Disclaimer: I do not own blah blah blah, so on and so forth.

All right, here it is. I apologize for the agonizingly long wait. School has been a pain in the neck and I did not have enough time to get this chapter done. But well, I manage to force myself to write this down and I did it.

Chapter Three: That Thin Line Between Life and Death

Chapter Tagline: Oh, come on. Just DIE already.

Toothless could not fathom how close to death he was.

It started out as an apparent success in driving away the dragons from the nest for the humans, but now, it had turned into a complete disaster. People screamed. The Queen screeched. Some survivors of the initial assault survived with scratches and was okay, while others died. The red-bearded chief was still barking orders to his fellow Vikings, unaware that it was impossible to overcome this behemoth without the help of a dragon. Yeah right, like one Night Fury could make a difference anyway. But at least he could be of some help. He knew the island like the back of his wings, and was also trying to have his revenge at the bitch.

And he was trapped here.

He had waited for a long time. He waited in vain. No one came to rescue him as the world crumbled. He expected his rider to come along and say 'hi' but considering the circumstances, it wasn't going to happen. He was puzzled by his rider's disappearance. Hiccup had been dragged away by the red-bearded man and was never seen again. A full fifteen minute wait had gone to waste. And now, he was still trapped on the boat, slowly suffocating to death from the toxic fumes that were produced by the fire. It was like no fire he had ever seen or smelt or felt for that matter. It smelt like burnt rubber and dead corpses, but he suspected that it was probably due to the Queen's unhealthy diet of dragons and other stuff.

Shouts rang out from the island as the Vikings held their last stand against the monster. Nothing worked against the tough hide, but the Vikings weren't giving up hope. They hurled objects at it. They fought like heros, except there wasn't going to be any victory for them. A burning wooden pole that was part of the mast collapsed right in front of Toothless in a shower of sparks, and the boat started to lean forward as the stern disintegrated. He had got only five minutes at best before being drowned. Closing his eyes, he submitted himself to fate. There was nothing he could do now at this point in time. The situation was beyond salvage from the moment the Queen had burst out of her "prison".

Where are you, Hiccup?

He was partially mad at Hiccup. After all that friendship making thing, he never came to help Toothless at this critical moment. After Toothless saved him back at the Kill Ring, he did not make it a point to explain everything to the red-bearded Viking. All he did was to make a fuss and shout 'Tannlaus!'. What on earth did tannlaus mean anyway? And then the big bad man dragged Hiccup away. Granted, then man might have done something to injure Hiccup, but Toothless knew that his rider would do anything to save his dragon. Unless, the friendship bond between the two of them had been a complete faux. That seemed like the case. If Hiccup was still on the island they called "Berk", then he would have at least rode on another dragon to arrive here.

They say that when you are about to die, your life will flash before your eyes. But Toothless did not see that happening to him. All he could feel or even see was his own terrified face. His mind was devoid of memories, only filled with sheer, mind-numbing horror. He had given up hope of getting out. And all his life he had no friends. No one to talk to. Even among his dragon tribe, he was feared, despised, and given a wide berth. The children were scared of him. The adults were scared of him. Even the Dragon Queen would sometimes show her fear of him. And during raids, he often operated alone. Because… there was no one who wanted to work with him. So, he did not see the point of reliving his memories anyway.

The shields that were hung on either side of the boat all dropped into the water simultaneously. A large portion of the hull came off, and the boat begun to sink, inch by inch, into the depths of the water. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind, that his fate was already sealed. Toothless was going to die on the 13th of March, 1011 AD.

Then, suddenly, he heard someone call out. A soft voice. And he picked up some movement among the boat next to his right. Something crashed against the boat he was on, and another section of the mast came crashing into the water. He felt someone, a living thing, brush past his flank.

Hiccup? Is that you?

So he had finally come. Hope rose within the reptile. He was going to survive after all. Everyone would live and it would be a happy ending to this tragic story. But as he turned his head, expecting to see his small, frail, rider, he was in for quite a shock.

The person standing beside him was not his rider… but someone else. He could not see its face for he could not turn his head further. He knew, from the texture of the Viking's left arm, that this was definitely not Hiccup. He heard it say something in the "Viking language" as he called it, and then it retrieved something from its waist. It was a weapon. So this Viking had come to claim his life. So be it. Perhaps it would be better to have his guts spilled than to drown under tons of water. The former one might even be swifter, for getting stuck under water with no means of escaping when you could swim was a horrifying prospect. The weapon was raised and…

One of the chains fell lose.

What?

The other chains followed suit and soon, Toothless was free of his prison. His savior muttered something along the lines of "Ertu tilbúinn, dýrið?" Following which, the person leapt onto the saddle. Hiccup's saddle.

Oh no you don't.

Toothless shook the person off his back. Even though there was a possibility that Hiccup had abandoned him, the saddle is Hiccup's. Only Hiccup and Hiccup alone, would be able to sit on it, or to give permission to others. He was a loyal dragon, and a respectable one too. The person who just got shaken off got to his/her feet and cursed in a foreign language. Then he/she said,

"Ég er bara að reyna að hjálpa þér, gaurinn."

I thank you for setting me free, but you aren't going to ride me. I do not care if we are all going to die but no.

The Viking tried to get close to Toothless's saddle but failed overtime. He was way too fast for it. Then, finally, Toothless saw the Viking's face… and his jaw dropped.

How on earth did you get here?

If there was one person he trusted at almost the same level as Hiccup, it would be this person. She smiled.

"svo, þú ert að fara að láta mig ríða þér eða ekki?"

No time was wasted. Perhaps this was going to be a victory for the Vikings after all. He let her sit on the saddle and get her feet into the stirrup. Moments later, they were in the air, soaring towards the monster that was currently devouring a boat that had somehow gotten stranded on the island.

Come here, bitch.

The battle went on for more than two hours. And by the time it had ended, it was already evening and countless dead bodies littered the floor. The remaining survivors retreated further into the island, and the boats crumbled into dust. Now they were trapped on this god-forsaken island, with no form of transportation back to their homeland whatsoever. The Queen lets out one final roar, and retreats back into her den, setting up her psionic transmission device, ready to call back her servants. As the night nears, the survivors reflect back on the events that in the day. Four thousand nine hundred and fifty-four of their fellow army had died, which left forty-six survivors. Among which were Gobber, the twins, Snotlout, and Spitelout.

Astrid was nowhere to be seen.

Nobody knew where she went. Except that after her disappearance, a certain Night Fury with a brown colored left tail fin was seen screaming through the air, headed straight for the Red Death. Naturally, the assumption was that the Night Fury was much more dangerous than the behemoth and everyone ducked. A brilliant flash of sapphire light danced across the Red Death's head, and it groaned, loudly. Making a pass over the giant, the black demon turned back towards the Red Death, readying its flame once again. The screech pierced the air, and the survivors watched in awe as the spectacle unfolded in front of their eyes. But this time it wasn't so lucky. A burst of flame found its mark and the dragon screamed, losing control over its flight. Its left tail fin ignited and it sped towards the ocean at an unbelievably high speed, turning into a black blur. Moments later, it crashed and sank out of sight.

The survivors, seeing that their last hope of salvation was lost, did the only thing that was expected of a Viking.

They ran for their lives.

There was no order. No waste of time. No manners. The two thousand survivors of the initial assault ran like uncivilized mad people. There was no room for politeness when you are running for the sake of saving your own life. Another scene of destruction unfolded as the Red Death set its sights on the running people, and blew out another endless stream of fire. The people at the front escaped the inferno. The Vikings at the back of the rampage weren't as lucky. No one lived through the firestorm. As they ran, Stoick broke off the main group and charged straight for the giant. If he was going down today, he would not go down without a fight.

"Come here, bitch!" he shouted, waving his mallet threateningly.

The dragon took a while to respond. But when it did, Stoick wish it hadn't. The huge head seemed to be more interested in the meaty man and chased after him instead. It was due sheer luck that Stoick did not get roasted. Along the way, Stoick spotted more of the spikes that were used as a defensive fence, and plucked them right out of the ground. He hurled them at the dragon, making sure that every shot hit its eye. Some missed and got deflected off the thick hide while others hit home, creating a dull thudding sound. Though the defensive attacks were able to slow the dragon down, it wasn't able to keep it from ploughing forward indefinitely. They were running out of time and options. What if the way that they were running led to a dead end? Then the dragon would have them all in one corner, and they'd be dead.

A roar came and the dragon unleashed yet another stream of fire, still aimed at Stoick. He had to jump out of the way again. Pebbles were sent flying as the impact caused the air to expand outwards in all directions. The Vikings ran forward nonetheless, though Gobber now broke off from the group as well, rushing to his old friend's aid. Fires were still burning and smoke settled over the landscape like the fog that surrounded the island. It was very difficult for the blacksmith to locate his friend, and by the time he managed to see him, Stoick was already up and running, shooting spears meant for the eyes. Gobber grabbed a nearby spear and followed suit. The chief, just noticing that the blacksmith was standing right there, shouted to his friend.

"What are you doing out here? Rejoin the group and get them to safety! I can take care of this myself!"

"I am staying, just in case you're thinking of doing something crazy." Gobber retorted as the Red Death stomped one of its foot down onto the ground, rattling the both of them.

"I can buy them a few minutes if I give that thing something to hunt!" Stoick reasoned.

"Then I can double that time." Gobber said with finality, staring Stoick down with that 'you're-not-going-to-get rid-of-me-that-easily' kind of look. Of course, since when did Gobber stop being so stubborn? Stoick returned the stare and a smile crept across their faces.

"Let's do this then." Stoick said, facing the Red Death. They continued hurling the spikes until they found out that they were short of ammunition. As a last resort, Stoick threw his granite hammer with a lot of force at the Red Death's right eye. Upon contact, the eye immediately burst in a shower of blood. Gobber cheered as they watched the Red Death roar in agony, shaking its head from side to side. Now, all they had to do is to find a way to blind its other eye, and it would be much harder for it to find the men.

But what he did not expect was for its two other right eyes to materialize out of thin air.

"What in the name of Odin…"

They had just ran out of ammunition and Stoick had sacrificed his own hammer to knock out one of the eye, and now two more eyes had just popped out of its head. This definitely wasn't natural. Probably this was not an earthly creature. It couldn't have been. If not, how could it have grown to such a height? How could it have three eyes? How could it even exist?

The Red Death lowered its head and stared at the two men, who were trying their very best to keep each apart from each other. A kind of an evil grin crept across its lips as it bared its humongous fangs, which were the size of a Monstrous Nightmare, and roared at them. They stumbled backwards as the dragon raised its head and opened its mouth, revealing the black hole beyond its teeth. A loud hissing noise ensued as the mouth was soon filled with some sort gas. A single spark, and the plume of fire shot forward at a hundred miles per hour. This time, Stoick did not manage to duck out of harm's way as fast and the result was his right arm getting scorched. The head rotated towards its right and so did the fire. Stoick and Gobber was forced to run where the flame was going, for it was right behind them. That meant that they were running straight for the mountain and they would be forced to turn left, towards where the survivors were running. Gobber turned left. While Stoick turned right. The jet of flame crashed into the mountainside, scorching the rocks as a plume of smoke drifted over to where Stoick was standing. The pungent smell invaded his nostrils and he gagged. This dragon seriously needed to practice some dental hygiene.

"Stoick!" Gobber shouted from somewhere on the other side of the smoke barrier.

"Gobber!" Stoick returned.

"What th' hell are yeh thinking'? Get back here!"

"I am going to lead this monster to the other side of the island! You lead the survivors in your direction!"

"What? Are yeh out of yeh mind? That's suicide!"

There was silence following that sentence. The only audible sounds where that of the screaming crowd and the roaring of the Red Death. There is not enough time left. Then, Stoick finally answered.

"I'll do all it takes to ensure that the remaining survivors will survive. I started this. It is mine to finish."

With that blunt answer, he yelled a vulgarity at the Red Death, catching its attention.

"Go, Gobber. NOW!"

"I do not want the leave yeh."

"Just GO! Go with the men! Stay with Spitelout. Bring 'em to safety!"

"Yeh sure, Stoick?"

"Yes! GO!"

Just as Stoick shouted that sentence out, a massive paw slammed down on the ground in front of him, followed by a roar. He fell onto the ground, shaken by the sudden shaking. If he was going to win this war, he'd have to get some more projectiles that he could use to fire at this beast. He recovered quickly, running away from its terrifyingly huge paw, and to the other side of the island. As he did so, he saw that the fleet of boats that had brought them here, was already reduced to a few pieces of smoldering wooden splinters. Suddenly, he felt himself being lifted off his feet, and slammed onto the ground hard. He had hardly any time to regain his senses when he was lifted into the air again, but this time, it was really high up, like ten meters or so, and he was being slammed down to the ground again. He flipped himself over and saw that, to his utmost surprise, that the Red Death was still a hundred feet away. How, then, was it able to lift him up from such a distance?

There was no time for answers, for the Red Death blew out another jet of fire that blocked the creature out of view. As this cloud of death approached, Stoick could not help but feel really helpless. Here he was, the most mightiest of all Vikings, renowned for his many dragon kills, being afraid of a dragon. Granted, it was a huge one, but after seeing that thing kill more than four thousand of your comrades, anyone would get scared.

Wasting no time at all to find a shelter, he spotted one of the odd looking granite structure that was jutting out of the sea, just off the island shore beside the now annihilated fleet of ships, and ran for it. Even though it was only fifty meters away, it took almost forever for Stoick to reach his destination. Even as he picked up speed, time seemed to slow down and his goal seemed farther away, and the flames seemed to be accelerating towards him. What was most scary is that the air seemed to feel like it was going against him, and that his legs felt like lead. No matter how fast he ran, he seemed to be slowing down. At long last, he reached the shelter, the flames narrowly missing his feet by mere meters. It felt so good to be hiding behind the granite column as the flames rushed past both sides of the granite, leaving Stoick untouched. But his sense of safety did not last long. For the next moment, a tremendous force shook the granite, causing the top half of it to come lose, falling towards Stoick. No fire was involved. It was as if the column had just shifted for no apparent reason.

"What the hell?"

He dived out of the collapsing column. Again, he felt like he was decelerating, and the falling rocks were accelerating. Unfortunately for him, he did not manage to overcome the unknown force that seemed to be altering the laws of physics. A granite slab hit his left foot as he was jumping away from the structure and he heard a distinct crack. Pain shot through him as he recoiled, clenching his teeth in order to prevent himself from shouting.

Now, how could he fight that thing with a broken foot?

He needed ammunition. He needed something to throw at the Red Death. Something that could be found in abundance and would be reusable. Something…

Pebbles.

That was it! Why hadn't he thought of that before? The island itself had already provided them with enough ammunition to last them an entire millennia. Pebbles! They were everywhere. Hundreds of thousands of them, and possibly millions were lying on this Thor-forsaken coast. If only he could get a good aim at the Red Death, then he could hit the eyes, and at least buy him some time.

Stoick's foot hurt with every move, but he could tolerate it. He was a Viking. And he would never submit to pain. Bending over to pick up a pebble, he saw that the monster was closing in on him, baring its fangs and roaring.

Come on. Come to daddy.

The Red Death was looming closer to Stoick. In a few seconds it'd have its paw over him. It stopped halfway, and lowered it head, like it wanted to talk to Stoick and sneer at him. And that was when Stoick took action.

He arched his body backwards and swung the pebble straight at the Red Death's eye- the one that was just right next to the injured one. The pebble hit the centre of that translucent-black pupil and that made the dragon roar in agony once again, slamming the top of its head against the side of the volcano. Stoick fell down on his injured feet, and he heard another crack that was accompanied by another shot of pain. He cussed involuntarily and was already having difficulty getting back up on his feet. Then, for some inexplicable reason, it felt as if an invisible force was holding him down, securing him to the ground and causing him to go limp.

In his frantic struggle to break free from this unknown force, he found that he could still move his arms. Grabbing a handful of pebbles, he threw them at the Red Death. He repeated this process several times till he finally got two pebbles to the third right eye. As soon as the dragon reared on its back and roared in agony, the force upon him was lifted, and it took him some time to realize that. This monster is going to prove to be extremely hard to defeat. He had never saw such a humongous beast before, and would probably not survive it. He limped off in the other direction, trying his best to avoid the long range weapons that the dragon possessed. He felt a wave of heat crash over him and he knew that the firestorm was back in operation. Does this thing even have a shot limit?

His left foot was killing him. He prayed to Odin that he would not fall down or trip over his broken leg or something. Then, in a stroke of bad luck, he did trip. More like slide. Somehow, his left foot slipped over some loose pebbles and, when he could even register what had happened, he was already lying on the ground, with a cloud of noxious black smoke charging straight for him. Even though the fuel, whatever it was, had burnt itself out, the cloud of smoke was still very hot, and the pain in Stoick's foot did not make matters easier.

The smoke thinned out and Stoick could see that the Red Death was not very far from him. Making one last ditch attempt to run towards the other end of the island, he ignored the stinging pain and got up, charging full speed forward, though the dislocated ankle was a huge impediment. A bolt of orangey-red flames hit one of the granite structures a few hundred yards away from him and it exploded, showering the shores with a beautiful pattern of glowing red-hot rocks. He found that he further he ran, the more his vision became obscured by some white fog. At first he could not comprehend what was going on with his vision, but soon he knew. The fog was returning. Or at least, it was present in this part of the island. The roars and thuds of the Red Death seemed distant and far away from him as he made his way through the increasingly thickening white cloud. The place just felt wrong, as if this part was much more ancient as compared to the rest of the island. He stopped for a while to catch his breath and picked up a pebble from the shore, flinging it as hard as he could at the direction from which he had come from for good measure.

After that short break from the marathon, he continued running forward into the unknown. Who knows? Perhaps he might just be running forward and end up meeting the rest of the survivors halfway through.

After all, this was a mysterious island. He did not know for how long he had been running. He had lost track of all time ever since he entered this odd place. All he knew now was that he was running over wet ground. Something that felt like part of a swamp. No, that felt wrong. What could a swamp be doing in the middle of a volcanic island? It is not like mangroves would grow on pebbles, or that a landscape full of pebbles would be able to hold a swamp without the swamp flowing into the sea like a river. The further in he probed, the wetter and muddier it became. Now, the fog was so thick, it was impossible to see things that were more than a centimeter away from one's eyes. Heck, it was even twenty times much more dense than the fog that surrounded the volcanic island. Then, a bolt of realization hit his head.

Could this be the source of the fog?

They say that curiosity killed the cat, but he wasn't a cat so might as well screw the saying. He steeled himself and ventured further into the fog. The swamp reeked of dead bodies and manure… or at least that was the only description available from the smell. Stoick hoped that he wasn't stepping on a mashed-up mixture of dead dragon bodies, or dragon manure for that matter. There was an audible squish-squash as his boots made contact with the mud, and his ankle was still hurting him. It was as if someone had driven a six inch metal nail into his ankle, and left it there. The glutinous consistency of the mud only made matters worse, for he'd have to use force to pluck out his feet from the ick, which meant that he would hurt his left foot even more every time he did that.

He had to stop every ten minutes or so to take a sit in the mud and inspect his left ankle. It was already swollen and red. And the smell from the swamp was extremely irritable. It invaded your nostrils and made breathing difficult, which was very uncomfortable for Stoick. He was hyperventilating from the throbbing pain and no he had to deal with the suffocating air around him. He stood up once again, and nearly fell over due to his foot. Walking further in, he started to feel as if he were being watched by something. The hairs on his back stood up, and he detected some movement to his left. He stopped, and turned in the direction of the movement. He felt a little defenceless without his granite mallet, but was well-trained enough in bodily combat to handle anything that might be out there somewhere among the fog with ease.

"Show yourself!" he called out to no one in particular. His voice echoed eerily through the fog. It seemed like this place stretched on forever in all directions. As everything fell silent, he realized that something was seriously off. Something that had been after his life like about half an hour ago or for how long he had been in this fog.

The Red Death was no longer chasing him.

It was when that came to light that he knew that there was something very wrong with this place. Firstly, the odd white fog that was so thick, he could not see anything. Secondly, the swamp. That was definitely not supposed to be on a beach full of pebbles. Thirdly, the smell. It was just weird. Dead bodies and manure. Fourthly, the odd sensation of being watched. Well, the fog is so thick that he doubted a Night Fury would be able to see through it, and yet, something knew that he was here… and could see through the fog. Fifthly, something within the fog had moved. That was a very clear indication that Stoick wasn't the only person in this swamp. The conclusion? It is time to get out of here, double time.

He ran back the way he came from. Or so he thought. It was impossible to distinguish which way was which. Everywhere, the landscape was similar. A whitish fog that seemed to be unnatural, for it was too thick and stationary. He detected more and more movement as he ran in no particular direction. Then, the fog thinned out slightly. Hope rose within the battered Viking chief. He was going to get out of this place after all. But his hopes were crushed the moment the fog thickened once again. This time, it didn't just serve as a visual impediment, it also seemed to slow Stoick down. It was as if a current of wind was going against him, but the fog was as still as ever. The smell of the swamp changed. From a mixture of corpses and manure to a mixture of fresh innards and some herbal infusion which was weird. The water beneath him seemed to act much more like water than mud now, and he could feel some really slippery stuff at the bottom of the water. He really hoped that the composition of the water did not correspond to their respective smells.

It was an agonizingly long run. The pain from his ankle was excruciating. He did not know how long he could last if he exerted himself like that. He could possibly be trapped here for eternity. Then he would collapse from exhaustion, and die from dehydration. He will be immortalized as the first Viking ever to die of dehydration and exhaustion, something that people don't usually die from, save for the Vikings. As he ran, his left foot caused him to slip again. It was one of those slippery things in the water, whatever the hell they were.

He landed on his rump with a huge splash and both his hands to the bottom of the water to break the fall. Now, his left leg felt numb from all the pain. He had heard stories of people dying from pain, and wondered if he continued with this, he would die.

His hands felt around the slippery objects that were hidden beneath this stinking water, and pulled one out. It felt soft and smooth, and shaped like a tube. He held it up with both hands in front of his face but could not see it. Then, the fog thinned a little as if it were allowing him to see better. When he saw what the thing was, he immediately dropped it back into the water with a plop. It also made him move several meters back away from it, stopping to catch his breath. He had seen things like that before, but… in a swamp? Suddenly he felt sick. He must have been sitting on bacteria infested water, and might be surrounded by hundreds more of those things.

It was pink in color, soft and shaped like a tube. What was surprising is that it was so perfectly preserved, like it had only been here for less than a few hours. It was an intestine. Of some living thing, whatever it was. That proved that this place wasn't some swamp. It was a morgue. Some kind of burial site, with its contents straight from who knows where. Stoick immediately got back on his feet. Walking was a pain for him. His left foot was so badly hurt by now that it was impossible to even move a millimeter without being assaulted by a wave of pain. So he limped his way through the now thinning fog. Wait, thinning and then thickening fog. It was like the fog was breathing. Stoick decided that he had enough of this weird place, and trudged on, not knowing where to go. He speculated that he must have been at least five miles into this fog, and was safe from the Red Death. It was impossible to tell whether it was afternoon, or evening, or night, for the light was a consistent odd glow that seemed to come from everywhere.

Then he heard it.

It was a slight whisper, but was so clear it seemed like the person or whatever it was that was saying it was right next to him. It was a soft, feminine voice. He could not tell in which language "she" was speaking, for it was completely alien to him. It sounded like Norse mixed with Latin and some other foreign languages. He could tell that he voice was coming from somewhere in front of him, and trudged on. He probably walked for more than ten minutes, and as he walked farther and farther, the fog thinned out, finally being reduced into a few wisps of white smoke that hung in the air. And in front of him was a sight that he could not comprehend. About an hour ago, he entered the fog on a volcanic island, and now…

He was staring at a valley that was below the cliff that he was standing on. He looked around, and saw that there was no ocean for hundred of miles around. Instead, there was only a mountainous landscape. He was beginning to fear that he had lost his mind somehow. If not, how could he have ended up in the middle of a continent? By now, the whispering had turned from a soft voice into a harsh voice that seemed to come from a male. Stoick peered over the edge of the cliff into the valley below. And then he looked behind him. He was stumped by what he saw. Or what he did not see.

The fog was gone.

All right, fine, maybe the fog being gone was a good thing. But what was most frightening is that he should be seeing the volcano that stood in the middle of the volcanic island that he had come from. But it wasn't there. He looked around frantically for any sign of the mountain, but came up empty. He realized that he was standing on one of the tallest cliffs in the area, and that there was only one gigantic snow capped mountain about ten miles away from where he was standing. It must have been at least ten miles tall itself. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, and a sort of strange aura surrounded the place.

Then there still was this persistent whispering.

Perhaps that was the most mysterious thing about this place. He had a feeling that he wasn't alone. And his fears were confirmed when he heard something behind him. Whipping around, he was just fast enough to catch a glimpse of whatever that sneaked up from behind him. It was a black shape, but soon, it inexplicably disappeared into thin air. He did not even have the time to comprehend what had just happened. Was it some sort of optical illusion? Or was it real? There was no time to answer all these questions for the next moment, something caught his legs. He tripped over and fell on his shoulders immediately. Pain shot up his left leg as he heard another crack, this time, it seemed to have emanated from somewhere above his ankle. What had just happened?

Before he had the time or energy to react, some force rolled him over, and he ended up face down to the ground. The whispering had stopped and was instead replaced by a single articulate voice. And it was speaking in a language that Stoick had never heard before, let alone understand. It sounded rough and raspy, like it was from an old man, but at the same time, the words flowed. He felt something press against his back, pinning him down and rendering him defenceless. No matter how hard he tried to struggle, he was unable to break free of this person's palm or feet. It must have been a strong, old man.

"Ne zhai ze ler zeh shen mou?"

Stoick had absolutely no idea what in the blazes this man was talking about. Something about the texture of this man's palm or feet chilled him though. It felt rough and uneven, and it even felt warm. Very warm. Too unusually warm for his liking. He had a suspicion that this person was not so human, but was still human at the same time. Huh. How weird did that sentence sound?

When Stoick did not give the attacker an answer, "he" pressed his hand (or foot) harder into Stoick's back, and now he could feel his spinal cord beginning to hurt. He had never been pinned down or humiliated like this before, especially when he had fought and killed hundreds of dragons before this… old man.

"Wer zhai swer yi bien: Ne zhai ze ler zeh shen mou?"

What the hell did this man want from him, speaking in an unrecognizable language? And what's with the 'pin-him-down-on-the-ground' thing all about? Where did this man come from anyway? The hand pressed even harder into Stoick's spinal cord, and he fear that it might be broken if it was suffering more of this punishment. The man spoke in that strange language once again.

"Rou guo ne bu gao sue wer, ren, wer hui huei ler ne."

The man's head was so close to Stoick now, he could feel his hot breath against the back of his neck. It smelt odd, like a mixture of blood and some kind of fishy smell. Very strange combination of smells that one would not expect to find in a human's mouth.

"Ń, hen hao chi."

Stoick lay there completely still, fearing what might happen to him next. Then, the man spoke once again.

"Ne huì huídá wer ma?"

"What do you want from me, bastard?" Stoick said out loud. He was already losing his patience with this guy, whoever he was. There was no answer, just silence. It was so silent that Stoick could hear his own heartbeat, as well as the attacker's heartbeat. It seemed to be much slower than his, probably about fifty-five beats per minute at best. Stoick could not find any explanation for that. Unless…

He did not have the time to do anything when he felt something close around his neck. Panic flooded through his mind. What the hell is the old man trying to do? What in the name of Odin was going on?

"What the hell are you trying to do?" he cried. Something was definitely off about this man. He tried shouting. He tried kicking, but nothing worked to get the thing off his neck. He could now smell the blood, and the fishy stench. Then, the thing around his neck closed, puncturing his neck. Stoick Haddock screamed in pain for the first time ever in his life. A river of blood was already flowing down from the open wound. The severed arteries poured blood like a fountain, and Stoick felt all his strength seeping out of the wound along with the blood. His mind worked on overdrive as he tried frantically to do everything he could in order to get the wretched man off. Nothing worked. His brain was consumed by horror, and he could not think straight anymore.

At long last, the thing came off his neck, and he felt like he could breath a little again, but the pain and horror remained. Blood was still flowing down his neck, staining the rock floor around him a deep red color. His vision begun to blur and he felt like sleeping. He did not have to wait long, for the next moment, he was being shoved off the cliff and sent on a four mile free fall to the rocky valley below. As he fell, he was facing skyward, in the direction of the cliff. Even though his vision was fast blurring, he could still make out his attacker. He did not know many things about him, but there was one thing he was certain of.

His attacker wasn't human.

That was his last thought before darkness engulfed him.

End of Chapter 3.

Oops.

Looks like everyone is pretty much screwed. No escape route from the island. And now, someone has died.

End result?

Astrid Hofferson - I'm not going to tell you yet.
Gobber the Belch - Well and alive.
Ruff and Tuff - Well and alive
Snotlout - Well and alive.
Fishlegs - Well and alive.
Stoick - Deceased (I sincerely apologize if it angered you in some way)
Toothless - I'm not going to disclose his current status yet.

I am very sorry if you guys were pissed off by Stoick's death. But that is the way it is meant to be. I mean, this is the unpredictability of life. Who knows? Perhaps I might get knocked down by a car tomorrow. My point is, there are so many things that could happen to you. There is always this possibility. A chance.

All right. If you're confused by the chapter, do not panic. I will explain everything in due time. The origin of the island. The origin of the Red Death. Everything. And the assailant is a dragon. The language he speaks is an ancient language, far older than Draconic, so you cannot translate it in the translator. I do not (wish) to claim any ownership of the language, for it is a modified version of another language (a real one). See if you could figure it out. Nothing significant about what he spoke though, so do not go through all the trouble translating it.

In the next chapter, we're going to be with Hiccup!

Lastly, leave a review! :)

P.S. Be sure to tell me if you got pissed by Stoick's death.