As always, all this positive response never ceases to amaze me. =D I appreciate each and every one of your reviews, so thank you for taking the time to write them. ^_^ Anyways, here's chapter four, just in time to celebrate reaching 1,500 hits. \o/

Enjoy. =)

The Death Line by SilverstarsEbonyskies

Ch. 4: Failure

Hiccup grimaced as the ground gave a little under his boot. He could smell the dark musk of old blood, and the metallic tang of the new. He could see the white gleam of bone under the moonlight, fragments of people long lost and long forgotten, apparently not having been cared for enough to have someone come back for their corpse. He had never been down here before, and he didn't relish the prospect of ever coming down here again.

He endured the stench and soldiered on, making sure he was low to the ground. The boulders would hide him from sight, he knew, especially considering the one-minded intensity the Vikings fought with. They clashed and roared and swung, absolutely oblivious to anything else.

Hiccup's eyes darted here and there, straining for a sign of the dark figure and the net that caught him. He was pretty sure he was getting close, at least. The figure had been on the outskirts of the battle, keeping to the shadows, probably watching and waiting for a good target. It was, Hiccup reasoned, why no one ever saw him coming in time. He would skulk around unseen until he struck, gone before the allies of the newly fallen Viking could even register surprise.

The thought made Hiccup shiver. What was he doing, trying to defeat someone like him? He sounded more like a monster than a man. But...but he had caught him. He'd seen it. Plus, what would be more foolish than abandoning something he'd already almost succeeded at? All he had to do was find him and...and kill him. Slit his throat or pierce his heart with his knife. Hiccup's heart raced. It was just...just that simple-

There. Hiccup's eyes lay riveted on one spot. There he was: the Night Fury. The body was wrapped so tightly in the ropes of the net that Hiccup wouldn't doubt if something had been dislocated or broken. There was a rope under his jaw that pulled up, forcing his head back. It probably made it hard for him to breathe. It was lucky, Hiccup supposed. He wouldn't be able to call for help that way.

Hiccup pulled his knife and inched closer, searching for any signs of movement. The rise and fall of the Night Fury's chest proved him still alive, but there was no struggling, no fighting to get free. Maybe he was unconscious? The thought seemed unlikely to Hiccup. Wouldn't the Night Fury be stronger than that? He scanned his foe, only a foot or two away now.

The man had dark hair, dark clothes, and tan skin. He wasn't built as broad as most Vikings were, but he was obviously muscular. With no small amount of horror, Hiccup noticed the blood. It was speckled everywhere on him: his hands, his face, his neck. He had no doubt that his clothes were spattered with it too, though he couldn't tell with their dark color. The Night Fury had already taken many lives that night. Berkian lives. The lives of his people. He would definitely continue taking those lives, if he was not stopped.

Hiccup's face hardened, and with flinty determination, he raised his knife, the hilt towards the sky and the tip waiting to plunge into the monster's beating heart.

Fang hadn't wanted to acknowledge his helplessness. Even as he heard his captor's soft footsteps, he had kept his eyes shut, not wanting to face the fact that this was it. He just didn't want to. But as his captor knelt to the ground, surely to deliver the death blow, he could no longer help himself. He had to know. What kind of man would kill him? What kind of man had spotted him and could see what no one else had?

In that second, his eyes opened. A thin, scrawny scrap of a boy with russet hair knelt beside him, hands gripping much too tightly to the dagger they held. If Fang could have laughed, he would have. Such a short, bitter laugh he would have made. This was what brought him down? A mere child? He watched impassively as the boy's eyes widened. His abrupt "awakening" must have startled him. Fang held his gaze dispassionately.

Fang knew he could have snapped that neck with his bare hands. There were a million ways he could have killed that boy, every one of them so easy, if only he could move. Unfortunately, he couldn't. He was at the mercy of the boy who had his dagger raised.

So with resignation, Fang closed his eyes and accepted his fate.

When the expected blow didn't come, Fang inwardly cursed. The boy in his lack of confidence would drag this out wouldn't he? Drag out the anticipation, the dread, every second wondering whether that would be his last. He wanted to shout at the boy to just do it already-

Fang went frigid when the cold, cold metal touched the skin of his neck, and his eyes shot open when he heard the dagger slice through the fibers of the rope. He was...being let go? This made no sense. The boy was going to kill him, he saw it in his eyes. What happened? Why?

The sudden sensation of freedom jolted him out of his stupor, and he immediately reached for his sword, ignoring the slight twang of his abused muscles. Grabbing the front of the boy's shirt with only his left hand, he flung him to the ground. The boy grunted and tried to scramble back up. Fang was there in an instant to knock him back down, sword pointed down at him to deter future attempts.

Anger overwhelmed him then. How dare this boy humble him like this and make him fear for his life? He scowled, teeth bared and eyes blazing, and reveled in the terror it caused. The impudent brat should be scared. Fang was going to kill him for his brazenness.

"I know you were scared," the boy said, trembling, "It's okay. You don't have to be angry about it."

What?

Fang growled, taking another step forward, "I was not scared-" The tip of Fang's sword scraped against the boy's neck.

"I was scared too," He continued, heedless of Fang's rebuttal, "I'm...still scared. Heh, not much of a Viking am I?" He laughed weakly, "Can't do much of anything right. My dad will be disappointed when I turn up dead. Another failure to add to the list. Can't even just stay in my house."

Just then Fang heard it. That short, bitter laugh. The one he would have made just moments ago, when he thought was going to die, when he thought he was going to fail. The same gods damned laugh. In that instant, when he looked at the boy sprawled on the ground, he saw himself: humbled, rejected, resigned, and may Odin strike him down, scared. Tense moments passed. He stepped back and sheathed his sword, frowning.

"Get up," He spat, "And go home."

He turned to rejoin the battle, not looking back, not even as he heard the boy rise. There was no point; he would never see him again. Why would he? No one stuck in a body like that would be stupid enough to revisit the battlefield. No, he would never see him again.

Hiccup watched the Night Fury go as he walked calmly away. It was so surreal. Hiccup wouldn't have believed it had happened were it not for the stinging sensation of the nick on his neck. Hiccup shook the fog out of his head. He had to go back. There was nothing else he could do here.

So in a daze, Hiccup climbed back up out of the Death Line, only barely remembering to retrieve his wooden contraption from where it fell at the base of the slope. His muscles burned from the exertion of dragging the heavy thing behind him, but he didn't care. In fact he hardly even felt it.

After all, he had just met the Night Fury.

Furthermore, he was still alive.