It's dark, cold, and smelly. The only thing I hate more than being here is Hiccup for putting me here. Alvin too. I'll make them both pay for doing this to me. My ribs ache like they never have before and I've been in a lot of fights. Maybe sleeping would help. I won't know, though, because the cell door is opening again. Alvin's back so soon? I can't even get a bit of shut eye.

He's coming this way, so I try to lean against the wall to steady myself. I won't show weakness in front of anyone–definitely not him. He's still coming. I don't like the look on his face.

"Miss me already?" I ask.

Alvin doesn't answer. He just motions for some Outcasts to come in. They have ropes in their hands. Not again. I don't want to be restrained again. I play up my injuries to look like I'm more wounded than I am. As soon as one gets close enough to me, I kick his lights out. Another one tries to avenge him and I use my right hand–my only good one right now–to knock him out too. This isn't good enough. I need to kill them, but I don't have any weapons and can barely even rely on my body to get the job done. Horror goes through my mind as I remember the deal I made. I don't like keeping my deals, but they normally don't put the lives of my vikings at risk. It's like Alvin can see the defeat on my face as I realize I can't fight back. Pushing through the other vikings, he backhands me and grabs my left arm. With a quick blow to the joint, I hear a snap. I don't yell out, but I grimace. And I thought the ribs were sore. Alvin's tying my arms behind me now and I can't do anything to stop him–not if I want my Berserkers to survive.

The Outcast is facing me and puts his hand up to my face. I try to move away, but he grabs the back of my neck to keep me still. He's just staring at me like I'm some sort of prized dragon he finally captured. One of his calloused hands brushes against the right side of my face.

"I used to consider getting tattoos," he comments. "I like yours."

I'm not sure if this is a compliment or not. It sounds like it as far as words go, but the way he says it seems so strange. There's that hand again going over my face. I don't know where it's been, but I know that I feel the need to have my skin burned off and replaced.

"Ya know, Dagur," he says, "there aren't a lot of choices for companionship on Outcast Island."

"Maybe you should get out more."

"I like it where I am. If I wanted to leave, I'd go back to Berk."

Then, what's he complaining about? He wants a friend now or something? Whatever will make him loosen up some.

"We can be friends, Al," I tell him. "Think of all the stories we'll be able to tell everyone."

I start to laugh, but it's a nervous laugh and I can tell. That's because something's wrong and no matter how much I'm trying to pretend like it isn't, I know it is. Alvin doesn't seem amused by my laugh.

"I don't want a friend," he tells me.

That…doesn't leave many options. Stupid heart keeps racing.

"Uh, Al, then I guess–"

I don't get to finish because his hand moves from my face to the side of my leg. It makes me jump and he laughs at me.

"What the hell are you doing?!" I ask him.

I move to my right, but he's still there. The left isn't any better. He puts both hands against the wall, effectively preventing me from going either direction. One hand grips my throat until it feels like my windpipe is going to be crushed. Another goes down my torso and back to my leg. I kick which is made easier by me being off the ground now thanks to Alvin picking me up in this undignified manner.

"You're my prisoner, Dagur!" he yells at me, slamming me against the wall before slamming me against the floor and sitting on me. "That means I call the shots. Kristof!"

One of the Outcasts comes at his call and is bringing a torch with him. Alvin looks at me before taking out his sword and putting it in the flame. When it's red hot, he smiles.

"I don't think you deserve that youthful face of yours. You've got an ugly inside, Dagur. About time the outside matched."

He brings the blade so close that I can already feel the heat, but that's nothing compared to when it connects. A slash goes over my left eyebrow and down my eye. I keep the eye closed to prevent the blood from dripping into it. Now, Alvin cuts me again by my cheekbone. Two should be enough. He's made his point. Apparently not. He's cutting me again, this time by my temple. I'm keeping my breath steady and not crying out no matter how much it hurts. This is making him mad. I can see it in his grotesque face. He brings the blade back up and above my left ear, then painfully slowly, he carves down until he reaches my chin.

"Slaves get branded," he says happily. "I know this isn't a traditional way of doing it, but you're mine now. This mark symbolizes that the same way as any branding would." Alvin leans down close to me and repeats, "You're mine."

I'm marked. Every time someone looks at me, I'm going to be marked as Alvin's prisoner–someone's plaything and I hate that more than I could ever express. I figured I'd come out of this with some scars, but I won't be able to hide this without using a mask that covers my entire face. I think I'd like to cover my face after this. I don't want anyone to know where I've been. Stupid limbs. Now they're shaking a bit. I wish they'd stop, but I wish Alvin would stop more. One hand is staying on my neck to keep me pushed against the floor and another is traveling its way up my leg. I really don't like that.

"Th-this isn't funny, Al," I say, accidentally contradicting myself by laughing.

Alvin doesn't say anything. Again, I try to move, but it just results in the neck hand squeezing tighter.

"Stop it."

The words come out my mouth hoarsely as I try to breathe. I try to wiggle, but his weight on top of me is crushing. He adjusts to make himself heavier. I really can't breathe now, but I can hold my breath for a while. This won't render me unconscious unless he keeps going for a long time. Speaking of continuing to go, the other hand won't stop. It's somewhere I'd rather it not be. It's just resting there to annoy me now. I can't move a muscle despite how much I want to push him off of me.

"Have you ever been with anyone, boy?" he asks.

I don't answer him. I'm not getting into this with him. His hand goes to my jaw and squeezes dangerously.

"Talk or you won't be able to," he threatens.

I like talking, so he wins this round.

"More than I can remember," I tell him.

He doesn't believe me and he's right not to. I'm lying. No one on Berserker Island's ever respected me before becoming chief and as soon as I was, I had to seem dangerous. Neither made it easy to get dates. Not like I care, though. I've been busy looking for my Skrill and handling business. Who needs someone else? I've been alone for years. Even before Dad left, I was alone. Dad…I kind of wish he was here right now. Maybe he would help me.

"How old are you?"

"Almost nineteen."

"Good. I wouldn't want to be creepy."

That ship has sailed. My heartbeat speeds up as I see a mouth coming towards mine. I can't move back any further back than I already am. I'm literally against the floor, so unless I become a Whispering Death and start burrowing, I'm not going anywhere. I hear myself make a small yelp as it connects. It's slimy and gross. Is this what it's like for other vikings or am I just that lucky? Alvin pulls up and has a smug look on his face which I'm guessing is contrasting with the horrified expression on mine.

"I'm your first, aren't I?"

My body tenses as I feel that other hand again and its lack of boundaries. It's not still anymore. It keeps moving…I can handle this. I'm Dagur the Deranged. It won't do any more lasting damage than the cut just did. That won't go away. This at least will as soon as he's done. I don't like it, but I can deal with it. It's just…just very uncomfortable. Alvin keeps looking at me, waiting for a reaction, but I won't give one to him.

"Do you like this?"

I'm about to not answer, but I remember his earlier threat. "No."

My right hand is clenching behind me, keeping every expression of discomfort and shame inside. Still, I know that my face is completely red by now. Alvin's grinning at me and keeps going. He just keeps on going! He's not the only stubborn one, though. I'm not budging from my lack of responding.

"Normally," he says, "vikings make a noise. You can if you want."

"Run yourself through with your own sword," I say, grunting. "How's that for a noise?"

My windpipe is getting squeezed again and I think I just let out a whimper either due to that or what else is going on. I'm ashamed of myself for making it. It's an accident that I won't make again. After too much time has passed, Alvin gets up a bit. I let out a soft sigh. Good. That isn't something I want to do again, but I can't do anything before I'm spun around so that my newly cut face is being pushed into the hard ground. I can feel him moving even though I can't see him. It sounds like the unfastening of something and I'm getting really nervous. Now, I can feel him lowering my own trousers some and I think I know what he's planning.

"I thought you and Hiccup were pals now," I say despite the tremble in my voice. "Doesn't that mean you're good?"

"It means Berk and I are allies," he answers. "We on the other hand, are not, and I do what I wish with my enemies."

"It's never too late to turn over a new leaf," I add, laughing some. My cackling fades and I turn very serious. "Alvin...please don't do this."

So much for not begging. I didn't want to, but I didn't expect this to be what I was in for. I can handle the fights, beatings, and I think I can even handle that terrible thing he just did as much as I wish it would never happen again. I'm not sure if I can handle what's coming next. The Outcast's not listening to me either way, though. He's focused and I'm…scared. I hate being scared. I've never felt like this before. I really can't get up, but Thor knows I'm trying. That sword is trailing up my right leg, creating gashes of various depths. What's left of my hair is being grabbed now and yanked to pull my head back. Alvin is sniffing me like I'm a flower. A chill is going down my spine. Why did I have to want that Skrill so badly? Maybe if I'd left it, this never would've happened. No, I'd never allow anyone to hurt my baby. That dragon belongs to our people and no one–especially not scum like Alvin–deserves to treat it poorly. This is because of Hiccup. He's the one who couldn't just let me have my own dragon. He already has that darn Night Fury. It's not fair that he gets to have them all.

It's starting and I don't know if it hurts more or if the injuries do. There are some more injuries happening simultaneously. The sword is slicing my side and around my hips. Alvin keeps choking me from the back and is yanking out more hair. I think he's also purposely leaning on my broken arm. This entire experience is terrible and dehumanizing. I'm not a viking to anyone anymore. I'm just a prisoner–a thing. I don't want to be a thing. Can this stop yet? What's it taking so long? My foot keeps tapping against the floor and I guess it's a nervous tick.

"There's no reason to be scared, boy," Alvin tells me. "I ain't gonna hurt ya."

Too late for that. I'd heard about different ways to do stuff like this from the older Berserkers when I was a kid. When I envisioned it, I didn't think it'd be like this. Always thought it would be sweet and after a fruit bath or something–nice and romantic. I remember them making fun of me for that, but I still think that sounds nice. If nothing else, it's better than this. This is violent and humiliating, and it's still going on. How could Hiccup leave me to this? I'd never put him in Alvin's clutches or anyone else's for that matter. Sure, we've been fighting, but I even threatened my own Berserkers when they seemed ready to hurt him! Yet he's allowing my very dignity to be stripped away without a second thought. Is he even thinking about me? I doubt it, but I'm thinking about him and how he'll pay. He will pay for this.

Alvin puts his head against the back of mine. "What do you think of this?"

I don't say anything. I can't. It's just like I've lost my ability to speak for the moment. There are only two words I'd say if I did speak: Please stop. It wouldn't make a difference. This was that look I saw on Alvin. Nothing I do is going to stop him, so why also give him the pleasure of crying and pleading? My dad will be even more ashamed of me if he ever finds out about what's happening. Still, I just want him here. If he returns from wherever he went, I'll go back to not being chief anymore. I won't complain about anything, not even his smacking. I'll be the sane, peaceful son he's always wanted…or at least I'll try to be. I'll be whatever you want me to be, Daddy, just come get this viking off of me.

I'm crazier than I thought I was if I'm even thinking about this. Dad would have to fight to stop Alvin and he'd never fight for me. Never had and never will. Finally, it's over, but my face won't stop being red and my body won't stop trembling. Alvin's getting off of me; however, he's not leaving. I'm still just on the ground. I could technically get up now, but I feel paralyzed. He lifts me up and pushes me against the wall again to admire his handiwork on my face.

"You might look better now actually," he says. "I think I'll enjoy our nights together."

"Nights?" I ask, horrified. This wasn't a one-time thing?

Alvin smiles and puts his mouth on my neck. Stupid initial reactions can be hard to control and I instinctively flinch. It's not very chiefly, but I still do it. I just really want him to leave. This has been a long day and an even longer night.

"Are you going to cut the ropes?" I ask after clearing my throat.

The Outcast looks at them and shakes his head. "Not yet. You'll keep them on until I come back." A strange look crosses his face and I realize how much I'm starting to dislike when that happens. "You should probably use the bathroom now while you can."

"Huh?!" He's got to be kidding.

"I'm not untying you and I'm not bringing you new clothes, so unless you want to mess up what you have, might as well do it now."

I can't even get the words out of my mouth, I'm so appalled. With a swift motion, Alvin lowers my trousers more and pushes me to a corner. I've never peed on command before and am just kind of standing here, frozen. I feel my face somehow getting redder. It probably matches my hair now or my blood that's still all over the place. I hope I'm not ever ordered to do this again, but I won't hold my breath on that. Of course, my new pal has to help out. He's smiling at me the entire time and I'm trying to not look at him. Only issue is, I'm shaking again–removing any possible chance of seeming like the strong viking I want to be.

"Okay," I say quickly. "This can end now."

I need him to let go. This has been going on too long and I feel like I'm about to crack if it does any longer. I guess I sounded bossy because another punch is sent into the side of my head, ramming it into the wall so hard that I slide to the floor. With blurred vision, I look up at Alvin's scowl. He picks me up to his level.

"I told ya, boy, you don't make the calls anymore. That means only talking to me when I say it's alright. It's late. I'm tired, so I want silence."

Sheer rebellion is making me want to say something, but the freshness of this all keeps me quiet. I don't want him to be in here any longer than he already has. He knows it too. He's daring me to say something. I thought it would be amusing to mess with Alvin while I was here–that it'd give me some small sense of joy, but I was wrong. It's not fun playing with Alvin. He doesn't play by the rules.

"I wonder what Hiccup is doing with that Night Fury of his. Probably flying free," he says.

He can't bait me that easily. I'm shutting up and I don't know if it's more of a win for him if I choose not to say anything or to say something. I don't care. I just want him gone. This has been a day of many firsts and all of them I hope I'll forget the next time he hits me in the head. Thor is finally answering my prayers because Alvin's leaving now.

"I'll cut the ropes tomorrow afternoon or so. If you haven't guessed, there won't be any food, so you won't need them to grab anything."

He locks the cell and brings the torch with him, leaving me in darkness. Forget his food. I'm not hungry. My stomach and everything else hurts. Emotionally, I'm starting to feel numb which is an improvement. I painfully walk to the back of the cell and lean against the wall for support. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I notice some of the Outcast prisoners are looking at me. I didn't realize we had such an engaged group of viewers. If there were any cracks big enough in the walls, I would try to climb into one. How quickly things change. Just a few days ago, I'd have sneered at anyone who looked at me the wrong way and also tried to impress them with some feat of violence. If nothing else, it would have been to keep up the image I've worked so hard at. Now, the last thing I want is to be the center of anyone's attention.

"Ooh, Alvin's got a little friend now," one with an irritating voice says.

"Minus the ugly scar, he's kinda cute. Maybe if I stay on good behavior, Alvin will let me have a try."

This time, I'm red because of rage. I rush to the bars of the cell and grab them so roughly that they clang and the other prisoners move back as if I could break through and kill them.

"You even think about trying something like that and your spinal cord will be my Skrill's toothpick," I warn them.

I'm not getting passed around like some mug of yak nog everyone gets to taste. Alvin's bad enough, but I do this for my vikings. I'm not going to be so permissive with anyone else. I'm so angry with Hiccup for doing this to me! This is more cruel than any other fate he could have sentenced me to. I'd manage being stuck in a Berkian cell or just getting killed. Obviously, I don't want that, but if I had to go out, I could accept it. It would be merciful. Instead, I'm stuck here with this monster who'll spend every day beating me and every night…torturing me. I need to get stronger, but I have to heal first. I need to escape. This won't be my life. It can't be. If I've ever done anything decent in my life, I won't be forced to endure this permanently. If there's a home for me in Valhalla, I'll leave this terrible place behind and become the Berserker chief I was meant to be. Alvin can take everything from me and he almost has, but he'll never take my fighting spirit. I'll never give up. I'll get out of here and when I do, Brother, I'm coming for you.