CAUTION: Spoils aspects of Innocent Hopes, Twisted Realities, as well as aspects of When Nothing Remains through chapter 19.
Seriously, major spoilers here.
Assuming you wish to continue, read on…
Background: The sixth entry to All That Remains, the AU where the big question has the other answer. I'm going to admit right up front that I had way too much fun constructing and then writing out the main part of this chapter. It's the sort of thing I haven't gotten to explore yet, involves some of my favorite characters, and has a pleasingly apocalyptic feel to it that I can only rarely use. This was the scene that first came to mind when I was thinking about how this AU was going to go.
… But that was back in mid-2019, when I first began writing this AU (yeah, it was a while ago). Some of the themes of this chapter are surprisingly relevant to events that have elapsed since then. Ah well, this wouldn't be the first time my stories have pre-empted real life stuff by pure chance, it's bound to happen occasionally.
The island was small, wreathed in fog, and decidedly damp, all the more gloomy for the dark storm clouds blocking out the sky. Spring had come, but not to this part of the world, not yet, and those huddled in taverns and cabins across the lumpy, bedraggled landscape knew it would not be arriving soon.
Ember walked alone, the fog billowing oddly behind him, giving him a spectral appearance to any who might be looking. His human form was a large Viking at the moment, but even so it displaced far too much fog, forcing it wide and far behind him, leaving an empty patch in his wake…
A patch that was coincidentally the same size and shape as a Fury might be, one walking with her nose to his back and her tail curled inward to minimize her obvious shape. She was camouflaged, but that didn't do as much as it should on this island.
Ember wished he hadn't brought her along, but he'd had little choice. Storm and Second could not come, the island offered absolutely no cover, and he needed someone with him. Someone pure of heart, to ensure he did not cross too many lines.
They approached the island's numerous docks, all eerily empty except for two. A ship was pulling away, sailing low in the water, and another was preparing to leave.
The ship leaving would meet with an accident once it was far enough away so as to be out of all of this. Storm and Second would eagerly ensure it lost its cargo, if not more, before it ever reached another island. That ship was not important. It didn't have the right insignia.
The ship still anchored and floating high on the cold waves, on the other hand, did have the insignia he sought, and he smiled grimly. Those insignia were exceedingly rare as of late, and this one had come from the right general direction.
If he was lucky, his prey would be on board, or someone would know where to find him. If he was unlucky, this would be just another hunter ship, one of the few left.
Either way, his path was the same. He stepped onto the creaky wooden boards of the dock with confidence, and ignored the subtle groaning of that same board under Pearl's far more stealthy paws.
"Oy!" one of the men on the ship yelled, spotting him. "What's yer business?"
"Finding hunters!" Ember yelled back in the gruff voice this body possessed. "Where is everybody?" He felt no need to elaborate on who he meant.
The first blow to Viggo's empire had been Drago's forces arriving and fighting a bloody battle. Then, ships had begun disappearing. Now…
Now, Viggo's hunters were a rare sight. This island had once served as the first or last stopping point, depending on whether one was coming or going from Viggo's domain, his island of commerce. That island was empty now.
"Missing, dead, or gone," the hunter replied, stomping out onto the deck. "Your story?"
"Lost my ship a long while back, months ago," Ember lied. "Been taking passage on every ship goin' in the right direction ever since. Wha's goin' on?"
"Madness," the hunter said soberly. "Further than that, you'd have to ask Viggo."
Ember held in a sadistic grin. "I'll do that, if yer goin' his way."
O-O-O-O-O
The wind howled through the twisted rocks of the sea stack outpost, moaning a mournful dirge to the chaotic skies, clouds blowing past as if fleeing something, the sun shining one moment and gone the next. The ocean was restless, throwing huge waves against the sea stack, the sturdy wooden construction balanced around and atop it, and the island in the distance.
Viggo Grimborn sat at a large table, staring over the map spread across it to look out the slatted window across from him. Staring at the clouds and the waves.
He knew he was wasting time, but there was nothing appealing about the map in front of him or the many little markers on it. There had been nothing appealing for weeks now, and the weeks prior to those had been filled with careful planning and intelligent ploys that had all come to nothing.
It was hard to be enthusiastic when the gods had declared the game over and begun clearing the board of his pieces.
He knew it was childish to complain about fairness, but he felt the urge all the same. The game had been won, a badly mishandled assault repelled in fittingly bloody fashion, and the player on the other side of the board soundly defeated. Drago was dead somewhere beneath the waves, and his empire no more. Now was supposed to be the domination, the mopping up and rapid expansion and new challenges. But that was not happening, had not happened. Would not happen.
He pulled his gaze from the window and leaned forward, placing his hands on the map that depicted the ocean and islands for months of sailing in every direction. There were places he wanted to conquer depicted beneath his hands, islands of Vikings and dragons and who knew what else. Islands with mysteries, rumors, downright lies or insane truths to be sought out and turned to his own ends.
He still wanted to go to each and every one, to conquer and interrogate and learn and exploit. Lacking a player on the other side of the board was not actually an issue; he could play against the board itself. There were games like that, even if they were not quite so thrilling. The thrill came from finding out what the world had to offer.
His finger idly traced a small scatter of islands off to one side of the map. This archipelago, for instance, was the source of new rumors, whispers of a young woman leading an island of Vikings who had found some trick, learned some secret, and domesticated dragons. That island was even now beginning to flex its new power, and from what his information gatherers had heard, was doing so quite effectively. Things like that held promise; in time, that woman might even be his next opponent. But for that to happen, there had to be a game to play, and the gods had decided against it.
He stood, pushing his chair back and abandoning the map. It was useless; his markers had all been cleared off, one by one, over the last few months. What good were distant secrets and future opponents when there was no force to use against them, no power, no escape?
A knock came at the hatch that led up into this topmost chamber. It rapped three times, and then twice, and then three more, and in the midst of that knocking he could hear a faint muttering.
It was all part of the same passcode, even the muttering, though only the noise was important, not the contents, so he slid back the heavy bolt blocking the hatch and his brother's bald head emerged.
"What news?" he asked, hiding his weariness. Ryker was optimistic about their situation. Optimism was the feeling fools clung to when things were going bad, so it was no surprise Ryker felt it now.
"The ship returned!" Ryker exclaimed, clearly expecting a positive response.
Viggo frowned at him. "You were not so foolish as to let them past the quarantine?"
"O' course not," Ryker replied, too excited to be annoyed. He seemed almost childish in that respect, though it would take someone very familiar with him to see anything child-like in his rough features and cruel eyes. "Bu' they're all there, and they say nothin' 'appened to 'em. We've got a way out."
"We would have a way out, if we were leaving," Viggo corrected. "If they pass the next three days without showing any symptoms, set them to fishing in the waters around here." There was plenty of water stockpiled down at the base of the sea stack, and enough crudely constructed guard barracks that the sailors could find respite here; this was one of the larger sea stack outposts.
"We're not gonna leave?" Ryker growled, his enthusiasm fading. "Viggo, the island-"
"Is empty and contaminated," he cut in, tired of his brother's stupidity. "You know it as well as I do. It was only my foresight in leaving before those ships put in that has saved us so far." Nobody would be setting foot on the island that had been the crown jewel of his growing empire. It lay abandoned in the distance, visible out the window behind him.
"There's gold there, and maybe some dragons, and supplies," Ryker argued, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. "We gotta start somewhere."
Viggo held in a small laugh at that; his brother had absolutely no right to say 'we'. That was one positive thing this sudden, devastating plague had brought, interfering with Ryker's betrayal and then preventing him from going through with it. He was now once again as loyal as ever, lacking the brainpower to rebuild anything worth having on his own, and for once possessing the self-awareness necessary to admit that and not strike out on his own anyway.
"We're not going back there," he continued, pacing over to the window and looking out at his silent, empty island. "The food will be contaminated, the dragons dead, the gold long gone. My thinking has kept us alive this long. Do not start disputing it now." The island had been dealt a death knell long before he fled it; missing ships meant missing business, and people left in droves once they realized business was not going to recover. They had taken their gold with them.
"So, what, we're going to live here?" Ryker waved a large hand at the small wooden room. "We can't live on fish and water, and the water's gonna run out eventually. The men'll desert, and then someone'll bring a small army here jus' to spite you."
"I am aware of the difficulties." He had agonized over them for days on end. "But we must trust that the same plague that has struck our forces is working its way across all those who would come hunting, too." It was an insidious, unknowable thing, one with no signs and no traces left behind aside from the black ash.
"And we don' know for sure there even is a plague," Ryker objected. "It migh' be somethin' else."
"What else?" Viggo demanded. "You know the facts as well as I do. Four months ago, our ships stopped coming back. Later, we started hearing about them being found, empty of anything but death and black ash. Two months ago, my best security measures went into effect, and we began getting more reports of black dust and our own men turning on each other without reason. One month ago, rumor reached the island, and the exodus started." Such simple facts, but they ruled out every other explanation he could fathom.
"There were bodies, and word of Night Furies attacking ships," his brother persisted.
"Yes, that is where it started." He suspected the Night Furies had been diseased, and had spread it to the survivors of their frenzied attacks, of which there had been more than enough to spread it far too widely and quickly to be stopped. Those dragons would be dead now, which was supported by the recent lack of anything but the ash.
"Or they're the cause," his brother persisted. "A stealth campaign, men striking from the shadows, impersonating our troops, turning them on each other-"
"And the black ash?" The reports on that were garbled, but all agreed that it struck almost supernaturally, men simply disintegrating. Viggo did not consider the study of the body to be his strongest field, but he knew that spoke of some horrific illness. If he had not feared for his life and holed up here before it reached the cauldron of people that was his island, he might have begun researching diseases and their cures. But there were no books here, no resources, and he did not dare leave.
"Black magic, trickery, it doesn't matter," Ryker said dismissively. "The point is, there's no sickness, just a new enemy."
"No, that's not it." He might have believed it, but the reports were too consistent and too perfect. He knew the way each of his top informants wrote, how they spoke, what they thought was important, and it was nigh on impossible that anyone could imitate each and every one of them simultaneously without tripping up. He didn't doubt the truth of their words, and their words spoke of something too unstoppable to be a trick.
"There's nothin' out there," was the stubborn rejoinder his brother came up with.
"There is a disease that drives men mad with sudden violence and rots their insides until they are nothing but hollow cases of ash," Viggo said bluntly. "It came about however all diseases come about, and was spread to our fleet by the infected Night Furies, who showed the same traits of sudden violence and madness in attacking ship after ship without growing bored. They have undoubtedly long since succumbed. There is a disease, it is the only explanation that perfectly fits the facts. As such, we will not be leaving. Not if you value your life."
That seemed to get through to Ryker, who slumped, his powerful frame listing like an unstable building, or a ship that was taking on water on one side. "It's not fair. Odin didn' have it ou' for us before. And it is jus' us, because accordin' to the crew the ports they've visited are all untouched."
"That is odd," Viggo admitted, "but it only points to another aspect of the disease. It may be that close contact with dragons makes one vulnerable. The average fisherman will have none of that, while every one of our men will have much of it. Our business is built around them."
"Then 'ow do you explain our contact who works for tha' Collector tellin' us she's goin' about things as normal, 'er thugs all untouched?"
"This is news to me." He let more than a hint of suspicion show through in his voice. If Ryker was keeping things from him… Well, he'd learn that any feelings of familial affection had been discarded long ago.
"News to me, too," Ryker explained. "Jus' heard it from them."
Viggo turned away, looking down at his map once more, his mind spinning through the implications. "Her people are like ours, so by logic they cannot be immune unless she is doing something they are not. They still buy dragons?"
"Tha's how our men got rid o' their cargo before comin' here."
"So, it is not just staying away from dragons. A normal assortment of species?"
"One Nadder, two Timberjacks, and a barrel o' Terrors."
"Normal enough, and it is spreading without Night Furies now, so while they may be the cause, they are not the method by which it strikes us now." That ruled out the obvious. "The likelihood her people just happen to be immune is nonexistent, so she must be doing something differently, and going by her careful nature that something is intentional else she would shy away from continuing her activities while this runs its course through our ranks."
"I say she is the one behind this," Ryker gritted. "We oughta hunt 'er down."
"Yes, though not for revenge," he agreed, still thinking. "If she has a protection or cure, we need to know what it is, and we have precious little to bargain with, so it must be by force." He had not in the past felt the need to unmask one of his most consistent, profitable patrons, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Her operations, once he found them, could then be co-opted, which would help rebuild their empire all the faster…
"That is what we will do," he announced, turning and facing his brother. "We will hunt down the Collector. It's worth the risk." Now that there was a course of action better than 'flee the area and hope it goes away', he was willing to leave.
"Aye, I'll…" Ryker trailed off, his face contorting. "'Ear that?"
Viggo tilted his head, trying to discern what had his usually focused brother distracted in a time of such importance. He heard the distant crash of waves, a distant screaming-
Screaming. "Find out what's going on," he ordered, before thinking better of it. They needed to go down and prepare for departure anyway, and they had too few men to delegate keeping order to Ryker, who tended to injure first and ask questions once he was told he should.
He still let Ryker lead the way. Caution was what had brought them this far, and caution said to put the mass of muscle and fighting prowess between himself and whatever was going on. So, he followed his brother down the hatch, closing it above himself.
The sea stack outpost consisted of three different buildings, each connected via sturdy walkways and guide ropes. He could feel the wind on his face as he moved down the walkway, holding the guide ropes in either hand. There was a small ship docked at the base of the sea stack. Nothing seemed amiss there, though it was hard to tell in the brief time it took to get to the next building.
Ryker drew his sword and slammed the door open, ready for anything, but there was nobody inside. They continued to make their way down, and were soon doing the same thing for the bottom guard hut, which had been modified since they took up residence.
Viggo eyed the large wooden wall erected in the middle of the guardhouse with considerable displeasure. It was only this wall keeping the possibly infected men who had just arrived from spreading their disease over to him. They were not allowed past it, and it was airtight. Ryker would have had to yell from the walkway down to their ship, and they to yell back, for anything to be said between them.
But there was nobody on the safe side of the wall, so Ryker went back out to the walkway, to yell down to the ship. Viggo lingered inside the hut, away from the wind. He could see and hear Ryker from where he stood, so there was no point in going out there.
"Wha's going on down there?" Ryker boomed. The wind picked up at that very moment, carrying his words down below. The shouted reply was too quiet to make out, for either of them; Ryker's face twisted into a confused scowl.
Then they both heard another scream, and Viggo saw Ryker pale. "What was that?" he called out, now more than a little worried. When his brother was surprised or frightened, it was time to worry.
"Ge' back," Ryker gritted, pushing past Viggo to enter the guardhut and slam the door shut. "I told you it wasn't a disease."
"Tell me what you saw," Viggo commanded. He couldn't apply his mind to a problem without knowing what it was.
"One o' them attacked the other, and there was ash, but there was some sort of blue fire too, and they were all fightin' one of them," Ryker reported, gripping his sword tightly and pointing it at the door. "There's something going on down there, and it's not a sickness. Remember the illusions?"
Viggo nodded thoughtfully. He did recall what Ryker was speaking of, a woman performing on their island who had almost been hung for practicing black magic. She had fled to Ryker and showed him the powder she used to cause flashes of colored fire, among other tricks, in the hopes of having him protect her.
"It's like that?" he asked skeptically. It was not impossible that he had been wrong; it happened on occasion.
"I didn't get a good look, but yes. Someone determined could scale the sea stack and get 'ere. It's not far to climb."
"So, you shut us in here," Viggo continued for his brother, speaking sarcastically, "without food or water, in the hopes that they will just go away once they've slaughtered the crew they hid among to reach us. Excellent plan. You really should know better by now." It was exactly that sort of thinking that got so many strong men killed in embarrassingly stupid predicaments, and his brother would have long ago numbered among those men if it wasn't for following him.
"Wha' do you propose?" Ryker gritted. "Yer not exactly an asset in a fight."
"I do have a weapon," Viggo countered irritably. He was no liability, either. It was only his brother's Thor-given strength that made him feel superior when it came to combat. "We would do better to make our stand in the-"
A loud thump at the door cut him off, and he stared in utter disbelief. He knew those rocks, knew the climb up that had to have been made. That just didn't seem possible, and when something seemed impossible it meant there was more to be uncovered. Like the strange boy who had bent reinforced bars and escaped his island a few months back. There was more, he just didn't know what yet.
Ryker, unburdened by such convictions, was less confused. "You wanna help?" he asked hurriedly. "Open the door on three. I'll stab wha'ever's out there."
"Fine," Viggo conceded, both thinking it a good enough plan for its simplicity, and sure his brother was not in a state to follow any more complicated alternatives. He quickly went to the side of the door and put a hand on the crude handle, the heavily reinforced wood shaking and crackingunder the force.
"On three," Ryker repeated, holding his sword at chest height and preparing to run through whatever was outside. There was a heartbeat of pure silence, and then another, and Ryker shook his head, visibly dismissing the lack of noise as unimportant. "One, two-"
Viggo never got the chance to open the door. His hand disappeared in an explosion of fire and wooden shrapnel, and he fell backward, clutching the mangled, splinter-impaled mess at the end of his right arm. A blur of orange covered in surging blue flames bulled its way inside a heartbeat after the explosion, slamming into Ryker and smashing him to the ground.
Pain wasn't enough to stop Viggo from thinking; he didn't know what he was looking at, but he did know it wasn't paying him any attention. He stumbled to his feet and ran out of the guard hut, moving as quickly as he could, his sword forgotten. The howling wind almost knocked him off the bridge, but he kept moving.
A low growl of rage resounded behind him, and he looked back even as he ran. The same flame-cloaked form was stalking out of the guard hut, moving his way, slowly but surely.
Slowly. He clung to that knowledge even as he kept running, heading back to the ladder and trapdoor that would let him into the only place he could go. Whatever it was, it had to be tired or hurt or something; it would have killed him if it was not.
Climbing the ladder with a mangled hand was hard, but fear lent him speed, and he was slamming the trapdoor down almost before he knew it. He stood, panting, in the middle of the room he had brooded in for days on end, and stared down at the relatively flimsy piece of wood and metal that stood between him and a brutal death.
No, not just that. His intellect stood between him and death as well. He wasn't going to die here.
Viggo cast around the room, looking for something useful. The map and small markers atop it were irrelevant, and so was the barrel of water-
No, maybe not, he thought frantically, rushing over to the open barrel and rolling it to rest right beside the trapdoor. He didn't have time to fully reason through what was happening, but his mind's first attempt at a solution to an unnatural creature of fire was to douse it in water.
And again, he cut himself off mid-thought, another solution coming to him. That water might not be enough, but surely the ocean all around them would be. If it got through and ignored the barrel, he could try and goad it into slamming into the side of this wooden building perched atop the sea stack; it could be knocked right off, with sufficient force, and he didn't doubt there would be more than enough of that.
There, two solutions. He didn't trust either of them, but they were two ploys between himself and the end. He picked up a simple wooden beam that had been left by the far wall for his future use. He had planned on taking up whittling if they were going to be stuck much longer, but now it would do for a weapon, in lieu of his sword. He would have to wield it in his left hand, but anything was better than nothing.
A moment passed. Nothing.
Viggo found himself tensing, expecting the attack that wasn't coming, his mind racing to find other ways to exploit the very little he knew. It was unnatural, a creature of blue fire, something that dealt in black ash, somehow tied to what he had been sure was a disease working its way through his empire. How else could he stop it?
A loud thump interrupted his thoughts, but not from the place he expected. There was a large head wreathed in receding flames outside the barred window, and before he could do anything, that head was pulling back and an orange, scarred limb was smashing open an entrance.
Viggo found himself unable to do anything but stare as an orange Night Fury slipped into the room, placing one paw on the table. It glared at him with cold, dead eyes that felt almost familiar, and pushed down, breaking the table with ease.
Then it burst into flames in a way Viggo knew wasn't normal for its species and shrunk, its form not visible beneath the brilliant blue. When the flames receded, he had a thousand more questions, and a sinking feeling that was new, something he could not ever recall feeling before.
Ember, with his cold, desolate look still very much intact, kicked a map marker across the room with his prosthetic. It rolled into a corner, neither of them watching it.
"I have much to offer that you cannot get if I am dead," were the first words out of Viggo's mouth. He would have rejoiced at facing something that could be reasoned with, were he not in the process of attempting just that.
"No, you do not," Ember said flatly. "The only thing I want now is something none can give."
"Try me." He would do anything to live, and if this unnatural creature needed a clever plot on its behalf, he would consider that a small price.
"Raise the dead," Ember said sarcastically, a smile absolutely empty of any positive emotion flitting across his face. His nasally voice sounded positively threatening when coupled with the darkness behind his eyes. "I would like you to return four lives your plotting ripped away from innocent people. But even I cannot bring people months gone back to life, not when I was not personally involved in their deaths."
Even in this moment of moral peril, Viggo heard what Ember was saying, or more precisely what he was not, and could not help himself. "You say it like you can raise the dead under the right circumstances."
"I am dead," Ember retorted, again smiling that twisted, pained, mirthless smile. "I was dead. And I will be, soon, but that is not so impressive."
"If I have offended the gods," Viggo offered, going out on a limb, "tell me how I might make amends." He didn't think that was quite right, but it might be the most salvageable of the many possibilities running through his mind, so he would prefer it to be the case; even if he hadn't really believed there were gods until now, lacking real evidence.
"That's not my concern," Ember said idly. "You can ask them if you get a chance. I'm no messenger." He drew a dagger from somewhere on his person, a hidden sheath, and pointed it at Viggo. "I am here for vengeance, and only that."
"For what? If I am going to die, I'd like to know why," Viggo bargained, knowing it was futile. He couldn't accept that this was the end, and the longer he kept this creature, this dark person, talking, the longer he had time to think of a way out.
"You are smart, so figure it out," Ember gritted, glaring at him. "You saw me break into this building. You remember your own actions. You even know the number, and the cause. Connect the dots."
"Night Fury, coming for me, wanting four brought back to life… The four who drowned after leaving port," Viggo concluded. It really wasn't hard to make the connection. "I was not responsible for that, though, so it must be something else." He tried to make himself sound confused. "Four dead…"
Ember tilted his head in a way that didn't seem quite human, a gesture Viggo had far more often seen on dragons. "You know, an idiot might have fallen for that."
"What, that it was not my doing?" Viggo pressed. He was not so stupid as to think continued denial made him look more innocent, but it was what a truly innocent person in his place would do. "I didn't give the order, and I don't know who did. Possibly Ryker. I am unaware what dealings he and Krogan may have had, but I know he was planning to betray me, and working with the other power in the vicinity would be the logical next step. If he thought I was onto him, he may have sought to destroy the evidence. He certainly gave up on breaking away from me after that."
Ember seemed to actually consider that, though he didn't lower the dagger. Not that it mattered; Viggo knew that he wasn't fighting his way out of this unless he got a chance to slit the boy's throat without even an instant's forewarning, and even that might not work if the musings on death were any indication.
"It's possible," Ember finally conceded.
"And in lieu of evidence, you will leave me be?" Viggo asked hopefully. He despised the way he was acting, but anything to live another day.
"We have evidence," Ember countered, putting the knife away and bursting into flame. His form did not shift so much this time, lengthening but not broadening, and when the fires receded-
Ryker stood there, his body a bloody, scorched mess, fragments of the destroyed door sticking out of him. He tossed his sword to the side and stood there, unmoving.
"I… I know nothing of this kind of black magic," Viggo admitted, unsure just how caught he was, "but Ryker would lie if asked, and-"
"I am not asking him," Ryker bit out, far more eloquently than his rough voice had any right to sound. The flames returned, emerging from his bloodied palms, and when they receded Ember shook his head almost mockingly. "Not only did he not remember anything about wanting Krogan dead…" He paused, and then continued. "Every trap must have bait, and in most cases a sacrifice."
Viggo felt himself pale, and knew he had no excuse for that. There was only one play left to prolong his life, so he rushed forward, swinging the wooden post at the impossibly powerful creature out to kill him, hoping to strike some sort of lucky blow.
Ember ducked, stepped backward, and burst into flames. Viggo swung again, not caring about the fire, but the post snapped across Ember's burning form without even seeming to touch him. The windowsill blackened and smoldered as Ember slipped out, the wood bending and breaking away from his very touch.
And then he was gone. Viggo stopped at the sill, well back to avoid the small flames dancing along the wood, and looked out. There was nothing below, or above, or to any side. A faint shimmering in the air nearby, but that was just his eyes playing tricks.
It wasn't over. It couldn't be. Unless he was missing something, something-
The entire building rocked to the side, and he stumbled back, landing on the smashed table, the map tearing under his back. Another blow rocked the whole structure again almost immediately, and then it was all sliding to one side, the sound of wood snapping and grating against stone accompanying the abrupt shift in orientation. There was a moment of freefall, and then an impact.
O-O-O-O-O
Ember landed on the now empty top of the sea stack, his body aching from exertion, and walked over to the edge, leaning over to look down. The wooden structure was already mostly submerged, and sinking rapidly. A single, mangled, burnt wreck of a hand stuck out of the window, but was pulled down with the building, waves sloshing over and obscuring it.
He stood there for far longer than necessary, watching the water crash against the sea stack. A few chunks of wood floated up to the surface, but Viggo never emerged. The water was freezing cold and rough; there was absolutely no way Viggo could possibly have survived.
Still, Ember did not turn away. He couldn't, not now, not when it was finally over. Viggo had drowned, which was fitting, and his empire was gone. It was over.
There was nothing left. He had taken his revenge, and now it was done. Finally. He had come to Viggo, hurt him, and then let him plead his innocence, knowing all the while that it was false. He had even checked his claim, if only to make sure the despicable man knew his doom was fairly deserved, something he hadn't needed to do with Drago. He had done it as well as it could have been done.
Now, all that was left was to let go. He almost didn't want to, but that resistance faltered and paled, not enough to dissuade him. There was nothing left to do, no more justice or vengeance to seek, no happy family to go home to. No home to return to, not when it would be silent and empty.