Quick warning, this chapter, and future ones, are pretty gory.

- Dandy

Tony's eyes flew open when chaos erupted. He could hear screams and roars, both dragonic and Viking. He needed no further explanation on what was happening. He scrambled out of bed, already yanking his boats on. He snatched up his journal and shoved it into his vest, and ran down the steps to find Stoick grabbing a war hammer from its place against the wall. He glanced up as Tony ran into the room and spoke before Tony could.

"There's a raid. The beasts are hungry tonight it seems. Go to the forge, help Gobber keep up with the weapon distribution and repair. Move fast, and don't try to fight!"

Before Tony could reply, Stoick was out the door and charging off with a bellow to challenge the dragons in ferocity. Tony sucked in a breath, and debated if he should really risk going outside. But the debate only lasted a few seconds before the house shook with a blast to the roof, and Tony realized that staying inside was probably even more dangerous than going out. So he gathered his courage, told his knees to stop shaking, and ran out into the fire. Literally. Everything was on fire. Houses, stairs, ramps. People. A man was screaming not far off, his whole body alight with flames. His skin was peeling, blackening, and very little of him was visible. Except his face, which which horrifyingly clear. Tony stared into his eyes, frozen. The Viking's eyes pleaded for help, but none was coming. None could come. The battle was still raging, and even if everyone stopped fighting, Tony couldn't imagine that even Americans' medicine could save him. Then the man fell to the ground, still screaming, as the fire reached his face. Freed from his frozen state, he ran again, and didn't let himself look at what was left of the Viking. But he heard the screams ominously cut off.

Tony was running for the forge when he realized. The dragons, this was all just like the stories he had heard in America. They were fighting the humans, and the humans were fighting back, and it could go on forever if the humans didn't just stop killing dragons. And there was a pit filled with captive dragons right on this island. If Tony freed them, and stopped the raids, not only would he be safe from the fights, but the Vikings would be too. And once they realized that, then they would have to let him build his radio, maybe even bring him home. Once they saw that there would be no more Vikings like the one Tony had watched burn, they would have to be thankful.

Of course, that meant Tony had to get to the dragon pit, get through the dragons that would be trying to free them, and open the cages without being eaten. But he didn't see any other choice. If he didn't he would be killed in these raids. And eventually, so would the Vikings. And it might be his best chance at getting home, since his chances with the radio were so slim. He had to try.

Tony changed direction, and ran towards the pit he remembered being on the outside of the village. Vikings shouted at him to get inside, to get out of the way, shouted he was going to get killed if he didn't listen to them. He shouted that he would be right back, and dodged the hands that tried to grab him. But they didn't try too hard, more concerned with the fight than with him, and Tony was well practiced in dodging the hands of angry adults. Tony's heart was slamming in his chest, and he didn't think he'd ever been so terrified, even when The Seeker went down. All around him, people and dragons were dying. He watched as a man slammed his axe into the face of a purple dragon with spikes on it's head and tail - what kind of dragon was it? A Nadder? Hobblegrunt? He wasn't sure - and watched as the scales and skin peeled away to reveal white bone and red blood. The dragon gave a strangled scream and scrambled to get away, but the Viking roared and drove his axe into the injured dragon's wing. There was too much noise for Tony to hear the bone crunch, but he saw it crumble at an impossible angle, and the axe tore straight through the wing's thin membrane after cutting through the bone. The dragon screamed again, the sound wilder and more desperate than the last cry. It twisted, lashing its tail at the Viking. Much to Tony's shock, the spikes on its tail came free and impaled the man's chest. He choked, desperately grabbed the spike, and yanked. It came free, and immediately the man coughed a fountain of blood, and crumbled to the ground. All of this happened in less than a minute, and Tony never stopped running. The fight left his sight just as he saw two more Vikings charging at the crippled dragon with battle cries on their lips. He was out of the main part of the village now, and almost to the curve that led to the Arena. He was confused about the lack of Vikings and dragons here. The dragons would be trying to free the captives, and the Vikings should be guarding them. Maybe they were all in the pit already?

He sprinted around the curve, and pulled up short. It was empty. The cages were rattling as the dragons inside roared and fought their doors, but there wasn't a single Viking or wild dragon. But wasn't this why the dragons were here? In America, all it took was freeing the dragons to end the fighting. It had been obvious from the beginning why the dragons were there. But even though the caged dragons were fighting to free themselves, there were no wild dragons trying to save them. And no Vikings guarding them, which meant no one expected the dragons to free the captive ones. Tony swallowed hard, his shoulders slumping. If they weren't here for the caged dragons, then why were they here? Was Stoick right? How could the dragons on Berk be so different from America's dragons? But whatever the reason, Tony's best chance at earning the Vikings' respect and getting a ride home just went out the window. And now Tony had to try to get to the forge without getting burned alive. He couldn't believe he had been so stupid. His entire plan had hinged on the behavior of wild animals, and now he had to make the terrifying race back.

He considered just staying where he was, since he seemed to be out of the fighting. But even as the thought passed through his mind, three dragons flew overhead with a roar, heading towards the heart of the village. And Tony was alone here, without cover, and extremely vulnerable. He set off at a sprint for the village. He passed more fighting, but this time he tried to keep his eyes straight ahead and on his goal. But that is easier said than done, and at one point he was forced to duck under the arm of a Viking woman swinging a mace at a two headed dragon. Warm blood splattered his face, but he didn't let himself think about it, or about the dragonic scream that followed the blood. But he felt the rush of air, and knew the wounded dragon had escaped.

After what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, he skidded to a stop in the forge, gasping for breath. Gobber was at the window, handing out the weapons he and Tony had been making as quickly as he could. He glanced up when Tony entered, already complaining.

"Well, about damn time ya showed up, boy! Thought you'd been eaten up!"

Tony grabbed a sword from the pile of broken weapons, and got to work on repairing it. "Nah, just stopped for drive-through."

"Am I supposed to know what that means, lad?" Gobber shoved a weapon at an impatient Viking. The weapon had two balls like Gobber had been making when Tony first got the job as Gobber appearance, with a rope connection the them. The Viking didn't hesitate, and whipped around the hurl the thing at a fat, warty dragon that flew on incredibly small wings. The rope wrapped around the dragon, bring it down with a scream. The Vikings immediately descended on it. Tony averted his eyes. At least he knew what those metal balls where for now.

He opened his mouth to reply to Gobber, but before he could, the sounds of the battle suddenly changed. The air filled with a strange, high-pitched whistling noise. Tony paused his work on the sword, confused. Then Vikings started shouting.

"NIGHT FURY!"

"GET DOWN!"

Before Tony could work out what they were talking about, there was a whistle like the one still filling the air, but louder, overriding the last one. The sound only lasted a second before blue-purple light blinded Tony as the sound of metal screaming filled his mind. He scrambled back automatically, rubbing spots from his eyes. Then he rushed forward, desperate to see. A cadapult laid in pieces on ground. Tony looked up at Gobber, and found that the man had abandoned his work, and was replacing his prosthetic hand with an axe that screwed into place.

"Where are you going? What was that?" Tony cried out, shocked by the unnatural event.

"That, me boy, was a Night Fury! Which means this raid's taken a turn for the worse, and they need me out there!"

Gobber turned towards the door, but Tony was still confused. "Wait! What are you talking about? Night Furys don't exist! They're myths!"

Gobber laughed. He was far too happy considering the situation, and Tony wondered if the man was completely sane. "Oh, they're real lad! As evil as they come too. Man the fort, boy!"

Gobber charged outside with a roar, waving his axe in the air. Tony stared at him in shock, but a Viking in the window shouted impatiently, and Tony had to get back to work. The raid lasted another two hours, and the Night Fury struck twice more, Both times, the only warning was that strange, high-pitched whistle. It never attacked the Vikings, or stole food like the other dragons. Instead, it took down large weapons like the catapults, and even a watch tower. But eventually, the dragons all jerked their heads up, as if hearing something the humans didn't, and rose into the air. A few dragons made frantic, last minute grabs for food, then followed the rest. The Vikings shouted taunts, and some threw their weapons after the retreating dragons. Tony sighed, knowing he and Gobber would have to replace those weapons.

Soon, Gobber was back at the forge, telling Tony to get some sleep, and that the weapons could wait until the next day. But when Tony left the forge, he wished he had just stayed. Everything was still burning, although he could see Vikings, primarily the old, crippled, and even the teens, putting out the fires. He noticed that Astrid was working with a grim-faced determination, and that Snotlout and the twins we laughing and throwing more water on each other than on the fires. Fishlegs was working, but his hands shook so violently he dropped as much water as he threw. Tony avoided them. There were also dead dragons everywhere. Their eyes were clouding over, and blood pooled around them. There was a dead Viking not far from the forge, and Tony's stomach rolled when he realised the burned body had to belong to the Viking he had seen that had been on fire. What a painful way to die. He swallowed hard, and wandered the village looking for Stoick. He passed more dead dragons, and several wounded ones that were on the ground, screaming. He avoid them, since they were still dangerous. But there were Vikings that were moving among the injured reptiles, putting them out of their misery. He eventually found Stoick near Gothi's hut, overseeing the moving of the wounded. He didn't say anything for once in his life, just stopped next to the Chief, unsure if he should be doing something.

Stoick glanced down at Tony, and seemed to soften slightly. "You alright, lad?" He dropped a gentle hand to Tony's shoulder.

It took everything Tony had not to flinch at the touch. He was still on edge from the raid, and wanted nothing more than to wake up at home, under his covers, with Jarvis right down the hall. But he wasn't dreaming and he knew it.

So he nodded dully at Stoick. "Yeah, I'm fine. And you're right, the dragons here aren't anything like in America."

Stoick sighed, but apparently decided to avoid commenting and possibly starting a fight. "You look exhausted. And you have a full day tomorrow at the forge. The raid is done, the beasts won't be back tonight. Go home, get some sleep."

That sounded wonderful to Tony. But Berk was still on fire, and he could see Vikings with injuries waiting for medical attention. "Are you sure? I could help put out fires, or pass out bandages, or something."

Stoick shook his head. "Nay, lad. We know how to handle the aftermath of a raid. We've been doin' it for three hundred years. Go, get some rest. You've had a tough night."

Tony wasn't going to argue. He nodded tiredly, and walked back towards Stoick's house. He kept his eyes forward, wanting to avoid all the death. But then a voice shouted out at him.

"Hey guys, look, it's the hiccup! Looks like he didn't get eaten by the dragons after all!"

Tony glanced towards the voice, and mentally groaned when he saw the teens. Damnit, he couldn't deal with them tonight. Snotlout swaggered towards Tony, grinning menacingly. The twins followed, and after a moment's hesitation, so did Fishlegs, although he didn't look happy about it. Astrid just threw them all an annoyed look, and went to get more water.

The male twin - Stoick said his name was Tuffnut - grinned and shoved into Tony's space. "Yeah, because he hid the whole time! Stayed in the forge with Gobber!"

Tony opened his mouth to protest, but Snotlout spoke first. "Is that true, little Hiccup? Hid from the big bad dragons in the forge, with Gobber protecting you? What a coward! This is why we shouldn't have Southerners on Berk! They're too soft!"

Tony sneered at him. "I was working. I was making weapons, which requires actual skill, for the Vikings to fight with. All you did was throw water, which a well-trained monkey could do."

Tony saw the punch coming, but Snotlout was fast, and Tony couldn't dodge it. It hit him over his left cheekbone, and sent him sprawling. Snotlout's face had darkened with rage, and he advanced with his fists clenched on where Tony was sprawled in the dirt. Tony scrambled back instinctively.

Fishlegs shifted his weight nervously, wringing his hands. "Um, guys -"

Snotlout snarled before he could finish his sentence. "Shut up Fish-face, unless you want to join him!"

Fishlegs closed his mouth and ducked his head, avoiding Tony's eyes. Snotlout grabbed Tony's shirt, and Tony heard the fabric rip. He automatically grabbed at his hand to try to pry away his fingers, but it was useless. The kid was a powerhouse.

"Listen up Hiccup. You are useless, understand? The only reason Gobber is smithing is because he's missing two limbs and Stoick likes to try to keep him out of the fighting. But even with that, he's still a good warrior. Like me. You, on the other hand, are there because there's nothing else you're good for. You're a little runt, who should have been left to rot on the ocean."

Tony never was good at keeping his mouth shut when he should. "Well, Snotlout. I use a skill to help. You? Monkey."

Snotlout's face twisted, and he raised the fist that wasn't holding Tony's shirt. Tony closed his eyes and turned his face in a useless attempt to protect himself. But instead of a punch, ice-cold water splashed over him. Tony blinked, and opened looked above himself in shock. Snotlout was equally drenched, and Astrid stood behind him with an empty bucket and a royally pissed off expression.

"Are you two nearly done? Because Berk is still on fire if you haven't noticed, and the longer you spend fighting in the dirt the more people are going to lose their homes."

Snotlout, as seems to be the norm, immediately forgot all about Tony once Astrid spoke. "Of course Astrid! I've already put out so many fires, you know me, warrior that I am, but I'll keep working! Don't you worry babe, these fires are history!"

He hopped off of Tony, already heading back towards the well with the other teens. Tony stood up with a pained grimace. Astrid seemed to dislike Tony as much as she disliked the other teens, but as long as she kept saving his hide, even accidently, he wouldn't complain.

He made it the rest of the way to Stoick's house without any issues, and closed the door behind him with a relieved sigh. His cheek throbbed, and Tony was tempted to grab a block of ice for it, but he wanted sleep more than relief from the punch. He stumbled up the stairs. Dawn was still several hours away, so hopefully Tony could get some sleep. He kicked off his boots, changed his ripped shirt for a fresh one, and collapsed into bed.