By Helheim's Wrath
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"War is a malignant disease, an idiocy, a prison, and the pain it causes is beyond telling or meaning; but war was our condition and our history, the place we had to live in."
- Martha Gelhorn
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Berk was utterly and undeniably lost.
The thought of losing his beloved village to the tribe from the North had haunted Hiccup's mind since the first cries of an attack early yesterday morning. He had tried his best to banish the thought, to focus solely on his duty as chief and protect the village, but his efforts had failed in achieving the desired outcome. With a bloody broadsword held high in the fading light, he charged through the asphyxiating clouds of smoke and dust and jumped head-long into the seething ranks of the enemy. A monster of a man had fallen on his sword moments before, and Hiccup had easily brought his second weapon, a shorter sword perfect for close-combat, across the man's throat and half severed the wretched invader's head from his body.
He turned his face away from the hot spray, and snapped the sword back up to block another incoming attack, when a feeling of claustrophobia clutched at his body: they were everywhere. Everywhere Hiccup turned their swords and spears and axes ripped and tore mercilessly into flesh, their warrior howls piercing the haunting rhythmic beat of the drummers positioned on the flagship of the invading fleet now docked in the harbor. A thin wall of perspiration formed beneath the metal plates of his helmet; he had long ago tossed away any external hindrances including his heavy cloak. His shield remained strapped to his back along with a spare mace. The village, like many of her proud warriors, had been smashed and destroyed and was burning to the ground, pierces of her proud, peaceful face scattered everywhere.
Thick fingers caught the young man about his shoulder, and with all of his strength behind it, Hiccup turned and brought down his sword and split the man's skull clear to the eyes; blood and brain matter splashing crudely across Hiccup's face; his weapon easily freed itself as he lunged violently at his next opponent. Straightening his legs, he whirled and hammered the crest of his weapon to the dirty face of another man, he gave no glance back as the body crumpled to the ground and was slain by Fishlegs. A cry alerted him to another attack, and whirling again, grabbed the spiked mace from his back and rammed the tip through the man's jaw; the crunch of bones sending an involuntary shiver up Hiccup's spine. The man squirmed violently, blood streaming from his nostrils and eyes and into his thick black beard. Taking a deep breath, Hiccup thrust his sword into the man's chest, gritting his teeth at the sound of chain mail scrapping on the steel as it pierced gut and finally encountered spine before bursting through the other end, gleaming sickeningly in the twilight. He twisted the weapon back out and sucked and blew, and sucked and blew and finally, after what had felt like an eternity, leaned heavily on his sword and looked around.
The once proud village had near completely burned to the ground. To his left, the Forge had already gone up in flames, the forge's heavy fires and flammable chemicals igniting the process further, causing deadly fire balls to shoot from the roof when the building nearly exploded. To his right, his charges and the enemy had broken into the Mead Hall, causing the building to become a place of utter death and confusion. Above him, dragons and riders had taken to the skies, burning everything and anything they could. He had charged Toothless with protecting his wife and his children with the dragon's life, although his wife, once angered, was a force to be reckoned with. Large areas of burned and charred earth smoked around him from the flaming projectiles fired by the enemy, and the fiery death raining down from their winged allies. Many of the villagers had restored to ignited barrels of oil on fire and pouring them on the invaders from elevated areas. Around him, screams of the burning, caught in the yellow jelly-liked substance, surrounded him. Many of them fled for anything that might relinquish their pain, but in the village, none was to be found. Those who did not run immediately for the cliffs leading to the icy Baltic waters below were slashed down by the Berk Vikings if they had not yet succumbed to their demise.
Behind him, a familiar cry echoed and Hiccup turned just in time to see the pick of Snotlout's war hammer flash and sink up to the half in a shield maiden's face and rip it away. Heaving his weapon up from the ground, Hiccup had not time to react before the pommel of a heavy weapon met his nose, the familiar crack of cartilage ringing in his ears. Staggering backwards, his weapons fell from his hands and sank in the mud beneath his feet. Hiccup struggled to regain the lost footing of his handicap, and the man swung again; the searing pain of hot metal meeting his face caused Hiccup to cry out as a long gash appeared to split his face from ear to ear. Hot liquid rushed down his face, and he tried his best to not be drowned in his own lifeblood as the crimson taste filled his throat and coated his teeth. Again, he stepped back, only to stumble again and fall, the bloodied broken face of Ruffnut glancing back at him through dead eyes, her body half buried in the mud.
"Well, well," His attacker grumbled, "It seems tha' aye've quite the catch! The chief 'imself! Such a scrawny thing yoo are." Hiccup scrambled for something to fight back with, a weapon, a rock, a stick, anything. But his hands only slipped in the mud, and he had failed at regaining his footing. Broken teeth gleamed back at him as the attacker raised a heavy two-handed broadsword.
A piercing scream filled Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III's head as he felt hot steel scrape through his chainmail, and rip through his chest as fresh blood filled his throat. Another scream and he felt the earth shift as a heavy body thundered to the ground beside him. Above him, a blurred vision of blonde hair and toxic green eyes came into view. He could hear children crying in the background. A mouth was moving, but he could hear no words. Was it his fleeting prayers to Odin, or his wife's cries of mercy to Freya? He did not know. As the heavens above opened to cry for their fallen champion, Hiccup's world went black with one fleeting breath.
Sixteen hours later, after seeing the bloodied, murdered body of their chieftain, the village of Berk rallied like none before them had ever seen, and had managed to slaughter every member of the North tribe they could find.