𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄 | • 𝐇𝐓𝐓𝐘𝐃 •

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞

DRAGON EYE OF THE BEHOLDER PART ONE

The sky grows dark

〰〰〰𖠳 〰〰〰

As the moon cast its silvery glow over the turbulent ocean, the rhythmic crash of waves reverberated through the cavernous walls of a massive cave, serving as a desolate prison in the heart of the sea. Within this grim enclosure, where the only sound aside from the relentless tide was the occasional drip of water, a scene unfolded amidst the dim illumination. A burly Viking guard, his features weathered by the harsh elements of the sea, strode through the dank corridors. With a bucket of meagre provisions in hand, he traversed the narrow passageways, his heavy footsteps echoing against the stone walls. As he neared the row of cells that housed the prisoners, he grunted dismissively, "Meal time, maggots," his voice laden with contempt.

Passing by one cell, he casually tossed a small object within, barely sparing a glance at the occupant within. In the shadows, a young Viking man sat hunched, his figure barely discernible amidst the darkness. The object landed at his feet, its nature unclear in the dim light.

A voice rang out from a neighbouring cell, dripping with resentment, "But that's not bread! Why does he always get special treatment? Oh, Mr. Big Shot! Mr. Berserker Chief." At the sound of the taunt, the figure in the shadows stirred, rising slowly to his feet. As he stepped forward into the feeble light filtering through the bars, his features came into view. Fiery red hair framed a rugged face, marked by the scars of countless battles. One eye bore the evidence of a past wound, while the other gleamed with an intensity that belied his captivity. Adorned with fierce battle paint, he emanated an aura of defiance. With a wry smirk, he addressed the voice that had challenged him, "Oh, hey, you want some? Come here, I'll give you some." His voice carried a hint of amusement, tinged with the underlying tension of their predicament.

Approaching the adjacent cell, he extended his hand, the mysterious object clenched firmly within his grasp. As he offered it to the disgruntled Viking within, another voice echoed from a distant corner of the cavern, pleading, "Spare me a morsel!"

As the Viking man reached out to accept the offering, his hand extended eagerly toward the outstretched palm of the red-haired Viking. But before he could grasp the object, a sudden movement caught him off guard. With lightning speed, the fiery-haired prisoner seized his wrist in a vice-like grip, yanking him forward with unexpected force.

The unsuspecting Viking was thrown off balance, his body careening towards the unforgiving bars of the cell. With a sickening thud, he collided with the metal barrier, the impact reverberating through the cramped confines of the chamber. Gasping in shock and pain, the startled prisoner struggled to regain his bearings, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Before he could utter a word of protest, the red-haired Viking leaned in close, his voice a low growl edged with menace. "I've been meaning to tell you something for the last three years," he began, his tone dripping with disdain. "Your voice is really annoying." With a swift and decisive motion, the red-haired Viking increased the pressure on the other man's wrist, his strength evident in the way his muscles tensed beneath his battle-hardened exterior. A sharp cry of pain escaped the lips of the unfortunate prisoner as he was pinned against the cold metal bars, his struggles futile against the superior force of his assailant. And then, with a final exertion of strength, the red-haired Viking delivered a decisive blow, slamming his adversary's head against the unyielding barrier with brutal force. The impact was enough to send the Viking man spiraling into unconsciousness, his body slumping limply against the confines of his cell.