Splitter- English Version

18. The shroud

Viggo stormed out. He didn't know where he got the energy that flooded through his body. After all, he had almost collapsed a few hours ago and probably drowned in his own vomit. Perhaps he was simply driven by concern for Hiccup. He must not die. Not yet. But if he let him suffer like this, he didn't stand a chance. He would give up on himself.

He couldn't remember how he got back to his chambers. He pushed back the dragonskin curtain hard. Light filtered into the hut for a moment, shining on a pale figure crouched on the floor, 'Hiccup.' he whispered, moving towards him as if in a trance.

'Hiccup,' he said again louder and crossed the hut with a quick step. He threw himself onto the dusty floor and shook his slender body. The ashen face did not react. He stroked his matted hair in panic and felt his forehead. His skin was glowing and stretched to breaking point, it was so dry. He reached for the bucket filled with a clear liquid, placed his glowing head in his lap and dipped his bloodied hand deep into the water. He flinched as the cold liquid wetted his derma. Copper-red drops came off his skin as he slowly pulled his hand out, careful not to waste a single drop. He dribbled it from his cupped hand directly into Hicks' mouth. The clear liquid dripped over his chapped, blue-coloured lips and ran down his chin in small rivulets.
'Come on. Come on, Hiccup. You need a drink.' He said with a hint of fear in his voice. He repeated the process. Dipping his hand deep into the bucket, the cold water pricked him like fine needles and again the water turned orange-red and soaked up the suffering like a sponge. He carefully scooped sip after sip into Hiccup's mouth, hoping he wouldn't choke on it.

The bucket was empty, his hand was clean and Hiccup gave no sign of life apart from a few shallow breaths.
His skin had recovered a little and some colour had returned to his ashen face.
And yet his condition was impossible to judge.
Viggo put his head in his hands. He shouldn't have let it come to this.
Saving Hiccup from death for the time being was a task he would have liked to have accomplished with Ryker.
And yet this dragonrider scum was to blame for the fact that his brother now lay bleeding and presumably half-dead in a ship's cabin. He sighed heavily and as he tried to get up, pale blue dots danced before his inner eye. He would have to light a fire. His fine hair stood on end and his fingers, still clammy from the cold water, could barely move.

He looked wistfully down at Hick's figure. He hadn't wanted this. He really hadn't wanted it.

What about Ryker? He had to look after him. He was his brother after all. His thoughts raced through his head.

Trapped in his torn mind, Viggo was unable to decide what to do. The danger of losing them both was too great. But if he continued to hesitate, he would leave them both to die. He had done enough for Hiccup, he decided. He knelt down to him and whispered, "You have to be strong one more time, Hiccup. One more time. And then it's over. Please don't torture yourself any more." With these words, he bent down, stroked his cheek lovingly and kissed him on the forehead. A tear of regret rolled down his cheek and wet Hiccup's pale skin. His rough, chapped lips still touched his forehead. It wasn't a pretty kiss and he sobbed loudly. But he had made up his mind. Blood was thicker than water after all. And revenge is served cold, but it was time to realise his defeat before it was finally too late. He put his fingers to his lips as if he were telling Hiccup to keep quiet forever. He didn't want to hear his silent lament. One last tear fell down his face and slowly trickled down his cold cheek before it was finally swallowed up by the sand. "I'm so sorry, Hiccup. So infinitely sorry." he breathed into his ear before staggering to his feet and hurrying out with weak knees.

The dots danced before his inner eye as if they were mocking him and his guts rebelled against the effort. His body was crying out for sleep. Soothing, dreamless sleep. He was tired of being trapped in this nightmare. He swung himself over the railing and landed roughly on his knees. He realised how the demon sword on his back was sending out pleasant waves. A part of him wanted to take it and destroy something. He unsheathed the sword and weighed it appraisingly in his hand. How much suffering had it already caused? It pulsed warm and cosy in his hand. And he felt the need to fulfil his calling and kill whatever was stinking down there in the chamber. It tickled his desire to breathe the life out of every living creature he encountered. He laughed. A hoarse, guttural sound escaped his throat. It took possession of him and suddenly his laughter stopped. No. No. "No." he whispered in horror. He tried to fight it, to banish it from his thoughts. He tried to push it away, but his hand refused to do so. With the presence of mind, he stared at the back of his hand, from which black drops of blood were making their way to the rubies of the sword, and suddenly a hot pain shot through him.
He grabbed his head.
It was screaming.
He heard his blood rushing in his ears and the screaming that took his breath away. He sank to his knees. He didn't want to give in. Not any more. Not now.
He covered his ears, but the more he tried to stop it, the louder the screaming became. He doubled over and held his head protectively in both hands. But the pain between his temples became unbearable. So unbearable that he cried out and his own screams wafted through the silence of the dusk. Why exactly was he resisting the bloodlust of this sword? a voice in his head said, unable to bear the pain any longer. Yes, why exactly? it echoed back. He didn't know. A maniacal smile stole onto his lips and his eyes narrowed to slits. The horror in his head grew quieter. He would kill it. He would tear the entrails out of this animal and feast on its blood. Determined, he stood up. The scream in his head was now just a hollow throbbing. He felt dull, as if his spirit had been pushed under water and now he would drown miserably. But he didn't care. He was hungry. Such an insatiable thirst for blood and he couldn't wait. He stretched out his arm, the sword lay smoothly in his hand and dark red blood dripped onto the bare, weather-beaten wood of the ship. He pushed open the door and a wave of pleasant anticipation swept through his body. He whistled a cheerful tune and moved to the beat. He took his time. He would enjoy putting an end to all this. He bent down and crawled under the axe. "Oh, Ryker!" he whistled happily through his teeth.
He didn't recognise his own voice. But he didn't care. At least most of him didn't. A voice spoke up meekly and began to question his actions and a reaction was not long in coming. A sharp pain shot through his veins and blood dripped from his nose. He cried out and hit the wall, clutching at it, breathing heavily. He smelled the metallic stench and retched. The voice that dared to sow doubt in him was suddenly stifled and a new wave of bliss wiped away the pain. He took a deep breath and the wide, maniacal grin stole onto his face again. "Ohh, Ryker!" he shouted again. He trembled with excitement and desire. He heard a muffled sound. Viggo laughed hoarsely. "Oh, Ryker. It would be foolish to hide from me. I'm not going to hurt you. I only want to help you, brother." His grin grew wider and more maniacal and his eyes even darker. "Stay away!" gasped a voice in the darkness. "Found it." he purred, licking his lips benevolently. "Come here and play with me, brother heart." he whispered sweetly. "Remember when we were carefree children? Only concerned that our wooden boats that father had carved didn't sink? How marvellously stupid." He laughed throatily and saliva dripped from his canine tooth. He ran his thumb over the blade and said unconcernedly.  "Or do you remember when we hid in the forest for three days because you'd burnt down Dad's wood store? That was great, don't you think? We came home and he whipped you. And you know what?" he chuckled. "I enjoyed you screaming in pain. Sometimes I fantasise about touching your scars again and then slashing them open again."
He literally spat out the words. "Every single one I want to trace with my fingers and watch them bleed. Hiccup didn't have as many beautiful scars as you, my brother. But he had brains, which you've lost. Blunt force is your elixir of life. At least it was." He laughed out loud. "So show me your exciting back." He licked his lips again. A loud roar cut the short silence and a heavy body landed on Viggo, burying him with its weight. But Viggo was not surprised by Ryker's attack. He plunged the blade violently into his thigh. Ryker cried out in pain and rolled off Viggo. "That was foolish, dear brother. Have you learnt nothing at all from father?" Viggo sneered, bared his teeth and stood up, panting. He plunged the sword into his thigh again and turned the blade clockwise around its own axis. "Why!" Ryker shouted, fighting unconsciousness. He was a dead man, he knew that. "Why?" Viggo paused. "Yes, why. Everyone wants to know why, don't they? Everyone wants to know why it's time to die. But I can't answer that for you. I can only tell you that it's time to go. And I alone decide who gets to go and who will suffer agony." He grinned and stabbed again. This time not in the thigh but in the stomach.
Viscous blood oozed darkly and saturated the air with the sweetly heavy odour of iron.

Ryker gasped and kicked at Viggo despite the cruel pain. Of course, he missed him. He got a gleeful laugh in response, "Missed." He stabbed again and the bloodlust slowly but surely sucked him into a frenzy. Ryker groaned. "Roll over on your back." Viggo ordered. But Ryker refused "No." he spat out between clenched teeth. "Very well, then I'll do it myself." Viggo reached for the dagger in his belt pouch with one hand and drove the blade through Ryker's wrist, or at least what was left of it. He was pinned to the ground like Jesus Christ to his cross. The pain throbbed dully and unpleasantly in his body. Viggo grabbed the other mutilated arm and heaved Ryker onto his side. He carefully cut open the shirt and watched as Ryker's chest rose and fell, gasping. He was still alive. He slipped the shirt off, revealing long, pale grey scars. Viggo tremblingly reached out a finger and touched them gingerly. Ryker groaned with exertion. "How intense the pain must have been. Back when we were children."
Ryker gasped and kicked at Viggo despite the cruel pain. Of course, he missed him. He got a gleeful laugh in response: "Missed." He stabbed again and the bloodlust slowly but surely sucked him into a frenzy. Ryker groaned. "Roll over on your back." Viggo ordered. But Ryker refused "No." he spat out between clenched teeth. "Very well, then I'll do it myself." Viggo reached for the dagger in his belt pouch with one hand and drove the blade through Ryker's wrist, or at least what was left of it. He was pinned to the ground like Jesus Christ to his cross. The pain throbbed dully and unpleasantly in his body. Viggo grabbed the other mutilated arm and heaved Ryker onto his side. He carefully cut open the shirt and watched as Ryker's chest rose and fell, gasping. He was still alive. He slipped the shirt off, revealing long, pale grey scars. Viggo tremblingly reached out a finger and touched them gingerly. Ryker groaned with exertion. "How intense the pain must have been. Back when we were children."
He stroked the scars with the blade of his sword and the rubies shimmered like drops of blood in the dim light of the full moon shining in through the porthole. He applied the sword and carved the scars mercilessly. Ryker sucked in a quick, tight breath and let the ordeal wash over him. "I've always loved you, brother," Viggo said after a while, watching the first rivulets of blood run down Ryker's white back, and stabbed.

Ribs cracked and air was sucked greedily into the lungs one last time before they finally collapsed and would never rise again. Ryker's body slumped and no sound came from the wooden cell. It was over.

Viggo dragged himself into a corner. He was satisfied. His hunger was satisfied for the time being. But alongside the satisfaction, consciousness set in. The crazy smile on his face faded and his mind was pulled out of the cold water. He stared at his hands. It wasn't his blood that was on them. His gaze slid to the blade that lay loose in his hand. It too was covered in blood. He looked down his body. His clothes were also covered in blood. Panic rose in him. Images flashed through his mind. A torso stabbed through. He screamed. No! That's not true! He didn't dare lift his eyes. And yet he knew what awaited him. Ryker. It's not him, is it? No. No, it can't be! It can't be! Reflexively, he raised his eyes and realised. Remorse, panic and fear flashed through his body. He let go of the blade and rushed carelessly to Ryker's lifeless body. Death. Irrevocably dead.

Letting go of the blade had been a mistake. The biggest one he had made since the Odyssey. Pain shot through his body. Something tore mercilessly at his veins. He screamed and the wound on his wrist burned like fire. It began to bleed immediately. His body burned as if he was being boiled alive. He watched as his veins burst under his skin and his body turned black. He coughed up black blood and vomited. The stench took his breath away. He rolled his eyes and the black poison oozed out of the bags under his eyes. He began to scratch and his skin tore. The blade was two metres away from him and it seemed to magnetically attract his blood, his elixir of life. He understood. That was the price he had to pay now. The sword had done what he asked and now it was up to him to pay his blood money. It killed its hosts and would wait for the next foolish man who dared to abuse its services. He toppled over, still seeing the black and red rubies of the sword glinting menacingly, and landed on his brother's cold torso. So that's it, he thought before the cold dark shadow settled over his consciousness.

So this is what it feels like to die.