Chapter Text
Before a time when the known world was given its name, when conflict was numerous and common, Man did not rule the world. Ancient enemies, powerful and ruinous, battled with Mankind since the beginning, single minded in seeing Man’s defeat. Lower in power they are in the face of the ancients, the existence of Man was bound to small islands of community across the world, barely aware of their greater existence as a whole. Fear for their lives, hatred for their enemies, and despair for their future ran rampant in all minds and sunk deep into their very beings; the ancients knew this well, and from it their power grew. Long was the perpetual conflict against the ancients, Mankind’s numbers dwindled by the day, and victory stood beyond their sight, nowhere to be seen in the fog of war.
And from within the fog, a young child bonded with one of the ancients.
From that point on the world was changed forever.
Black Dragon-Raid
Everything was black around him. Distant thunder rumbled, and yet no lightning flashed. With nothing gleaned from his surroundings, he instead focused how he ended up in this void. Sluggish and slow was his mind. Fatigue weighed his body down. Those feelings he remembered before…
Nothing. Only weariness was all he remembered as well with thunder, lightning, his own body, and that he was a boy who for reasons unknown was exhausted.
He quickly shook off the shock and focused on his surroundings again. The empty black void: thunder… then another noise he heard. A quiet and slow rhythmic thumping. Soon the thumping grew faster and louder, and the echoing thunder too sounded closer.
Both noises grew in strength until his head ached and his body reverberated from the powerful booms. He covered his ears but to no avail, the sounds still unbearable and shook him to his core. And just as he was about to wail in agony something caught his voice.
Within the nothingness the void split apart. From two points the darkness opened for bright vivid red to shine through vertical slits and an ominous scarlet mist poured forth. The rumbling thunder and the now fast heavy—a HEART! A quick loud thumping heart and not his heart but Its heart and the open vertical slits were Its glowing red eyes. He felt himself laid bare to great lidless eyes of this unknown entity, powerful with Its heartbeats that hammered his head and thunder which boomed everywhere. Both roared with the weight of mountains crushed onto him. Everything his mind and body felt naked before Its lidless eyes and it was so much pressure, too much exposure, everything was too much, TOO MUCH—
Eyes blown wide he bolted upwards and gasped deeply. Quick and heavy his breaths were. A quick glance around revealed a bedroom barely illuminated by orange light seeped through under the only door to his room. Once he calmed himself down, he soon recalled everything he remembered about himself.
Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, long, tedious, truly an odd name. He lived fourteen winters in a village on an island named Berk somewhere in Mults Archipelago. Bell-shaped reddish-brown hair, dull green eyes, freckles on his cheeks, fair skin with a single blemish, a small scar on the right side of his chin, and a slim body compared to other boys around his age.
Berkian. He was a Berkian… or a Hooligan. Both names were correct though he preferred Berkian as Hooligan made him sound like a thug. Why others called themselves a Hooligan he never understood.
The naming custom here was odd.
His memory of the recent dream faded as other memories came to mind. Those thoughts were then immediately pushed aside for now when he noticed the air was unusually hot and it was a little over a month before winter during the night.
Then he heard roars and what sounded like many loud crackling fires.
With haste he leapt out of bed and left his room. Once he made it downstairs towards the front door, he made to grab the heavy reinforced door and with a grunt pulled it open.
Outside great roaring fires flared across the village. Huge walls of grey smoke rose into the night sky. People armed with various weapons all coordinated to chase down large monsters that slithered through and flew above the village. Monsters with leathery skin and hardened scales swooped down with terrible claws to pluck people and livestock from the ground and flew away with powerful wings. From gaping jaws with sharp teeth, they breathed fire at people and buildings which burned within the flames.
He slammed the door shut and took a few deep breaths to calm himself again to be ready for the village was under attack by—
“Dragons.”
Once he was calm and ready, he swung the door open and charged forth.
The battle was fierce and brutal: people screamed vengefully: Dragons roared, screeched, and squawked harshly: Huge blazes crackled: acrid smoke and smell of iron from spilt blood befouled the air. People and Dragons viciously felled each and as the conflict stretched on, more and more corpses with blood and flesh strewn about filled the space of the village. This was how life on Berk was and he had grown used to it.
He pushed onwards towards the east through the fiery heat, malodorous smoke, and the screams of agony. It was easy to weave between the people, flaring fires, and the occasional Dragons as he ran, and soon he reached his destination; a smithy built into the side of a hill with walls made of carved stone.
Inside the building he went, filled with a huge forge, a few anvils, hardies, hammers, chisels, tong, slack tubs, and many other equipment and weapons stored within. He passed by the owner of the smithy who had an interchangeable prosthesis for a left hand and a wood peg for a right foot.
They bantered a little before he donned his apron and took over the man’s post at the front; to swap out damaged weapons with new ones for people who anxiously waited outside. This routine he worked on during the Raids was one of many lessons hammered into him by the owner who was his mentor, Gobber. The man taught him as an apprentice ever since he could talk. Brawny, burly, and tall like most Berkians were though a bit more rounded around the belly and had a bald head paired with a dirty blond braided moustache tucked behind a thick brown apron.
Onwards he laboured while the Raid continued though not all his time was on work. There were moments when no one came to ask for new weapons, and he took those opportunities to rest and watch.
People outside risked their lives to defend the Tribe. He admired their strength and courage and wanted to fight alongside them. There was no wrong to work in a smithy for that helped the people too, but he felt cooped up in a cage and coddled as he stood behind walls. A proper Berkian who protected the village during battle was everything the people respected, and he wanted the recognition of one, even if he had no power within himself.
So deep in imagination that he failed to notice people outside looked up and saw Dragons above them focused on something else beyond the light of the orange blaze.
Then something fell.
“HICCUP!”
Gobber suddenly pulled him away from his post as many black quills long as a fully grown person is tall suddenly fell into the earth just outside the smithy. The heavy shafts did not just stab into the ground and stuck partially out of the dirt, they buried themselves deep into the earth no longer seen by anyone. The people outside who still lived cried in anguish for some of the quills perforated a few and they laid dead on the dirt. Warm red blood pooled beneath them.
Dragons were not the only threat to worry about. There was also the Blackness or Black Ones as some on Berk called them.
“Watch your surroundings lad!” Gobber scolded. “Even in here it’s not entirely safe!”
Despite the new danger he was still more focused on what happened outside. Even with quills thrown down from above he still wished to join battle with everyone else.
Suddenly Gobber smacked him behind his head.
“Don’t even think about it,” Gobber warned while he rubbed his head.
“Oh, come on. Let me out, please? I need to make my mark!” he protested.
“Oh, you’ve made plenty of marks. All in the wrong places!”
“Please, two minutes. I’ll kill a Dragon. My life will get infinitely better,” he begged.
“You can’t lift a hammer properly, you can’t swing an axe properly,” then Gobber held up a bola. “You can’t even throw one of these! Not without the… eh you know—”
“I-I know I know I’m aware of that.” He pushed down the stinging feeling deep inside himself.
“Ah, sorry—”
“Never mind, nev—I’m fine with that.” He stepped back a little. “Now this, this here will throw it for me.” He gestured to a prototype weapon behind him that he built himself. A strange war machine of iron, wood, and rope. A crossbow but larger, heavily modified main body, placed on its side with an extra set of bow-arms, and attached to a large two-wheel cart built light enough for him to lift and transport. A brilliant invention indeed.
“Oh, not this again,” Gobber thought otherwise, “I swear if it’s anything like the last time you tried out some crazy invention of yours during the last Raid—”
“It-it’s nothing like that, not like that. Th-this time the weapon is simply going to throw the bola for me,” he explained, “just give me a few trials and I can—”
“The last time I gave you a few times to experiment, you destroyed another smithy!” Gobber exclaimed. “Hiccup, if you ever want to get out there to fight you need to stop all… this.”
He frowned. “But you just pointed to all of me!”
“Yes! That’s it!” Gobber pointed at his heart. “Stop being all of you!”
That felt like a challenge. “Ohhhh…”
“Ohhhh, yes.”
“You sir are playing a dangerous game. Keeping this much raw… Berkian power… contained? There will be consequences!”
“I’ll take my chances,” Gobber replied before he screamed out, “now get back to work! There’re more people coming!”
“Right-right-right.” He moved to replace damaged weapons again for the people, now mindful of the huge quills.
The battle raged on. Less Dragons swooped down as they were now more occupied with the Blackness. Grateful he was with those monsters more focused on each other than on the village though this really was no good for him.
Berk culture dictated any person was highly respected should they, with their own strength and skills, killed in defence of the Tribe a great and terrible monster, Dragons included.
And he could not gain such respect when stuck behind walls.
So, while one of the people outside had Gobber distracted, he made a run for it into battle with his machine pushed in front of him by two handles attached to the sides, and a long wood torch lit with fire mounted on the cart to light the way. Even without the power to carry boulders or punch down trees his extensive work at the smithy built up his strength considerably. All the effort was enough to lift and push his machine through the village on fire towards the one place where he could possibly achieve his goal.
A large cliff which stood above and away from the village.
When he made his way over sturdy grass and finally reached the top a fair distance away from the edge, he hastily set up his machine faced towards the village. He unlocked the weapon itself to freely swing around with a bola already loaded inside from yesterday, and three extras stored in a separate compartment in the cart. After all was set, he took the long torch and stabbed it into the soft dirt away to his front.
Now shrouded in darkness just beyond the orange light he waited.
Clouds veiled the night sky. All was dark except the orange burning glow of the village on fire like so many times before. He frowned in cold fury, resolute to bring down a monster more than ever.
Eventually at some point the lone torchlight in front of him had attracted something. Much to his horror however it was a Black Raven, the species of Blackness that attacked Berk and one now descended towards him with a dead Dragon in its talons. The Black Raven then dropped the carcass and unnaturally silent glided on enormous wings thick with black plumage towards him.
Blackness were one of the few monsters that killed only to kill. The Black Raven had no reason to swoop down for things other monsters considered as food. They simply flung down from far up large quills stored in their wings and stayed within the dark beyond the fiery orange glow.
And yet this one had other ideas.
Panic overtook him and he instinctively loosed the bola. Iron balls tied to rope spun, soared, and met the Blackness’ right wing.
Despite the impact the bola was too small to impede the Black Raven’s immense size and strength beyond the weapon’s capability. He could only jump away, lay flat on the grass, and pray to the Gods.
Then the situation worsened when he heard a harrowing ear-piercing whistle. He tucked his head, shut his eyes, and covered his ears to block out the terrifying noise though that did little to block out the shrieking whistle which grew louder and closer.
When the whistle peaked there came a blazing purple light.
So bright the light was he saw the flash even through closed eyelids. Then came a deafening boom and his body deformed under the power and pushed through the pressure to correct its shape. Afterwards a constant ringing blared in his ears. Something pounded at his head. His body ached. When he made to stand everything around him blurred and spun.
When the ache subsided and all his senses was stable again, he looked towards the sky.
The Black Raven was gone. And he knew the one responsible for the death of the Blackness.
Only one monster wielded such destructive force. Invisible in the night sky, it made a piercing whistle like cry that struck fear into the hearts of many, and possessed a deadly power loosed only after it sounded its war cry.
The unholy offspring of lightning and death. Bastard child between God of Lightning and Thunder and Ruler of the Underworld. The monster never seen, never stole food and… never missed its shot.
Night Fury. That was its name.
With haste he inspected the weapon and was glad to find the main weapon mostly undamaged. He then drew back the string with a winch to reload the weapon. A great struggle it was to reload and yet he pushed on even as the frightening whistle sounded again before a flash of bright purple appeared then a deafening boom.
The Night Fury struck again.
When the string was taut and hooked into place, he could not help but spare a glance at the display of power the monster wielded.
And then he saw it.
The elusive monster swerved down and around its own light that changed from bright purple to fiery orange. Extremely fast it flew and appeared only as a blur though he still managed to outline shape, wide blunt head, relatively narrow shaped, pair of large wings, and a pair of tailfins. Compared to the Black Ravens this monster was much smaller, similar in size to the Dragons that raided Berk…
… a size a bola could bring down.
So ridiculous this idea was. An achievement so out of reach, one was worse than a fool to consider such an impossible challenge. Stupid, witless, inconceivable…
… and yet he wanted the Night Fury. What better way to gain respect than to bring down the one monster no one else but him had ever seen.
A moment of tense silence passed. All was quiet.
Soon the whistle sounded again and grew louder, greater, higher, and harsher. Eventually at the whistle’s peak high up in the night sky came the flash of purple light.
He looked away from the blaze but at the corner of his sight he managed to glimpse the battle above Berk. Black Ravens and many kinds of Dragons in the sky, black silhouettes against bright purple light, traded blows with claws, maw, beak, and other bodily weapons. Fires of many colours, red, orange, green, glittering yellowish white, also lit up the night and for a moment with the purple light that turned orange he witnessed a sight he dared compared to the Lights in the North described in tale.
And up there the Night Fury soared, faster than all other flying things within the sky.
The monster flew towards his right so fast he bothered not to guess its flight path and just aimed the weapon far to the right as he could, then loosed the bola. He waited…
No monstrous cry sounded.
He sighed frustrated.
Some time after he reloaded the weapon again, he noticed the faint glow that reached out from over the southeast horizon. He froze in shock.
Dawn was upon them.
It was mostly a fair amount of time before rise-measure when Dragons attacked, especially under heavy clouds when given the chance, and swift as they came the Dragons left with any stolen foods whenever rise-measure approached. The Black Ravens would give chase after the Dragons and the Night Fury would disappear as well.
Which meant he just missed his chance to gain the people’s respect.
He sighed in exasperation. All that time spent on an impossible target when he should had focused on something the weapon could reach. Now all he could do was wait for the next Raid.
Before he began to pack up however the whistle sounded again. After some hesitation he decided to try again. He waited in anticipation as the whistle rose once more. So many other opportunities to prove himself and yet this felt like the next outcome would dictate the course of his life.
So much could go wrong. He could miss or attacked by another Dragon, Black Raven, or by the very monster he chose to hunt. The fastest, stealthiest, and most powerful monster to ever attack Berk, could fly beyond the weapon’s reach or not even appear in the light at all.
In the end all that mattered not for he cared only to find and bring this monster down.
When the Night Fury struck and the light flared, to his dreadful luck the monster appeared within the purple light. He followed its movement, aimed, then loosed the bola.
And he waited…
… and waited…
…
…
… an ear-splitting screech.
He stared wide eyed mouth agape while the screech carried over him and lowered in pitch. He spun around to try and follow the sound, but the sky was barely lit. He could not find the monster.
When the screech faded away, he began to process what just happened.
The Night Fury was struck.
He struck the Night Fury.
He had struck down something no person had ever seen but him. Knocked out of the sky and into the sea or more hopefully someplace on Berk.
So stunned by his own achievement that he had not noticed something large crept up from behind him over the side of the cliff. When he finally heard grass and dirt crushed under a heavy weight he immediately leapt away and barely avoided large jaws that tried to snap him into bloody halves.
He fled with all haste while a nightmarish hiss sounded from behind. He dared not look back, even when he heard his prototype weapon crushed under a heavy weight, and instead focused on headed towards the village. Part of him knew whatever gave chase would catch him just from how heavy its stomps sounded and still, he refused to despair. He had just struck down the most powerful monsters to ever attack Berk. To be killed and eaten right afterwards would be ridiculous.
Despite the odds he managed to reach the village alive. Immense relief flooded his body as some warriors began to charge the monster behind him though something gnawed at his mind. With the burning village light, he glanced behind him and saw to his surprise a gravely injured Dragon: left wing sliced open and bent at a wrong angle: claws on its right wing chopped off and red blood gushed out profusely: the right one of its single pair of legs smashed inwards and bone stuck out through skin and scale: large eyes pooled with blood and some spilled from its jaws.
No wonder he managed to reach the village. The many injuries slowed the Dragon’s movements down though even grievously wounded it was still dangerous and swatted away anyone who dared to attack.
Then from the corner of his gaze towards his left he saw a huge, towering man taller than everyone else in the village. The current Chief of Berk, dressed in a dark green tunic from shoulder to knee, chainmail over the tunic, large brown fur cloak draped over his shoulders, great fur boots, a segmented helmet, and armed with a wood shield and war hammer as the man roared and ran towards the Dragon, the one and only who was—
Dad.
He stared mouth agape wide eyed as dad rushed the Dragon and proceeded to send the Dragon ‘flying’ in different directions. Each swing and strike of hammer and shield made the Dragon screech in pain. Bones and scales shattered, muscles, ligaments, and tendons bruised sounded by wet thumps that squelched. The Dragon already weakened by previous battles stood no chance against dad who’s power radiated forest green light and shone brightly even against the burning orange flames all around the village.
At some point dad ceased the assault. The Dragon was left with both wings completely pulverised and laid uselessly with its bones in broken fragments. Legs and tail suffered the same crushing fate. Ribs was caved inwards, and the Dragon wheezed and coughed up thick blood.
No doubt dad relished in its suffering.
And within an instant it was over. Dad with great speed struck the Dragon in the windpipe to deny it breath, followed with a strike to the back of its neck to paralyse it, then with a vengeful roar finished it off with repeated strikes to the monster’s head till the brain turned to pulp.
With the monster now dead, dad stood up and looked around for a moment before the towering man finally laid sharp green eyes on him.
Dad did not look happy.
He gulped as dad began to step towards him while the man hooked the war hammer onto a belt.
“Sorry dad uh okay, but I hit the Night Fury so—”
Dad suddenly grabbed him by the left arm, and promptly dragged back him towards the direction of their house. He struggled to keep up with dad’s fast pace, and all while the people nearby gathered in a crowd around them.
“It’s not like the last few times! I mean, I really actually hit it! Everyone was busy, and I had a very clear shot. It went down somewhere over there. Let’s get a search party out there, before it—”
“STOP!”
He shut his mouth. Even the people among the crowd who whispered quietly to others were silenced by dad’s formidable voice.
“Just. Stop. Every time you step outside, disaster follows. Can you not see I have bigger problems? Winter’s almost here and I have an entire village to feed!” dad ranted.
“… between you and me, the village could do with a little less feeding, don’t ya think?”
Displeased shouts and grumbles rang through the crowd. He refused to take back his comment though. After all, he was not wrong. Many of the people, even though its mostly muscle, were quite large and round.
“This isn’t a joke Hiccup!” dad growled out then sighed exasperatedly. “Why can’t you stay inside?!”
“I can’t stop myself. I see a Dragon or any other monster, and-and I have to just… kill it, you know. It’s who I am, dad.”
“Oh yes, you are many things Hiccup. But a monster killer is not one of them.” Dad turned to face Gobber. “Gobber!”
“Yep!”
“Get him back to the house and make sure he gets there.,” dad ordered. “I have a mess to clean up.”
With the conversation done dad walked away to help lead the people in the repair and recovery of the village. Gobber then came up to escort him home which he allowed. Along the way though he passed a group of children around his age, most who laughed as they watched him pass by, and some who kept to themselves and ignored his presence.
“Quite the performance,” one of them remarked.
“I’ve never seen anyone run like that. That helped.” Another commented.
“Thank you, thank you, I was trying so…” he did not bother to finish his words.
It was short walk towards the house he and dad stayed in, located a little further away from the village in the northwest with a flight of stairs that led up a slope towards home. Gobber and he remained quiet step by step to the house, but the argument with dad made it difficult to keep his mouth shut for any longer, and just as they neared the house…
“I really did hit one,” he blurted out, unable to keep the silence for any longer.
“Sure, Hiccup.”
“He never listens.” Dad barely does.
“Well, it runs in the family.”
“And when he does, it’s always with this… disappointed scowl. Like someone skimped on the meat in his sandwich.” As he reached the front door of the house, he begun to perform an imitation of what his dad believed he was. “Excuse me barmaid! I’m afraid you brought me the wrong offspring. I ordered an extra-large boy with beefy arms. Extra gust and glory on the side. This here, this is a talking fishbone!”
“Now, you’re thinking about this all wrong,” Gobber spoke up. “It’s not so much what you look like, it’s what’s inside that he can’t stand.”
… wow.
“Thank you for summing that up.” He turned around to open the door.
“Look, the point is, stop trying so hard to be something you’re not,” said Gobber.
“… I just want to be one of you guys,” he admitted before he entered the house and closed the door behind him.
The sun slowly rose from the eastern horizon. Night had ended and the Dragons followed by the Black Ravens flew towards the daylight veiled by clouds. Rise-measure had arrived, and the Raid had ended. For Mildew however the battle was not over until the two last Dragons he fought were dead.
Far from the village at the base of Berk Mountain opposite to where everyone lived, the old man fought the Dragons that stomped around in his large cabbage field. Half the cabbages he planned to harvest days later were crushed under the heavy footfalls of the fire breathing monsters and he was livid. Old he may be his body still remained strong even without power and the fast-acting poison he used were enough to deal with Dragons.
The monsters tried to overpower him with brute strength and fire, but every attack was thwarted by the Vaettir who protected him, floated in the air in front of him. Pine seeds taken from a small black pouch attached to his belt were thrown by the Vaettir and with its power the seeds grew unnaturally fast, impossibly in an instant to fully grown pine trees and they grew strangely, not straight up but to the sides in twirls, whirls, curls, round and round in attempts to restrain the Dragons or at least distract them.
While they are focused on the trees, he scored hits with his large crossbow. The bolts, even loosed from such heavy weapon, barely sunk deep enough through the hard scales, tough skin, and strong flesh, and the loose rate was very slow for the crossbow took much time to reload. Luckily, he only needed one hit just deep enough to deliver the poison. Within moments the Dragons struggled to move properly. The Vaettir took advantage and had the pine trees quickly grow branches to ensnare the Dragons and pin them to the earth.
Afterwards he unhooked his side weapon from his belt then tossed the weapon to the Vaettir. It grabbed the sheath with its green tendril like fingers, lighter in colour than the dark green tendrils grown all over its Man like body, then drew from the close-fitted cover a large thin knife covered in a musty substance. Switched around into a reverse grip, the thin knife was then brought down into the chest of the weakened Dragons. Immediately the Dragons laid paralysed on the cabbage fields, they twitched and spasmed and soon became lifeless. The Vaettir sheathed the knife.
With those two dead he surveyed the chaos around him. Six dead poisoned Dragons restrained by branches from pine trees weirdly grown by the Vaettir in different parts of the cabbage field. Half of all fully grown cabbages were destroyed, curled leaves stomped into the dirt unsalvageable.
He snarled eyes narrowed teeth bared.
Immediately he ripped the sheathed knife from the Vaettir’s grasp and ordered it to clean up this mess. He fumed and cursed the situation while he hooked the sheathed weapon onto his belt and watched the Vaettir shapeshift its tendrils into blades. Then it curled into a ball in the air and spun its entire body in front flips at insane speeds to slice the pine trees into millions of chipped pieces. The Dragons were untouched their body parts great in wealth when preserved and sold and also had many other uses.
Regardless his rage still boiled from the loss of half his cabbages, and the Healers who no doubt would remonstrate about open use of the Vaettir’s power, and for that thing itself. Combined with the forceful rouse from his slumber by attackers and parts of his home broken and knocked down with wood laid everywhere, he knew today was filled with great backbreaking hardships.
He spat on the ground.
Fuck! Those! Dragons!