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You wanted blood? You got blood...

Warning! This chapter contains descriptive violence and brutality!

_

It was quite a shock to the legions as they first arrived at the boundaries of Judea. They were unprepared for just how many supporters Kokhba had managed to gain. General Sextus had begun to organize his Roman forces into multiple attack fronts right away. By the time Scáth and Toothless arrived that night, each legion was already moving to its designated area. Some spreading out to deal with the small villages and towns that were allied with the rebellion. The remainder joining the troops that were already laying siege to Kokhba's fortified city base of Betar. The goal simply being to get to Kokhba and crush this revolt as quickly as possible.

This was not to be. Everyone could see that this was going to take more men and countless days. Kokhba's forces had held the land for too long and were too well entrenched. Rome's own defences now working against her. Runners were sent to Rome and the surrounding provinces for additional aid. If it would arrive in time to help was the real question. Meanwhile, Kokhba's already vast forces continued to swell as well. Other disgruntled citizens seeing his current achievements as a sign of looming victory for the rebels.

The armies clashed day after day. Night after night the ground was a mess of gore and bodies no one had the desire to retrieve. The wild predators of the land, drawn in by the screams and blood, waiting impatiently as they watched for the armies to retreat for the evening. Then the hungry scavengers would gorge themselves on carrion as the survivors tried fruitlessly to drown their nightmares in wine. All the while, the death and decay leaving its sickly sweet stench of rot lingering in the sweltering air.

Since he and Toothless could travel swifter than any, Scáth was sent to help out wherever the legions were losing the most ground. At first he and Toothless had soared over the fields taking out individual targets with bow and fire blast. Soon though, the militia began targeting the black dragon with their ballista and it became too dangerous to fly during the daylight hours. Toothless could not hide his night black hide against the bright sky. Scáth would just have to fight with the men on the ground.

Each morning Toothless would drop him off where they were needed and leave Scáth to charge into the melee. The young man couldn't say he enjoyed fighting, but he was good at it. In his lighter armour and unhindered by a shield he hacked and slashed his way through bodies with relentless vigour. His speed and strength enhancement spells leaving him virtually untouchable in battle. Easily outmatching the militia soldiers.

He left his sword unlit to save oil and avoid drawing archers' arrows. Both he and Toothless were key targets; as much as any general. Inferno sliced through the bodies of men as if they were nothing more than ripe fruit. It mattered little whether the blow was an instantly fatal one or not. A cut artery or severed limb were just slower ways to die. There was no rescue out here in the killing fields and infections were rampant.

Dodging a heavy blow from a Judean soldier, Scáth spun himself around the man's shield to end up behind him. Weighted down with steel, the man could not react in time to block the lunge that drove Inferno between breastplate and belt. The blade sunk into the man's abdomen, severing everything in its path. Blood and excrement leaking out as the entrails got tangled through the hollow blade. Only to be torn out of the man as Scáth pulled the blade back.

Pivoting agilely on his heel as the disembowelled whelp screamed his agony, he slashed out at a soldier coming up behind him. Gore from the previous man trailing in the swords wake like a morbid garland. Blood streaming from it and drenching Scáth's shoulder pad and back as it passed. His blade caught the soldier on the shoulder before he was able to raise his own in defence. Slicing through sinew and shattering bone. With a hoarse cry the man dropped his sword. His arm hanging useless; blood streaming from the deep gash. Adding to the multitudes already coating the slick ground as the entrails snared in his armour, likely poisoning the wound further.

There was no time to have mercy for this unknown man. He was just one of many faceless and nameless soldiers that Scáth would kill today, and every day. All of them blurring together into a mess of blood and pain that didn't bother him anymore. At some point, a small piece of him had died somewhere along the way. He barely even saw their faces now as he killed them, and certainly not afterwards in his dreams. Dashing away, he passed a small tangle of soldiers locked in combat. Almost on instinct, he launched his throwing knives at more men that were coming to aid the Judean's.

Each time he loosed a dagger, a new one was grabbed to replace it. The men fell one after another. Clutching throats, chests, or thighs. Some even sinking through the eye slots of helmets until they pierced the brain. Their sleek design combined with his enhanced strength causing them to pass easily through armour. Every blade claiming a soul. Figuring no one would notice in the midst of all the chaos, Scáth chanced summoning his daggers back to him so that they could be used to end more lives. His wrist and hand guards shielding the telling green light of his magic from prying eyes.

Once darkness fell and the troops retreated, Scáth and Toothless would take off into the sky. Their aim was to take out as many of the other side's siege engines and command posts as they could. Hoping to weaken their defences by this means, for Scáth outright refused to target the surrounding towns or villages instead. He could not guarantee that they would not harm the innocent by doing so, and that was not a chance that either of the brothers were willing to take. They had to be particular about their targets though, since they only had six shots.

Once again the enemy got smart and began to hide their siege machines, disguise their command posts, and keep more archers posted all night. Scáth would loose arrow after arrow into the night. Taking out as many archers as he could while Toothless swooped in low enough to take out the ballista. He never summoned his arrows back though. Everyone was too busy during the battle to notice knives flying back into someone's hands. Scáth seriously doubted they would fail to notice arrows pulling free of bodies and shooting back into the sky now, as a green glow passed overheard.

After all of this, the brothers would return to their base camp for the remainder of the night. Now was the time to sharpen and clean blades, wipe the mud of filth and blood off bodies and armour, eat a pathetic meal, and try to get some rest despite the desperate and pointless cries of the wounded. Then you woke up to do it all over again the next day. He sent more letters to Astrid now. Never speaking of the battle. More just to tell her how much he missed her. Often producing sketches to accompany them, created from memories that were unrelated to his current situation. It helped Scáth to hold onto what remained of his humanity through the chaos.

So it went for what felt like eternity. Roman soldiers were falling as fast as enemy militia. They couldn't gain any ground. Finally the reinforcements showed up with additional artillery and they began to make some headway. Though it was slow and was still costing too many soldiers. They had been at this for many months now and Scáth was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of killing. Long past losing count of how many lives he had taken. Long past suffering the burden of nightmares. Reality was the nightmare now.

He was one of the few who had survived since the beginning and all this carnage was taking its toll on his sanity. Something drastic needed to be done, so he formed a plan. He would spend his nights hunting down the man that had started this instead of targeting siege machines. If he could find and kill the rebel leader, his army would be demoralized. It would be a sure victory after that.

*

The brothers had been fighting this monstrous war for well over a year and had yet to see Kokhba. He was supposedly using the city of Betar as his stronghold. If he was there, he was well hidden and the city was well fortified. The legions had been attacking Betar for three years and had yet to gain access.

Under cover of darkness, the brothers snuck their way into the city to scout out the purported lair of the ruthless rebel leader. What they found surprised them. The alleged place was conspicuously unguarded. On the following night, Toothless captured a soldier guarding one of the ballista. At first the man did not want to betray his prince. After some 'persuasion' by Toothless however, he quickly revealed that Kokhba had gone into hiding.

Apparently the rebel leader had felt it was only a matter of time before the 'Shadow Demon' came looking for him. His guard had begged him to flee the province until the threat was removed, but he had refused. Insisting that he needed to remain to command his forces. According to the soldier, the hideout was in one of the caverns under Betar that connected to the surrounding countryside. He could not say which one, but the prince was now being guarded by only the most skilled and trusted of his soldiers. It seemed he feared that one of his people would betray him to the demon.

Scáth couldn't help but find the dark humour in the man's words. When had he gone from the village hiccup to the monster that men hid from in the dark? With a jolt, he realized that he had become the human equivalent of a night fury. He and Toothless were finally a perfectly matched set. This thought making him wonder briefly just what his father would think of the man that he had become. Would Stoick finally think that his son was 'Viking' enough now?

Laughing darkly at this thought, Scáth promptly killed the informant. It was better to have Kokhba hiding from a perceived threat rather than a known one. He would be slightly less careful that way. Taking to the caverns and tunnels had been a wise move. It would seem the best place to hide from an enemy in the sky and the Romans were unlikely to search for the leader of the Judean army underground. Their own emperor would never cower in a cave.

Looking to Toothless, Scáth asked his opinion of this revelation. "It will not save him. We both know that the tunnels are no hinderance to me. There is nowhere he can hide that we cannot find him. I feel that by surrounding himself with only a small guard, he has just made it easier for us. You will take them out easily." His brother's confidence in their success bolstered his own.

In response, a feral grin began to grow on Scáth's face. The thrill of the chase beginning to blossom in his chest now. "Then let the hunt begin."

*

The pair made their way steadily through the tunnels surrounding the city, as well as the smaller outlying caverns. After finding an entrance, Toothless would send a sound wave through the darkness to check for anything that may be hiding in the depths. Scáth discovered many of the hidden command posts this way. As well as pockets of resistance here and there throughout the province. Once they had cleared each section, Toothless would blast the ceiling to cave the roof in. Thus making it unusable in the future.

Still they had not caught up to Kokhba yet. Despite killing any rebels they came across, word may still have somehow reached him. Though the man must be starting to run out of hiding places by now. Kokhba must be continually on the move. At least, if he was clever he would be. It would only take one misstep though and he would be their's.

That night finally came almost two years after they had first arrived in this wretched place. While flying low over the trees, they caught a brief flash of light in the darkness. Doubling back, they saw that it was the light from a small lantern. A group of soldiers were gathered around it, looking over pieces of parchment. It was an unlikely spot for a meeting, as it was just beyond the walls of Betar instead of inside them.

Landing silently just outside the range of the guards, man and dragon slunk their way over to the closest of the soldiers. Scáth grabbed the first one with a hand over the mouth. Yanking the soldier's head back, he whipped out a dagger from his bracer and slit the man's throat deep enough to sever his vocal chords. Toothless clamping his jaws over the other guard's throat and tearing it out before he could shout an alarm.

Blending into the shadows in their matching black, the two warriors worked their way closer to the entrance of the cavern. Using all his skill with his throwing blades, Scáth made sure each one that left his hands embedded itself into a throat or deep into an eye. Keeping silent was vital until they had properly trapped their prey. The cavern entrance was narrow. A steep set of stairs carved out of the floor, leading down into the darkness.

Everything was quiet inside the hideout, so Toothless sent a sound wave out into the darkness. After a moment, he nodded to confirm that someone was indeed still down there. Creeping silently down the first few steps to get a good shot, Toothless aimed a fireball at the cavern roof beyond. The collapse sealed the rear escape tunnel with a solid wall of boulders. Making it so that the rebels could no longer flee back inside the protective walls of the stronghold. They were left with only one way out now. Straight past the black dragon, and the ruthless man that rode it.

Strolling down the steps past the dragon, Scáth emerged through the dust at the bottom and sparked Inferno. There was Kokhba, cringing back from him as if he were a draugr risen from Helheim. Three armed guards blocking the path between them. Scáth spared barely a glance for the soldiers as he looked beyond them to the man who had caused all of this bloodshed. Wearing a Roman style breastplate and cowering behind greater men.

*

Kokhba's blood ran cold as he met the eerie green eyes reflecting the terrible sword's light. The elaborate helmet concealing everything else, but Kokhba did not need to see the monster's face to know what he was. This was no man. This was a demon sent by a vengeful god. One could not expect mercy from a demon. He felt as desperate as a trapped animal. How could he have been so foolish as to leave the safety of the walls?

"I knew you were coming for me. I take it you are going to kill me now." Kokhba tried to insert as much arrogance into his tone as he could manage. Hoping to appear at ease despite his terror.

"I would rather you surrender and then we can call off the troops," the demon drawled in a sardonic tone. "I know my fellow soldiers and I would all like to go home and be done with this. It is just no fun to kill you here while you tremble and soil yourself in this hovel. Seems too easy."

Kokhba mustered the last of his courage. Raising his chin defiantly as he said, "my people just want to live! Do you think the Emperor will treat us well if we surrender. Not a chance, demon. I'm better off dead than locked in Hadrian's torture chamber awaiting my public execution. Now, kill it already, or I will have your heads before I take the demon's!" With that, the soldiers standing between them lunged at the monster.

*

Quicker than they could react, Scáth used his remaining two throwing blades to take out the men at both ends. This left only the soldier in the middle. He was obviously skilled as he refused to be distracted by his fallen comrades. Scáth blocked and parried each blow of the man's sword. Wanting to end this before Kokhba found his courage and joined the fray. The guard quickly pushed back by the speed and ferocity of Scáth's enhanced attacks. This man could not hope to beat him.

Bringing up a leather clad fist as he parried a low slice, Scáth delivered a disorienting blow to the soldier's temple. As the man stumbled back, Scáth drove Inferno past his chest plate and up under his ribs; piercing the man's lungs. Blood spilled out of his mouth and over his chin as he fell. Adding to the copious amount already soaking Scáth's armour. The blood pouring from his chest cavity dousing the sword's flame as the chamber went momentarily dark. Dragging his blade from the corpse and reigniting it, Scáth turned to face Kokhba again.

The man seemed rooted to the spot with undisguised fear. Toothless still blocking the stairs and staring the prince down with feral green eyes. His pupils only the smallest of slits. "There is no one left to give their life for you, Prince of Judea," Scáth stated coldly. "If only you had listened to your men when they begged you to flee. Will you still not simply surrender?"

Kokhba bellowed and pulled a blade out of his waist belt. Instinctively, Scáth brought Inferno up to block. Pushing the man back and following up with a quick slice; simple fool against Helfire blade. It was instantly clear that the man was a better politician than he was a soldier. Shock flickered across Kokhba's face as the dagger fell to the floor with a muffled thump, hand still gripping the hilt. Before he could scream, Scáth brought Inferno around in a swinging arc, using his magic to propel it faster.

It was over quickly as he had no desire to drag it out. The smell of roasting flesh was pungent in the small space as the gore from the fallen burned itself clean of Inferno's blade. Kokhba's body collapsing as his head rolled across the floor and bumped against Scáth's boot. With a resigned sigh, he reached down to collect the disgusting trophy for the General. Hadrian would want to see proof that the man who had caused him so much trouble was dead. Gripping it by the hair as the blood inside drained over the cave floor, Scáth turned towards the stairs to follow Toothless outside. Retracting Inferno and placing the hilt back in its holster.

Then he returned to the surface as he summoned his knives. The green glow of the magic lighting his way. Finally coming to a stop beside his brother and placing the head in a cloth sack he'd kept ready in the saddlebag for this night. The Romans insistence on head hunting was something that Scáth had never been able to understand. Gazing around at the carnage of the small camp, he wiped the blood off his blades before replacing them in his armour. Then he climbed onto Toothless' saddle and they went to give the news and head to General Sextus.

As they took to the sky, they both finally became aware of the strong smell of fire. It was such a strange contrast to the coppery scent of blood that had permeated the air for months, that he had almost not recognized it at first. Turning around in the saddle, Scáth could see a bright glow coming from the fortified city behind them. Judging by the way it lit up the sky this must be a very large fire. How could he have been so distracted that he missed it? Toothless quickly flipped around and took them back. As they landed on the wall that surrounded Betar, Scáth stared down at an awful sight.

The city was burning. Or, more correctly, the holy temples were burning. As were many other important structures throughout the city. People were running, terrified, through the streets. Scáth watched helplessly as the screaming people were set upon by Roman soldiers as a wolf sets upon its prey. Weaponless men were slaughtered by armoured soldiers while women and children were dragged off into the night. Despite being frozen in his horror, Scáth realized what was happening. The Romans had finally broken through the city's defences. Now they were out to demoralize the Jews in their own way. By burning their holy places and taking or killing their families. It was monstrous.

At the same moment Scáth also realized that it would work too. He had just killed the man the Judean's were allied behind. Without him, the ranks would fall apart. The soldiers would have no mercy. It would be a massacre. He had to stop this. He had to go down there and save those people. Scáth had just started to take a step forward, unsure of what he even planned to do, when Toothless caught the back strap of his armour with his teeth.

"We cannot help them brother. There are far too many soldiers for you to fight alone and I cannot navigate properly through the smoke. I suppose this is what it means when the Romans remove a threat indefinitely," he scoffed sarcastically. "Take comfort at least in the fact that many of the women and children will be sold as slaves instead of slaughtered as the men are. It is a terrible prospect, but they will at least be alive." When the dragon released his armour, Scáth dropped to his knees. Clutching at his hair in desperate agony and looking up at his battle brother. He could see primal anger mixed with a terrible and ancient sadness in the acid green gaze.

Once again Scáth was shocked by his friend's ability to deny base emotions and use cool logic in times like this. He had often wished that he could do the same during the last four years. He just couldn't seem to shake the feeling that whatever happened to these people now was his fault. He had sealed their fate when he had killed their leader. How many towns and villages had been razed like this while he and Toothless had been distracting the soldiers at the walls? How much innocent blood was on his hands? He knew in his heart that many of those women would be raped tonight, as well as some of the children.

Yet here he was. A great warrior who was completely useless in the face of true terror. All his skill was worth nothing when helpless victims needed him most. He was no hero. He was nothing more than a monster playing pretend. The village screw-up once again. Resigned to the truth, Scáth raised himself to his feet and climbed numbly back onto Toothless.

They would return to Rome and gather what they needed from their apartments before leaving. It was over. Hadrian had broken their agreement by unleashing war on the innocent. They would leave and never look back. As they took off into the night Scáth let loose a terrible scream of rage that was echoed by the night fury beneath him. He could almost taste the fear of the armies on both sides as the cries of man and dragon echoed across the sky.

*

It was still dark when they reached the capital. Landing softly on the balcony, Scáth waved away the wards and looked around at the place they had called home for the past four years. Almost every inch of it was filled with items he treasured. Now, he must settle with taking only that which Toothless could carry. Sharpshot came into the room as he was beginning to gather his belongings. The small dragon helping him to collect supplies as he explained what had happened.

His bow and Inferno were already with him as was his armour, so he resorted to packing mostly clothing and food. Though he did make sure to take the ancient magic scrolls from the drawer, as they were not for the eyes of these traitors. He also decided to take along his remaining amber from Melody Island as well as his stores of silver coins that he had received as payment. Though it felt like blood money now, Scáth knew it was foolish to leave it behind when he would need coin to purchase supplies. Lastly he grabbed the necklace and axe in their silk wrappings. Both were gifts he had hoped to give to Astrid some day and he would not leave them behind for someone else to take.

Before leaving, he deposited all of his remaining notes and schematics into the fireplace and had Sharpshot blast them. No one else would make use of his knowledge without his consent. Scáth scrawled a quick note in Latin then. Laying it on his work desk next to the bloody sack containing Kokhba's severed head.

The note simply read, 'Hadrian has defiled my honour and abused his power. This head could just as easily be his. Consider my services terminated.' Man and dragons then left without a backward glance, Sharpshot riding on Scáth's shoulders. No destination in mind other than to get as far away from the city as possible before dawn broke.

_

Muah Ha Ha! The transformation from Runty Ugly Duckling to Dirty Dark Swan is finally complete! (More evil laughing)

I put a lot of thought and research into this chapter. I always wanted him to face the harsh reality that the 'good' side is really determined by who writes the history and who wins the war, regardless of their actions during. At first I was going to simply invent some sort of small battle where some random village is attacked. Then I thought, "you know what? I bet I can find some terrible, and terribly real, atrocity that the Romans committed during this same time frame instead." To no one's surprise, I did find one.

The Third Jewish-Roman War, commonly known as the Bar Kokhba Revolt, really did happen. It was a four year war from 132 - 136 AD, and the final straw for the Roman Emperor. Tired of uprisings in the province, he ordered no mercy for the rebels, or the people. Simon Bar Kokhba was using Betar as his stronghold and after 4 years of fighting, the legions finally took the fortified town. Effectively ending the uprising, but not the brutality.

I tried to keep a lot of the information as close to fact as I could while still maintaining creative licence for the good of the story. Although, Kokhba did fall when the Romans took Betar, and the Romans wrote the history. Maybe it was a lone dragon rider and his night fury that finished the man and the Romans simply took the credit. Seems like something they would do...

The resulting Roman 'victory' led to at least 580,000 Jews killed, 50 fortified towns and 985 villages razed, many more Jews dying from disease and famine, and the remaining Judean captives were sold into slavery. It has been described by some as a genocide, and I think we can pretty much agree with that statement. It also led to suppression of Jewish religious and political autonomy in the Empire as well as the barring of Jews from Jerusalem. The Romans even went so far as to wipe the province off the map by renaming it Syria Palaestina in an attempt to erase any memory of the event.

In the HTTYD Universe, Hiccup somehow seems to avoid the honest reality of PTSD, despite everything he goes through. I wonder if he will remain as steadfast and unaffected in my story...