OF COURSE, BECAUSE OF HIS GRATITUDE FOR BEING THERE WITH HIS SHIP AT OUTCAST ISLAND WHEN HE NEEDED TO ESCAPE. THERE WAS NO NEED OF KILLING THE INNOCENT TRADER WHO HAD HELPED HIM, AFTER ALL.
ONLY IF DAGUR KNEW.
HE WOULD INVESTIGATE JOHANN'S QUARTERS, AND FIND A MAP LEADING TO HIS TREASURE HOLD IN A SHIP GRAVEYARD BEYOND THE EDGE OF THE KNOWN ARCHIPELAGO. HE WOULD STEER THE SHIP TOWARDS THE FOG BANK IMMEDIATELY. ONLY AFTER USING THE MONEY ON JOHANN'S SHIP TO BUY A CAPABLE SHIP AND CREW, THAT IS.
THE STORY WOULD CONTINUE AFTER THIS.
SO, DID YOU LIKE THIS CHAPTER? I KNOW IT'S BEEN A WHILE, AND I APOLOGIZE FOR THE DELAY.
POST A REVIEW AS TO WHAT YOU THINK. I LOOK FORWARD TO READING THEM, AS ALWAYS.
DON'T WORRY, I WAS KEEPING AN EYE ON THE REVIEW SECTIONS OF MY STORIES EVEN WHILE BEING ON THE IMPROMPTU HIATUS.
NOT SURE WHEN THE FUTURE CHAPTER WILL BE UP, BUT I HAVE THE BASIC PLOT IN PLACE. NOT MUCH OF A PROMISE, I KNOW, BUT, WELL...
ANYWAY, ENJOY THE STORY!
UNTIL LATER, THEN,
ARTREYCROGHT.