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“You forgave that man. I wasn’t expecting that.” Heather comments.
“Forgiveness. Not really a sound business practice, now, is it?” Viggo hums. “Trust, however, is imperative, Heather. And, there simply cannot be a traitor among us. A man will never know how far he's willing to go until he steps to the edge and looks down. Wouldn't you agree?”
“Ah, I… suppose.”
“I had rather wished for a more solid answer from you. Oh well; down to business now. I need your assistance.”
“You do?” Heather blinks, surprised.
“Indeed. There is a traitor in our midst that needs exposing.”
“Of— of course. And do you have any ideas of who it is?” Heather asks, silently praying he hasn’t caught on to her.
“Unfortunately, yes. Ryker has always been rather jealous of the power structure here. It’s a shame to see ambition cloud his mind.”
“So you think it’s Ryker?” Heather hopes she doesn’t sound too relieved.
“Possibly. But I would so hate to eliminate my own brother without more solid confirmation. That is where I need your assistance; you’ll help me gather proof, won’t you?”
“Of course.” Heather responds; she’ll make proof if she has to.
“Good. Follow me, then.” Viggo instructs, and Heather follows, thinking herself safe for the moment.
⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏࣪﹏𓊝﹏﹏⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪
Thinking herself safe was a mistake.
Viggo doesn’t take kindly to traitors. Heather gets to learn exactly how unkindly he takes to traitors.
Apparently, gathering proof was an excuse to get her away from where her own brother could interfere. Viggo already had a plan for explaining her permanent absence from the group to Dagur; Heather isn’t surprised by that. The man seems thorough.
His boots are even sturdier than they look; Heather gets first hand experience of that when Viggo kicks her in the stomach.
Repeatedly.
She goes for her axe but Viggo stamps down hard on her fingers. She hears them crack.
“Gah!” She shouts.
“As I told you, my dear Heather, I’m not appreciative of traitors.” Viggo says, calm and composed as ever as he continues to beat and brutalize her.
Heather tries to drag herself away from him, and her broken fingers hurt like Hel as she does. She doesn’t get very far when Viggo slams his foot against the back of her knees.
She grits her teeth and bites back a scream at the pain that shoots through her.
She tries to go for her axe again, but is too slow to reach it before Viggo has her flipped over, laid out on her back, with his fist crashing down against her face. Warm blood pours down her face, she can feel it drip from her nose down her chin. A second hit comes, and she thinks she blacks out for a few moments.
The next thing she knows, Viggo’s hands are around her neck and she’s struggling to breathe.
“I don’t usually get my hands so dirty with things like this. There are easier ways to dispose of traitors. But there’s something about you, Heather, that vexes me. I do so wish to see you meet your end by my own hands.” Viggo tells her, though Heather can hardly process his words with the way her head is spinning from the lack of air.
He says it casually, like someone discussing the weather, and Heather feels hatred boiling within her over that fact. He’s trying to kill her, and he acts like it’s just any other day for him.
Frankly, it just might be.