Night was quiet, a moment of respite that failed to provide comfort for the weary.
To those of Berk, it was a moment of weakness. One every soul within their not-so-humble village had to bare.
To know that their loved ones may or may not return. The fear of the future that it entailed for those left behind. And the horrors that others could impose upon them and theirs.
Such thoughts were shared in silence. Yet, despite the fears, it allowed camaraderie to foster in between houses. With fear and doubt held at bay with what courage they could muster together, from one another or of their own.
Berk...was far from a simple village.
It was a village that had endured and chose to endure than run away. Stubbornness had taken so many forms that the very thought of running from problems has evolved in ways that it barely held any resemblance to its original meaning.
But one thing remained certain. That even in the face of defeat or death, they must continue fighting.
And when the night truly settles, with the last vestiges of the sun devoured by the dark, all in Berk grew quiet. Leaving in the silence all but the crickets, and stone against steel.
Berk's population is 600 people. 200 of them are warriors, and the Chief set sailed with 130 of the them.
Leaving behind 70 in the defense of their home. An alarming number worth their fears.
That same fear is shared even by mothers as they tucked their children under fur. Watching as the little ones slowly dozed off beneath the warmth. And as soon as they closed their eyes, the warriors among them woke.
—.—.—.—.—
In the heart of the forest, a hundred footfalls stalked through. Armed with axes, spears, swords and shields.
They wore a horned helm. Armored in dragonscales, hide and steel. Steel pauldrons, bracers, decorated with horns, thorns, and spikes of wood. Each as burly as a bear.
Yet despite their menacing appearance, it was their faces that would strike fear into those who would meet them.
Eyes eager and hungry with wide smiles, showing their toothy and yellow teeth. Hungry for meat, thirsty for battle and eager to spill blood. Their excitement, barely held back by the whitening of their knuckles against the grip of their weapons and the footfalls that almost made them stomp.
...Then sounded a war horn, smashing against the silence like a hammer to glass.
Heads turned left and right. "Up there!" one of the raiders shouted. With a grunt, three axes flew and one struck the look-out at the head. Then silence....
It took three seconds for the villagers horror to set in.
Three seconds before the raiders blood boiled beyond their own limits.
And after three seconds... """"""RAAHHHHH!!!!"""""""
And with that war cry of their own, a battle for Berk's future begun.
—.—.—.—.—
Hiccup felt his heart hammer against his chest. His vision, blurred, his body, rigid as he heavily got his feet onto the wooden floor with a loud thud and with a slap on his own face, he refocused.
Using the sting of pain and the hammering of his heart, he immediately grabbed the Gronkle iron dagger by his bed.
He gritted his teeth, as he put on his clothes, fighting off the trembling of his fingers as he braces a couple of vambrace and grabbing a spare sword among many on his way down.
He had just arrived downstairs when— his senses dulled, ears picked up the faint sound of whistling, while his peripheral registered fire and shadow. His instincts blared, he dove to the side and *bang! the sound of steel striking wood reached his ears.
Hiccup looked up and saw an axe, exactly where his head been and then Pain- His cheeks felt hot and blistering while his brain was rattled against his skull.
He rolled across the wooden floor, barely seeing a towering viking whose fist remained extended.
"...get up..."
Heading the faint whisper, he stood up.
"RAIDERSSS!!!"
The scream from outside sent his consciousness recoiling to the present. Making him clenched his jaws tight at the man before him.
The man sneered, before turning to his axe, still embedded at the shield..at the same time Hiccup noticed his sword missing from his hands, and realized he had dropped it at the foot of the viking.
Gripping his dagger tightly, he took a deep breath and steeled himself.
No warning but the grunt, "Hn." and the man moved, raising his axe high. Yet Hiccup's eyes saw another in the man's place, his father, with weapon raised to deliver a powerful blow.
With practiced movements, he raised his blade deflecting the axe to pass him. His wrist, ankle, and arms felt like their were redirecting a rolling boulder and with the grinding of steel leaving his ears, he shifted forward. He put more strength on his hips and wrist, and with smooth and practiced strike, he raised his blade, moving in a fine arc, cutting the man in his face.
Blood spilled, the man shouted as he felt the sting. Blood dripped from his brow to his cheek, where he could feel the shallow cut of the dagger.
Yet with an angry heave, the man cuts his screams short like a bear sneering ferociously at a scratch. His enraged face and flaring nostrils engulfed the house in heightened tension.
The only sound left was the cracking of the torch sitting soundly by his father's chair, and the noise from the outside that kept pouring in. The sounds of screams, shouts and clashing of steel spurned the two who stood steady with both arms at the ready.
Hiccup paid attention, his mind dulled and silent.
Then the raider raised his axe.
"You ain't strong enough laddie. Luckily for ya' it takes more than strength of arms to win a fight."
The raider took a step and Hiccup met him. Axe poised to cleave Hiccup's torso who redirected the blade. Grinding steel echoed as blade slid against blade. And with a step further in, Hiccup went for a cut only to stumble back, his body lifting off the ground as a full grown man knees the nine year old boy on his stomach.
Hiccup heaved breathless against the attack. Making him roll across the floor several times before righting himself on his hands and knees with blurry eyes. A shadow pressed over him, Hiccup followed his training, and rolled to the side.
Ignoring the cracking of wood, he blinked his eyes back to reality and ducked at another swing.
Hiccup quickly raised his arm, and felt a knee crack it. Yet he gritted his teeth and with a rage filled stab, planted his dagger deep to the back of the man's knees.
The man yowled in pain, but Hiccup didn't relent and twisted his dagger, forcing the man down. A backhand landed against Hiccup's chest, smashing him against the hard, throne-like chair.
"DIE!!"
Hiccup, deflected the blade again, but his lungs were empty and his knee still on the ground, unpoised and unprepared, he felt his arms lose so much strength as the sting in his muscles exploded into a fiery heat just trying to breach the gap in strength. Nearly rendering them useless as they quaked.
He ducked beneath a punch that rattled the throne, and raised his arms in defense as another knee landed like a hammer against him. Hiccup drove the dagger deep into the bones, and twisting it, making the man scream. With a forceful yank, Hiccup hammered the pommel against the man's jaws. But the Viking punched Hiccup square in the face.
Hiccup's head spun, his vision blurred and his body swayed but the man didn't relent and grabbed Hiccup by his throat. And smacked him against the hardwood floors.
His vision, flared red and heat filled his brow with the scent of iron filling his nose. Near blind and desperate, he stabbed his dagger to the man's wrist. And rolled out of the way, as the sound of steel and wood rang where he once laid.
Yet the Viking grabbed him by his ankle, making Hiccup fall, his face smacking against the floor as he was pulled back. The viking gripped him by his throat, with his other arm, trying to yank the axe from the floor despite the dagger still in his wrist.
Seconds passed with Hiccup trying and failing to make the angry man budge. And as his vision slowly started to waved, his breath losing and getting tighter and warmer with his arms losing strength as he tried to pry the man's meaty hands from his neck. Hiccup placed his fist against the man's jaw, a desperate attempt that had the man chuckling at his foolish action until-
- *squelch- a steel unsheathed, a squelching sound resounded... and *thud! the viking fell lifeless against the floor.
Hiccup heaved loudly as he tried to drink hair like a thirsty horse after days through a dessert. His heavy breath, the cracking of fire, and the noise from outside was all he heard.
And as his breath steadied, his throat suddenly tightened as he found himself looking down at a corpse.
With his fists stained red and a hidden blade slicked with blood, potruding from his vambrace. His eyes found the man's...blank and pointed at different directions with his jaw hanging loose and tounge hanging out.
"...keep going! You have to keep going!"
Hiccup felt his world spin, noise of struggles filled his ears but the words kept repeating itself. His world... slowly begun to lose color. Fear crawled up his beneath his skin. A silent shiver of sheer discomfort and in his desperation, he latched on to the words like a man drowning. Where he heard not the faint whisper but a young warcry of his own voice.
"Keep fucking going!""Keep fucking going!"
It was a cry of desperation. As he tried to harden his heart, keep warmth to his cold skin and grip his hands to feel the numbing muscles underneath.
One of his arms felt sprained from the elbow to the tip of his fingers. The cut on his face was shallow enough it had started to dry. And his nose, while broken, he painfully set right.
With gritted teeth, and a scream stuck as a lump at his throat, and pain racking his brain like a gong going off right next to his ears.
And with a heave, he puked, both his dinner mixed with blood. And in less than a handful of deep breaths, he felt his sense once more go numb. With a world as grim as all shades of grey.
With purposeful steps, he grabbed his sword and ran outside with blade and dagger at hand.
—.—.—.—.—
Chaos ensues all around the village. Families running for their lives towards the Great Hall. Men and women of Berk, engaged in a bloody combat.
Bodies strewn everywhere, and in his horror... children were among them. One even in their lifeless mother's embrace.
He tasted his tears before he knew he was crying. And with gritted teeth and a new found rage bleeding from him in waves, he rushed forward.
He saw the battle yet for all his people's courage, they were out numbered two to one. And for each corpse that fell and every screaming soul they took, more and more are lost.
Seeing a viking loom over a woman he recognized to be Fishleg's mother, Hiccup run at full speed. Upon reaching a confident range, he threw his dagger, the blade bouncing off of the man's helmet.
The man recoiled from the throw and sneered while Yrsa Ingerman, drove her mace in between the man's legs.
And as the man's face morphed into pain, with his hands down and his legs buckling, Hiccup roared as he drove his sword into the man's skull, straight through his face.
"Hn!" Hiccup grunts, yanking his blade free, yet he did not stop. Not when he heard a scream and saw a mother and three kids struggling against another raider.
He didn't hesitate despite heaving and breathing loudly, while his legs felt like they were on fire. He ran fast, as fast as his little legs could take him.
And with his own eyes, he saw one of the boys drew blade, only for said son to die, as an axe found itself embedded into his skull. A cry of a mother's anguish pierced his ears and his heart, as he felt something shatter within him.
Reaching them within his sword's distance, with gritted teeth and anger marring his young face, he swings his sword wide. Trying to cut off an outstretched hand still holding the axe.
The monster in human skin let go of his weapon and swung his arm towards the boy. Hiccup dodged, not missing a step he drove his sword to the monster's knee.
The viking yowled in absolute pain, and his anger, Hiccup twisted the blade instead. Forcing the man to grip the handle with Hiccup's hands within them. With a twist of his wrist, his blade slicked out of his vambrace cutting off the man's fingers. Hiccup then sneers as he yanks his sword free off the man, and cut his head off only for the viking to throw himself on his back.
"Help!!! Help me!!! Help ME! HELP!" the viking screams as he crawled away on bloody, fingerless hands, "Hel-" his words cut short, as a blade pierced straight through his skull and out his mouth.
Whimpering and cries of loss filled his ears, as all other sounds fell unto nothing. And for all his anger and courage, he could not muster the strength to look towards such tragedy. So he ran... and looked for the next fight.
With each step he took, the darker the night became. And in the darkness, colors unknowingly left his eyes. Whilst his heart became more and more distant with every conflict he found.