A sound like the sky shattering split the cliffs in two—thunder, tearing canvas, and something deeper. Something ancient. Primal.
The villagers froze. I didn't.
"Hiccup!" I shouted, already sprinting.
He was beside me in a blink, his spyglass rattling in his grip, breath caught in his chest.
"They're coming," he whispered, voice hollow.
Across the sea, the sky boiled black—wings. Hundreds. No, thousands. A living storm blotting out the sun.
Then fire fell.
The west end exploded in a pillar of flame. The shockwave knocked me sideways.
A Gronckle tore through a roof in a shower of timber, roaring smoke and molten fury. A Monstrous Nightmare streaked past like a comet of living flame, whipping infernos in its wake. Hay carts burst like bombs. Fences disintegrated. Children screamed.
Villagers ran. I ran into the fire.
Steel hissed free from my scabbard.
Hiccup hesitated—just for a heartbeat.
Then he bolted. "To the forge!"
"Hiccup—!"
"I'll catch up! GO!"
Gobber was already at the armory, hurling blades, shields—anything with an edge.
"This isn't a raid!" he bellowed. "It's war!"
Stoick surged into the chaos like a battering ram, axe splitting air, scale, and bone. He moved like a landslide. But even mountains fall.
A Nightmare strafed overhead. A roof exploded. I dove through smoke and flame, tumbling behind a shrieking Gronckle. Its tail slammed into the dirt beside me—crack!—shrapnel of stone and bone.
I drove my shield into its snout. It reared, howling.
It swiped—barrel-sized claws blurring toward my head.
I dropped. Rolled. Slammed my blade into the joint under its shoulder.
The Gronckle shrieked, wings flailing. Blood sprayed. Then it launched skyward, vanishing into smoke.
Heat clawed my skin. Screams tangled with the thunder of wings. My ears rang. The air tasted of ash and panic.
A Deadly Nadder exploded from an alley, shrieking.
A girl stood in its path. Frozen.
I moved.
I threw myself between them, shield raised—
Claws slammed into me. White-hot pain shot through my ribs. I held.
"RUN!" I roared, blood in my mouth.
She bolted.
The Nadder reared—its spines rattling—
Thunk!
Its wings jerked. It staggered mid-leap.
I looked up.
Hiccup. On a rooftop. Launcher smoking.
"Nice shot!" I gasped.
No answer. He was already reloading—quick, precise—shaking.
Behind me: fire.
I spun—too late.
A Nightmare dropped into the square, wings fanned like war banners, jaws gaping.
I raised my shield—
FIRE.
Agony swept over me like a wave. I hit a snowbank, steam hissing off my armor. I rolled, came up soaked and smoked.
Then I charged.
Steel met scale.
I slammed my shield into its face. It shrieked, reared, jaws snapping inches from my head.
I dove aside—fire licking my boots—then sprinted up its spine, sword raised.
I hacked at its wing. It twisted, roared, and threw me.
I hit the ground so hard my vision went black.
But I was up.
Again.
It turned—jaws wide.
Thunk! Another bolt. Neck shot. It faltered.
I lunged, blade drawn, and buried it inches from its eye.
It blinked.
And ran.
Berk was burning.
Houses crackled with fire, smoke pouring from thatched roofs. The scent of singed wood, boiling tar, and fear hung thick in the air. Chickens screeched. Someone was crying behind a shattered wall.
And Erik stood in the middle of it all—panting, scorched, blade drawn.
The Monstrous Nightmare stalked between the homes—claws gouging furrows in the dirt, breath lighting timber walls.
It turned slowly. Deliberate. Like it had time.
Erik didn't. He heard a baby crying two houses down. Saw the blood streak vanishing into a collapsed doorway.
He stepped forward.
Battle Trance surged—heat receding, the world narrowing.
The Nightmare hissed, flame curling from its nostrils—then lunged.
Erik ducked under a fallen beam, diving sideways. Teeth the size of his arm snapped shut where his head had been.
The dragon's tail whipped around, smashing a barrel beside him—splinters tearing into his arm.
He grunted, rolled to his feet, and darted between two homes. The tight space slowed the beast.
That was his edge.
It followed, crushing a fence.
He pivoted, slashing across its knee. The blade scraped bone. The dragon roared, lashed out—Erik raised his shield.
Wood shattered. He flew back, crashing through a rain barrel—water and blood soaking him.
He forced himself up.
Vision blurring. Chest screaming.
But still—standing.
"Come on," I rasped, stepping back into the narrow lane.
The dragon reared, wings brushing rooftops, setting them alight. Its eyes locked on him—furious, glowing.
It breathed.
Fire roared through the alley.
Erik ran straight at it.
Accelerated Thinking kicked in—flames, falling shingles, the arc of destruction slowing to a crawl. He dove through an open window, crashed through a smoky house, and burst from the back just as the fire reached it.
He leapt from the rooftop, crashing down on the Nightmare's back.
It twisted, shrieking, smashing into a wall. He held on, legs locked around its spine.
He brought his sword down—once, twice—finding the seam behind its skull.
The beast screamed. Flung itself backward into a house.
The wall crumbled.
They both went down.
Erik hit the cobblestones hard. His sword skittered away.
The dragon rose—barely. Blood spilling from its mouth.
So did Erik.
No blade now. Just instinct.
He grabbed a charred roof beam and jammed it into the dragon's eye.
It spasmed. Shrieked.
Collapsed.
Silence fell.
Fire crackled. A roof groaned and gave way.
Erik stumbled back, coughing, soaked in soot and blood.
From behind a ruined door, a mother stepped out, clutching a toddler. Trembling.
She looked at him—not like a boy.
Like something older. Something dangerous.
"You're safe now," Erik muttered.
Then turned, limping toward the next scream.
Still bleeding.
Still moving.
Behind him, villagers stumbled from the ruins—coughing, crying—but alive.
"To the cliff caves!" I bellowed. "Now! Get the wounded!"
A Zippleback erupted into the square—twin heads, twin infernos. Gas and spark turning the air to fire.
I ran. Called my sword from my inventory. Leapt. Grabbed its tail. Climbed fast, blade drawn.
I jammed the sword between its necks.
It screamed. Bucked.
One head twisted toward me—mouth wide.
I shoved my hilt into its jaws and kicked off, flipping through open flame.
I hit the dirt. Rolled. Gasped.
Back on my feet.
Still moving.
I pulled a man from the rubble. Shielded a boy with my back. Herded the injured through collapsing alleys.
Behind us, a house exploded.
My sword was dull. My shield cracked. My arms—numb. Body—bruised and burning.
Still—I fought.
Not to win.
To hold the line.
To protect.
To endure.
By the time the last dragon vanished into the smoke-choked sky, I was soaked in blood. Some mine. Most not.
I'd fought what felt like a dozen. Maybe more. My memory was fire and motion.
But I stood.
Not from luck.
From ten years of drills. Of scars. Of purpose.
I stared at the burning horizon, lungs torn from screaming.
No victory. No celebration.
Only questions.
Why?
Why now?
Why so many?
What drove them?
Hiccup stumbled beside me. Soot-smeared. Hands burned. Eyes wide and lost.
"You're bleeding."
"So are you." I managed a grin. Lopsided. Bleeding.
We laughed—raw, broken, too tired to breathe.
Then I said it.
"This wasn't a raid."
Hiccup nodded. Haunted.
I turned to our shattered home.
And made a vow.
Next time—
I wouldn't just fight.
I'd understand.
And stop it.
Before it ever began.
New Title Acquired
Skybrand (Passive): +7% damage and +5% resistance when fighting dragon-class enemies