Chapter Seven: The Outcast And The Outlander
Nestor attempted to ignore the blasts of sea spray pelting his face at random intervals, but it was hard to not shiver when ice water was freezing your face off. Proto skimmed the ocean at such a low altitude that he contacted the crest of every other wave, washing down Proto and wetting Nestor in the process. The light snow had tapered off for now, but the snowflakes were preferable to the liquid ice treatment. At least Proto's heated body took the edge off the cold.
"The Fates are messing with me, I just know it."
Nestor's observation went right past Proto without the Guardian making a literal comment. Proto was focused on Nestor's current order – approach the tiny island as covertly as possible, and Proto was doing so. This involved dropping to sea level and shifting direction so that the island's meager hill blocked their approach from the sight of the Vikings currently occupied with 429. Nestor had hoped that Proto had some kind of Shrouding ability, but that wasn't one of his talents.
429 had found humans – dragon-flying humans, if the three dragons Proto reported "sensing" were the Viking-on-board types. Seventeen humans, three dragons – an odd combination, especially on an extremely uninhabited island in the middle of nowhere. Berk was in the wrong direction, so none of this made much sense at the moment. Proto had the ability to sense and classify human-sized organisms (or larger) at half-a-mile away, allowing him to pick up on the weird party going on ahead of them, but that was all he knew about what was transpiring. He had to assume 429 was there to find out if any of the humans had that certain special something it wanted.
As they closed in, Nestor spotted a Viking longboat moored on a beach behind the hill. No one appeared to be occupying it. The longboat's decorative hull didn't match that of the ships the Berkians used. A rival clan, perhaps? It wasn't a Gunnarr ship, which was probably a good thing.
"Can 429 sense you?" he asked. The thought made him nervous. They now had the opportunity to catch up to 429 and he didn't want it spoiled by the faulty Guardian getting spooked and taking off.
Negative, stated Proto. This unit tracks 429 by the T-Node's energy trail. This unit and 429 designed to avoid detection by power-seeking magic and technology.
"What about me?"
There was a pause as Proto shifted course, aiming at a group of nearby breakers in the water that offered some cover to their approach. 429 already aware of your presence. Effect on 429's behavior unknown.
"If it's not taking off yet, it must not be concerned. That might give me the opening I need. The two of us can go in and surprise it. And if those Vikings complain, we'll just…"
Human Nestor, this unit cannot attack human organisms if they are hostile.
The declaration caught Nestor by surprise, mostly because he realized he'd forgotten that important fact. "At all? Even if they're attacking, well, me?"
Against command structure.
"Right, the all-important command structure. Well, I can handle a few unruly Vikings. Still, I'm pretty sure 429 doesn't feel the same way."
This unit can engage hostilities with 429 if required.
"That's something, at least." Nestor thought the contradictions in Proto's reasoning perplexing. Attack a human, even a hostile one? No way. Attack a fellow Guardian? That was just ducky. Yet it made sense the more he thought about it. If you designed a Guardian as a helper and a defender against an inhuman threat (in this case, the Ancestors), you might as well make it difficult for it to turn on the humans it was supposed to assist. Though in the case of 429, difficult didn't mean impossible.
They landed amidst the surf break next to the tiny island. Proto extended its legs and walked the two of them out of the surf and onto the pebbled beach, keeping its torso low to the ground. Nestor jumped off once they hit dry land and Shrouded as his feet touched the earth. He was prepared to lead the way up the hill towards the camped Vikings when he noticed how prominently Proto's shining body glimmered in the defused sunlight. He quickly surmised that he'd only sneak up on the gathered Vikings successfully if he investigated by himself.
"Proto, you need to wait here and hide yourself," he said. "Try near those rocks over there." Nestor gestured to a group of half-submerged rocks out in the water. "I'll call for you if I need you."
Proto focused its tentacle head on Nestor in a gesture that almost made it seem like it was concerned by his decision. Human Nestor, 429 is unpredictable. Hostility is probable.
"I know, Proto," he reassured, even if he was wasting his breath trying to reassure a machine. "Assuming I get the opportunity to close in on 429, where would 429 keep the T-Node on its body?'
Probable location is within central torso, near underside. T-Node detectable by energy lattice feeding from T-Node to 429's exoskeleton. Nestor wasn't sure what that meant exactly, but he figured "aim for the glowing spot" was the gist of it.
Like the compliant Guardian it was, Proto moved out toward the breakers while Nestor climbed the hill in Shroud form. Nestor wasn't sure if he'd made the right call in hiding Proto, as the presence of another Guardian might intimidate the Vikings into playing nice. But in Nestor's experience, a Viking was more likely to respond to intimidation with increased hostility than he was to back down. Not to mention that Proto would probably be useless in a fight against the Vikings, what with its pacifistic command structure. He was better off handling this alone.
It was an easy climb and there were no sentries on the lookout, allowing him to nimbly maneuver behind a smattering of rocks near the crest before any of the mean-looking Norsemen could detect him. Keeping his Shroud on while sticking his neck out for a look-see, he picked out roughly ten grime-covered Vikings on the other side of the hill, gathered near 429. One of them was standing right next to the rogue Guardian, apparently doing absolutely nothing but having a staring contest while his pals watched in silence.
Not far from them were the three dragons Proto had detected. Much to Nestor's confusion, all three dragons were bound up like hogs waiting for a slaughter. To increase his confusion more, he swore he recognized the dragons as belonging to Hiccup's Dragon Squad friends. At the very least they seemed like Berkian dragons, with their tamer dispositions and forlorn glances down the hill towards a second group of Vikings.
He then surveyed the second group and saw enough to end his confusion and replace it with full-scale alarm.
He never really got a chance to know Hiccup's friends from Berk outside of Astrid, as he had kept out of Berk for most of his stay on the island and his brief attempt to enjoy the comforts of the village were cut short by Saga's proclamation of a dire future. He never got to know Snotlout, Fishlegs, Ruffnut and Tuffnut except in passing. Based on what he knew of them, he preferred it that way. Hiccup had to be a saint to put up with that bunch for as long as he has. Opinions aside, they were obviously in trouble, the bounty of rope around their bodies and the steely-looking Viking guard watching them make that painfully clear.
The Fates were definitely messing with him. The odds of him showing up at this little gathering after being transported hundreds of miles into an ancient cavern? Pretty small.
Saga, the real Saga and not the one that came to him during near-death experiences, had once told him that there was no such thing as destiny, only possibilities, and those possibilities were based on the paths you took in life. Some paths made use of your personality and skills more than others, some paths brought success while others brought ruin, but in the end you always had the choice to accept or decline a path. There were always multiple paths in life, and multiple consequences.
Yet Nestor still believed there were other forces at work, attempting to create a desired outcome while shoving poor mortals onto this path or that path. Case in point: Hiccup and Nestor kept running into each other despite Nestor's efforts to keep Hiccup out of his life. Indeed, the two of them had needed to work together in order to save the day, first against Cervantes and later the Alchemist. It was why he feared for Hiccup, but didn't despair too deeply at his friend's disappearance. Deep in his heart, he held a childish faith that they would reunite again because the Fates wanted it that way. The Fates apparently wanted him to save the day here as well, though they could've just asked politely and not plop him in an ancient cavern so he could nearly die of asphyxiation.
Of course, it could also be argued that he'd followed the trail of a malfunctioning war machine and that Hiccup's friends had a habit of getting into trouble and that, today of all days, the two factors had overlapped. There weren't any other forces in motion other than pure luck.
Nah. The Fates were most definitely messing with him.
Alvin didn't know the word hypnosis and it stood to reason that he likely would never learn such a scholarly word. Not many scholars came to Outcast Island unless they were hostages for ransoming. But had he known the word, and had he been able to communicate with his goon squad behind him, he would have argued that the steel devil hadn't hypnotized or glamoured him at all despite his trance-like behavior. He was having a polite conversation, albeit a weird one.
The steel devil didn't talk to him with words and a voice, but sent images into Alvin's head that played out like warrior poetry put to life. Most of them were of people and places he'd never seen or heard of, a great land where the buildings climbed toward the sky and strange boats floated in the air. Then it would shift to a scene of a tense battle where the floating wagons or boats exchanging projectiles with other floating boats, then to a dying forest where every tree was afflicted with a great wasting disease, then to a guy with a thick beard talking to what looked like a pet turtle. What kind of man talked to a turtle?
It was insanity, yet Alvin found it so alluring that he greeted the images happily, even if most of it made no sense. Because while there appeared no rhyme or reason to the sequence of pictures entering his mind, they all had one running theme in common – power.
All these strange humans, all these machines and floating boats and amazing displays of violence, all of them wetted Alvin's lust for power. There were weapons out there that could reduce villages like Berk into kindling in seconds. They existed once – they may exist still. What a force he would be if he could get his hands on such devices. And the best part was that this steel devil had such knowledge at its disposal. If he could just learn a few of its secrets…
Then images of the bearded turtle-lover came into focus, the man standing in a torch-lit cave somewhere, except the torches resembled rocks that shined from the inside. The steel devil stood before the man, listening as the turtle-lover squawked to it in an incomprehensible language that sounded like a dog whining and clicking his tongue at the same time. The steel devil then proceeded to clear debris from the cave, piling it up in a metal wagon nearby.
Several more images of a similar nature played out, one right after the other. Turtle-lover said something to the steel devil; steel devil went and performed a menial task in the cave. No one had ever accused Alvin of having an excess of gray matter, but even he managed to pick up on the common thread laced in the visions. The steel devil was being ordered around. It seemed to want this.
Does it want me to give it orders? Alvin mused. It made no sense. Why would it seek out a known scofflaw if it were only looking to do janitorial duties?
Then it occurred to him that this thing had a variety of talents. It flattened what's-his-name in no time. Perhaps he just needed to get imaginative.
The steel devil's attention was diverted about the time a newcomer had entered the fray, one the Guardian had encountered before and who constituted a significant danger. Before it broke off contact, he fed Alvin one final image. Alvin hadn't yet decided how to make this intriguing steel devil work for him, but the steel devil already had an idea on what he could do with his new metal friend, going as far as to tell him the special phrase he needed to get the unnatural thing to spring into action.
The horrible smile on his face suggested the idea was a real winner.
Unlike the rest of his friends and his sister, Tuffnut had his back to the whole Alvin-and-the-steel-devil drama and it took too much effort to swing his head around to watch. Despite the serious likelihood that there weren't going to live out the day, Tuffnut found himself getting bored from all the waiting for someone to die.
"Ruff, did you really mean what you said?" asked Tuffnut.
Ruffnut, focused on the Guardian up the hill and doing her best to hide her fear of the thing, still managed to rustle up some irritation. "Seriously, you're going to continue this discussion now?"
"When else are we going to do it?"
"How about when we're not tied up and surrounded by Outcasts?"
"I want to know, Ruff. I want to know why you've been acting weird."
"How am I acting all that weird? A lot of other people like pottery and books, you know."
"Yeah, but we're not other people. We're Ruff and Tuff. We raise hell and make people angry every second of the day. We've been doing it all our lives."
"And don't you think it's time for a change?"
Ruffnut hesitated, unsure if he heard that right. "Is this a trick question?"
"No." Tuffnut attempted to adopt a less-angry tone of voice and somewhat succeeded. She had prepared a speech for the day when her brother successfully wised up to her new habits, and while the situation didn't look promising in the slightest, now was as good a time as any to spill her guts while she still had guts to spill.
"Tuff, you're my brother and you'll always be my brother until the moment I die… which may not be all that long from now. The Gods know there's not a day I haven't wanted to give you a black eye, but I can't say I haven't had fun giving them to you. Still, I think our routine has gotten… old."
"Old?" Tuffnut couldn't believe his sister was capable of saying these words. "We were just getting warmed up. Remember that shenanigan list we made? We're only halfway through it. We were about to try filling the village well with sour yak milk."
"Missing the point, Tuff. I'm tired of it. I'm not a kid anymore. Sheep stampedes aren't as fun as they used to be, and it turns out that pottery isn't as dull as I thought it was. Plus I get to take all the discards and use them for target practice with Barf-Belch."
"Wait, is this about Astrid leaving?" said Tuffnut, as if he hadn't heard anything she'd just said. "Because I'm pretty sure you got weird right about the time she took off with Hiccup."
Ruff was shocked into silence briefly. Her brother was actually capable of experiencing insight. "That's part of it. I mean, she's off on a grand adventure and I'm stuck here with you guys all the time. I've been asking myself why I can't do what Astrid's been doing – fighting monsters, seeing the world, spending time with a guy who isn't her brother…"
"Wait a second." Perhaps it was the fear of immanent death at the hands of Alvin that was sharpening his mind, but Ruff suddenly had another moment of insight, making it a grand total of two insights in as many years. "Is this about Astrid leaving… or that Outlander guy?"
Ruff had another bout of brother-induced shock, and she quieted and looked out at the wide-open sea rather than answer. In terms of interesting things to look at, she was looking the wrong way.
The one nearby Outcast guard was an especially impatient Viking, an unhappy brute who got distracted merely walking to the outhouse in the mornings. He had taken to fiddling with his wooden club while glancing longingly at his pals up the hill or glancing menacingly at the four hostages. Then the Twins began their insipid discussion and he began to debate whether it'd be worth it to brain the two blabbermouths and risk Alvin's wrath to get out of guard duty. As harsh as Alvin's punishments were, at least they were always exciting.
As Ruffnut's silence continued and her brother wondered if she had even heard his last question, the guard suddenly had plenty of excitement when something grabbed him from behind, unseen hands gripped around his neck and mouth, inhibiting his ability to call out as well as breathe. He reacted by swinging his club and braining himself with it, making his attacker's job much easier.
"Ruff, did you fall asleep on me again?" asked Tuff.
"No… it was just that… well…"
"It is about that guy. That's why you're reading a stupid romance epic." Tuffnut groaned irately. "I knew that guy was trouble the moment he saved you from falling to your death."
"Oh, I'm sorry you don't approve of that kind of thing," shot back Ruffnut.
"You know what I mean. You do realize he's not even a Viking, and definitely not normal, and you can stop pulling against me because we're not getting loose that way."
"Idiot, I'm not pulling against you. You're doing it to me." She sounded too irritated to be lying.
"I'm pretty sure I'd know if I was trying to escape, Ruff," replied Tuff.
"Salo krebit, will you two shut up!" whispered a third insistent voice.
The Twins did shut up, if only out of sheer shock over the disembodied voice that was pulling at their ropes. It was Ruffnut who looked the right direction first and saw the blurred human figure kneeling down next to them and yanking at the knots securing their bindings. Her shock didn't lesson, but she now wore a little smile.
On the other hand, her brother didn't have the angle to see the phantom figure. "Uh, Ruff, was that you just now?" he asked.
"Ah, yeah, she's been working on her impersonations," Nestor replied flippantly. "Now quiet down before you draw attention."
"What are you two doing?" Snotlout had twisted his head around after hearing a voice that didn't match either twin. His eyes widened when he saw the distorted form wrestling with the Twins' bonds. "Whoa, seriously, what's going on?"
Nestor sighed and dropped his Shroud, giving Snotlout a dirty look that suggested he was unimpressed with the young Viking's subterfuge skills. Snotlout got the point, nodded, and quieted immediately.
Fishlegs wore a gleeful, hopeful expression at the unexpected rescue. "Yay, the Outlander," whispered Fishlegs, well aware that less noise was a good idea. "That means Green Lightning is around here somewhere. I never got to measure his wingspan for the Dragon Manual."
"What about Hiccup, Astrid, and Toothless?" Snotlout whispered back. "Why's the Outlander the only one showing up to this party?"
Deciding that speed was more important than subtlety, what with Hiccup's Dragon Squad all but announcing his presence, Nestor put a little more power into his grip and ripped the securing knot clean off. The ropes fell free and the Twins rose to their feet while Nestor went to Fishlegs, keeping an eye on the uglier Vikings up the hill to see if they'd noticed him. So far, they were too caught up in whatever was happening between their leader and 429 to look his way.
"What are you doing here?" asked Snotlout, a little put out that Nestor was saving him for last.
"Very long story," said Nestor, ripping off Fishlegs's bonds in one strong yank.
"Where's Hiccup and Astrid?" asked Fishlegs.
"Very long story." His stern face slipped slightly at the mention of Astrid, but only for a moment.
"Are you here all by yourself?" asked Ruffnut, the Twins standing by Snotlout and making themselves useful by getting him free. Ruffnut sounded oddly cheerful, which increased the depth of her brother's frown while he stared unhappily at Nestor.
"Very long story," repeated Nestor. "That's three, my turn." Nestor gestured at the Vikings up the hill. "Not friends of yours, I take it."
"That's Alvin the Treacherous, and his Outcasts," explained Fishlegs. "They're not nice, even by Viking standards."
"Ah, yeah, the name's a bit of a giveaway." Nestor then gestured at the bound-up dragons, who had been left largely unguarded. There were still three Outcasts meandering near the Nightmare, though their attention was drawn to the Guardian more than the dragons. "You four count to thirty, get to your dragons and get clear of here. Get back to Berk and stay there. I'll meet you after I get what I came for, then I'll tell you the very long story."
"Thirty? Who can count to thirty?" said Snotlout. His ropes were off and he stood with the Twins, all of them looking skeptical about this plan.
"I'll do the counting," offered Fishlegs.
"And the guards?" asked Tuffnut.
"By the time Fishlegs gets to thirty, they'll be very busy," explained Nestor.
"What about you?" asked Ruffnut, easily noticing the lack of any ships or untied dragons in the area. "How are you getting off the island?"
"Same way I got on. Now, if you'll pardon me, I have a date with a Guardian. Again, very long story."
Nestor headed up the hill without his Shroud, obviously prepared to be conspicuous. The young Vikings watched him go while Fishlegs quietly counted to thirty, the others mostly choosing to keep silent and not spoil the confusing-yet-fortuitous turn of events; all except Tuffnut.
"At least he's not dating you," he commented in Ruffnut's ear, earning him an elbow to the stomach.
The first indication the Outcasts had that they had another newcomer to their hostage party was when one of them unwilling came off his feet and flew into another burly Outcast, the two men cursing as they went down in a heap. Their collective attention shifted to the skinny man defiantly walking past the first of their group, bafflement running rampant.
This being the Outcasts, who preferred to greet guests to their parties with the sharp end of their axes, confusion soon changed to disdain and hostility. They regarded Nestor and his confident posture with searing animosity; their cold, angry eyes suggesting a horde of cruelties were about to beset him. Unlike the Dragon Conqueror's comrades, this one had no value. This one could be hurt with impunity. Such were the hearts of the Outcasts that they didn't even consider how a twerpy character like Nestor could have flattened two Vikings until another mook charged in with his sword and was met with Nestor's arms. A shiny energy field shattered the sword upon impact, steel shards raining down at Nestor's feet, and the same field batted down the surprised Outcast as Nestor's fist greeted his face.
After that, the Outcasts adopted the same looks they had reserved for the steel devil, and they gave Nestor the space required to approach Alvin unmolested. Let their not-exactly-beloved leader deal with the unnatural man – worst case, they could always get someone else to lead the Outcasts.
Alvin and 429 had concluded their "conversation," giving Nestor their full attention as he strode up to the blade-covered Outcast. Alvin had an intrigued air to him as he attempted to discern who this interloper was, and then laughing heartily when he clearly thought he had it figured out. 429's tentacle-head stared right at Nestor, its unreadable eyes hiding its intentions. Nestor hid his own intentions behind a mask of stern confidence, one Arc had told him to use when dealing with threats. It would've been easier to maintain if he only had the odiferous Alvin to deal with, but he didn't know how 429 was going to react, and the Guardian was plenty of a threat.
Alvin finished his laughing fit and said, "Ah, I get it. Outlander, right? I heard about you in the same tales that feature these steel devils." He jabbed a thumb in 429's direction, then waved at Nestor, unimpressed by the size difference between them. You could've fit two, maybe three Nestors within Alvin's bulk. "I should've assumed you wouldn't live up to the legend."
Nestor shrugged, not at all fazed by the Outcast's veiled insult. "At least you've heard of me. Can't say the same for you."
It wasn't much of a comeback, not by Nestor's standards, but the ego-driven Outcast took it much worse than expected, dropping his dismissive smile. "What was that?"
"Never heard of you."
"Never heard of me?" Alvin huffed and pounded his chain mail. "I'm the scourge of Berk! I've fought the blasted Dragon Conqueror over…" He stopped to count on his fingers and somehow lost track getting that far. "We've fought over and over. I am the Great Nemesis of the Dragon Conqueror… and you don't know of me?"
"Assuming that you're referring to Hiccup, I'm sorry to tell you that your name has never come up once." Nestor smiled, relishing watching Alvin's pride deflate before him. "He must not see you as nemesis material. To be fair, though, we've had a lot bigger threats to deal with than…"
"Bigger threats? THERE ARE NO BIGGER THREATS THAN ME!" roared Alvin.
"I'll take your word for it."
An enraged dragon roar from down the hill ended the discussion and switched matters to the captive dragons, or more accurately the previously captive dragons. The men Alvin had stationed to guard the beasts were now running for their lives toward the sea, their fannies smoking or outright on fire from close proximity to the Nightmare's self-combustion talent. The dragon cried out in bloodlust and anger as his bonds snapped and burned, his wings spreading out and his head whirling around to send another blast of red hot death at the fleeing Outcasts. The trained dragon didn't go for the kill shot and merely toasted their boots as they ran on.
Snotlout ran up to his loyal mount, patted him reassuringly on the snout and then boarded him, all the while wincing from the heat of his dragon's residual burning. Fenrir moved to the Gronckle and the Zippleback and snapped at the ropes, ripping them apart with his razor-sharp teeth. Fishlegs and the Twins quickly ran to their dragons and helped pull the bindings off their reptilian companions, the dragons greeting them happily as their riders mounted them. With nary a moment of hesitation, the Dragon Squad took off and headed out to sea, presumably toward Berk.
The whole time this was going on, Alvin and his men stood and watched like spectators at a pit fight, Alvin frowning and his men close to panic. They had awaited the word to attack, and they never got it. That made them even more panicky as Alvin's predictable inclination towards any problem was to kill it. Their whole plan had just flown out to sea, and yet their leader didn't seem all that disturbed by it.
Nestor watched them go with palpable relief. They were free and out of harm's way. Hiccup would be happy knowing that his friends were going to make it out of this mess.
Hoping that Alvin would be more cooperative with his leverage gone, Nestor turned back to him and said, "Now, I need to deal with the 'steel devil' behind you. Stand aside and you and your men can leave."
Alvin's frown lingered for a second, then reversed itself into an evil smile. "I don't think so."
"Chief, we just lost the dragons," pointed out a goon. The murmuring that followed suggested Alvin's men were at a loss as to why this pleased Alvin so.
"We no longer need them, boys," said Alvin, adding a chuckle.
The statement confused his men, but it alarmed Nestor. He saw 429 creep closer to Alvin, as if anticipating that Alvin needed him. Nestor had suspected 429 was here to find a human compatible with its warped sense of command structure. By the Fates, please let that not be Alvin.
"Boys, I've had a nice chat with the steel devil," said Alvin. "Can't say I understand everything it was telling me, but it made one thing clear – I help it, it helps me. And the first thing it's going to help me with is to teach this mongrel deviltry-wielder here not to get all up in my business."
"I don't know what you think is going to happen here (WHAM!)…"
Nestor barely saw the tentacle that smashed him in the chest. It came out of 429, whirled around Alvin like an agile snake, and struck him hard, Nestor's field flaring as he flew backward down the hill, scouring the hard snow with his body. His arms reflectively dropped and dragged on the ground, halting his momentum so that he didn't go sliding all the way down into the freezing waters.
Feeling like he'd just been felled by a rockslide, Nestor struggled to his feet and nonchalantly brushed the snow off his clothing, hoping he didn't look as uneasy as he felt. No harm from the hit, as usual, but the speed at which 429 had attacked had been incredible. It hadn't been that fast in the cavern. Perhaps it had been in a weakened state from a lack of mystical energy, and now it had the T-Node's energy to feed it.
Alvin's men looked on in alarm and amazement as Alvin put out a big ol' belly laugh and took two steps backward, so that he was practically touching 429's misshapen torso. "I could let the devil do the deed for me, Outlander. But really, where's the fun in that?"
The next thing that came out of Alvin's mouth sounded a lot like a wolf baying at the moon in-between three clicks of the tongue. His men, already debating amongst themselves who got Alvin's collection of petrified dragon eggs since it was increasingly clear that Alvin had gone mad, heard the sounds as insanity-fueled gibberish. Nestor heard the sounds and found an unsettling meaning behind them. He doubted Alvin had a working knowledge of Ancient Artisanae – he must have come from 429 – but he said the three-word phrase pretty well for an illiterate muscle-head.
Give me protection.
The air seemed to hush in expectation as 429 moved forward, its body separating and spreading out like dough on a kitchen counter. The metal became fluid, liquidly in nature, and it flowed around Alvin's body, coating his chest, thighs, and legs as if intending to absorb him into its mass. Alvin laughed and spread out his arms, utterly thrilled at the notion of being enveloped by the steel devil as it lifted him off his boots and into its embrace. In mere seconds he was merged into 429's torso like a malformed snowman, with only his head above the fluid metal.
Nestor thought he'd seen it all, yet every other day something occurred to prove him wrong. As distracting as the sight of watching a man merging with a Guardian was, he had the wherewithal to spot a pyramid-like object sticking out of 429 for a brief second, dislodged by its owner's transformation. But it was swallowed up again before Nestor could get a firm fix on its location inside the Guardian.
The transformation continued as 429's torso lengthened and thinned, forming stork-like legs with gripper feet that punched through the crusted snow and gripped the rock layer below it. Silver metal flowed down Alvin's arms, enveloped them, morphing to resemble grossly distorted metal copies that were more tentacle than human and three to four times as long, complete with flexible joints and moving fingers. His new legs elongated until his uncovered head now towered ten feet tall. Most of Alvin's torso remained encased in myssteel, his one vulnerable spot being his scarred, yet perfectly happy, face.
Nestor thought of a puppet made of crude steel, built with a head three sizes too small and no love of artistry, and figured it couldn't look any worse than how Alvin looked now. This was 429's idea of protection, designed less for looks than for combat effectiveness.
Alvin stopped his laughing and swiveled his head to inspect his metal body, seemingly impressed. His right arm moved and flexed like a real human arm, albeit far longer and thicker proportionally. He brought a metal hand to his face and wiggled the fingers before him. It struck him funny once more and he clapped his metal hands together, the loud bang of metal on metal echoing across the island.
"This is better than dragons, boys," declared Alvin, his men more impressed now that the horrific transformation had ceased. He looked at Nestor, lifting a metal limb and pointing it his way. "It's a shame Hiccup's friends all deserted you, Outlander. I wanted to try this out on a dragon, so that I'll know what to expect when I pay a visit to Berk. But all I have is you – that'll have to do."
Nestor didn't begrudge Hiccup's friends for leaving. He'd told them to do so. They didn't have the experience fighting Guardians he had, and in all honesty they didn't strike him as the most disciplined of warriors to begin with. But he did feel a measure of regret in sending them away as promptly as he had, because he could've used assistance right about now.
It'd been a long time since he'd gone into combat without someone at his back or his side. Arc had been there for him ever since the fateful day the Hyperion gave up his precious barrier field. Hiccup had become a trustworthy friend, always providing air support where needed. Saga was a fellow warrior, rushing into the fray right alongside her friend Astrid. Even Qiao and Linebreaker, two people he barely knew and whom he had reason to remain curious about, had proven themselves trustworthy in battle. He'd gladly have any of them at his side right now.
Arc had once told him that the only kind of heroes that fought alone were the dead ones, and Nestor believed him wholeheartedly. So what did you do when you had to fight alone?
He resisted glancing at the beach where he left Proto. The Guardian might be incredibly useful in a fight, or it might be a humongous liability, and either way he wanted to save Proto as a last resort if the battle went against him.
The long, steel legs of the Alvin-429 combo strode toward him with not a single wobble in his gait. Nestor shunted power to his limbs and watched Alvin approach, looking for a hitch in his stride or other signs of vulnerability. No obvious signs presented themselves.
With a hideous laugh, Alvin lashed out with his right arm, the limb lengthening in transit so that it was more metal whip than arm. Nestor dashed backward to avoid it, but at the last second the tentacle lengthened a foot further and found Nestor's undefended side. The blow knocked Nestor off-kilter, almost sending him sprawling down the hill again before he regained his balance. Anticipating a follow-up attack, Nestor used the residual impact to speed up his next dodge as Alvin's left appendage swung around, denting the snow where Nestor used to be.
Alvin pressed his advantage and swung his new myssteel limbs around with wild abandon. Nestor darted between them, feeling the rush of wind from each near-miss grow stronger with each attempt. Any normal man would have been slaughtered by now, and while Nestor was slowly getting the feel of Alvin's style of fighting, he had a feeling Alvin, or perhaps 429, was doing the same. The Guardian had tremendous strength, as most Guardians did, and the island began looking more and more cratered and pocketed as Alvin continued his assault.
Nestor needed to get in close and finish this quickly, or else his field, still not fully recharged from his battle with the world's worst cave-in, would diminish too much and Alvin would then turn him into pulp. Good thing Alvin fought with little more than a bruiser's mentality – overpower, then kick your opponent in the ribs for good measure. The trick was not to get to the rib-kicking stage, which was easier said than done. 429 gave Alvin the advantage of range with his extended appendages and Nestor couldn't even get within fifteen feet of the Alvin-429 combination with Alvin's tireless attacks blocking the way.
Another baker's dozen of rapid swings went by, keeping Nestor on the defensive, but he did notice two things about the Alvin-429 monstrosity. Chiefly, Alvin didn't move as fast as 429 could, possibly because 429 might damage Alvin doing so. Alvin was flesh and blood, stuck with the burly body the Fates gave him. That meant 429 was limited to some degree while he was protecting the murderous Outcast.
Second, the all-important glowing spot had presented itself, situated near Alvin's right shoulder and encased in a thick section of metal that looked more tumorous than shoulder-like, veins of white energy standing in contrast to the silver surface. That had to be the T-Node.
"C'mon, Outlander, show me your moves," chided Alvin, launching a right-left combo that Nestor danced away from… just barely. "Aren't you the guy that took on a hundred Gunnarr? The guy that helped the Dragon Conqueror destroy the Mono-thingy, or whatever it was called?"
"I sure am," retorted Nestor. Alvin was proving too predictable in his swings, and Nestor now had a pattern to anticipate. He let Alvin's next two attacks go by, taking a glancing hit from Alvin's left arm that made his whole body shudder, then funneled power to his legs and charged straight at Alvin while his arms were still retracting. It was going to be close, the snow flying as his feet propelled him up the hill and into the air, his timing right on the coin as he sailed toward the glowing spot…
… And then he was flying again, but in a direction not of his choosing, as two new tentacles erupted out of the Guardian's chest region, slapping him away like a flyswatter taking out a gnat.
Nestor hit the snow and sent a blizzard of ice into the air, sliding down the hill until he found a flat region right before the pebbled beach. Unlike the snow, the pebbles succeeded in arresting his slide, but they did little for the pain or the daze-creating spinning in his head. It took several painful seconds for Nestor to rise as far as his knees, trying to will the mad spinning to stop while keeping a dizzy eye on the laughing metal monster known as Alvin. A chorus of other laughs followed Alvin as he strode down the hill, taking his sweet time as if he had plenty of it.
Problem was, he did.
"Lots of tricks to this steel devil," boasted Alvin. "Don't worry, Outlander. This isn't going to end too soon. I want to try them all out on you before I leave."
Alvin's right hand reached down into a snowbank and came out with a large snow-encrusted rock the size of a large wagon wheel. Gripping it like a snowball, he threw back his hand and tossed it with startling accuracy right at Nestor, who had just gotten over his last bout of head-spinning only to be struck with a new case. His field flared violently as the rock bounced off Nestor's chest, sending him skidding across the pebbles and into the water.
Frigid waves lapped at his body, the cold simultaneously waking him up with its icy needles and numbing him where it touched. Nestor forced himself out of the surf and back to the beach, grimly aware that his field had no effect on cold.
"Ha, bet that's brisk!" Alvin cackled, his men joining in. Nestor's blood was running too hot for the combination of damp clothes and frigid air to slow him down, but he knew it would take its toll soon enough. Not to mention that his field strength was down to less than a quarter already, Alvin's punishing attacks wearing him down fast.
One plus in Nestor's favor was that Alvin was proving to be one of those braggart-class villains who couldn't help but have a good laugh when he thought he had the upper hand. He wasn't efficient, not bothering to do the smart move and finish off Nestor. Alvin could stand back and rain down boulders on his head, but Nestor wagered that wasn't Alvin's style. Guys like Alvin liked to stand over their victim's still-living body and gloat.
"I haven't had this much fun in years," yelled down Alvin, continuing down the hill but at a slower pace so that he could savor the experience. "In fact, I'll give you a minute to catch your breath before I come down there. Don't want to ruin the fun too quickly."
Nestor looked around the island for options. As he'd already found out, the water was freezing; swimming would be a death sentence. There were no caves and no brush and he doubted building a snow fort would do him any good. He was definitely at last resort time, but a quick glance around the beach revealed no sign of Proto. It was possible the Guardian had decided to hide underwater, since it didn't need to breathe…
That's when Nestor spotted a large pile of rocks and pebbles down the beach that was strangely out of place, a collection of random bits of stone that surely couldn't have been formed by the tides. It looked like a young child's sand sculpture if you replaced the sand with hard rock. In fact, it had the same artistic style as the rock tumors from Proto's cave.
And, Nestor suddenly observed, it also had three blue eyes staring out at him.
Proto. Salo krebit, the atypical Guardian had fallen back to old habits. Proto had taken the notion of lying low seriously, building a new rock-shell around him as camouflage. Nestor couldn't deny the subtle brilliance of the move.
Nestor ran down the beach in a frantic, staggering fashion, hoping to fool Alvin into thinking he was injured and looking for a place to hide. When he got close to the rock pile, Nestor went on one knee and did his best to look exhausted. It wasn't a hard act – the cold was starting to seep in and sap his energy.
"Proto, what are you doing in there?" he said, keeping his eyes toward Alvin, who had stopped to take suggestions from his men on the best way to flay the skin from Nestor's body.
Formulating analysis of 429's attack pattern. Proto's eyes were the only part of the Guardian visible, resembling shiny aqua-blue rocks to the unknowing.
"Wonderful, but why aren't you out here beating up on 429?"
Unacceptable. Damage to human organism cohabitating with 429 highly probable.
Nestor grunted his annoyance. "Terrific, you won't attack while Alvin is buddying up with 429. Is there anything useful you can do?"
As mentioned, completing analysis of 429's attack pattern.
"Which means what?"
429 exhibits predictable behavior during combat. The unit can plot micro-movements and chart probable result of various…
"Explanations later! What I heard was that you can predict 429's attacks. How does that help me?"
This unit feeds information to Human Nestor. Human Nestor can them compensate for 429's superior combat ability.
As ideas went, it wasn't a bad one. Nestor had gotten the impression that 429 had been analyzing his moves and compensating for them, which was why Alvin was fighting so blasted well. 429 had to have forged a mental link with Alvin, just like Proto had with Nestor. It remained to be seen which one of the tag-teamers was really calling the shots, as there was no way the obtuse Outcast had thought up those tentacles on the fly.
If Proto could do the same to 429, Nestor stood a chance at turning the tide. The only other option was to get back on Proto and take off, but that would leave Alvin with 429 and 429 with the T-Node, a completely unacceptable option.
"How long before you're ready?" he asked.
Analysis model complete in 2.54 minutes.
Nestor grunted again. Alvin had taken all the sadistic suggestions he wanted and was now plodding down the hill to fulfill them. Nestor didn't have 2.54 minutes. Alvin would be on him in less than one. Nestor thought about outrunning Alvin, but he had nowhere to go and he needed every ounce of power left in his field for the next round.
"Hope you've said your prayers to whatever gods you worship," said Alvin, having shortened the distance between them by half.
Maybe he needed a different approach. Alvin was your typical brute-class villain; lots of muscles, lots of ego, very little brain. Perhaps it was time to make that little brain work in Nestor's favor.
Nestor stood up and took several hesitant steps towards Alvin, hoping that his shivering came off like a bad case of nerves. He wanted Alvin to keep thinking he had Nestor on the ropes for as long as possible. "We may have gotten off on the wrong foot, Alvin," he shouted. "I suppose if I'd been called small potatoes, I'd be in a bad mood as well."
Alvin stopped in his tracks, glaring at Nestor in confusion. "Boy, you didn't call me small potatoes. I have a good memory concerning who insults me, and that never came up."
"Didn't it?" Nestor said, acting innocent. "My folly, then. I thought all this was over the fact that you're a very small player in the world. Of course, now you have a Guardian working for you… not that it'll change anything."
"What rubbish are you spewing, Outlander?" Alvin sounded too cheerful to be insulted, but his tone suggested that Nestor's words were rubbing him the wrong way.
"Do you really think one steel devil is going to make Alvin the Treacherous into a power to be reckoned with? You know better than that. You're in a world of militant Vikings, ancient necromancers, and steel devils the size of islands… and that's just the tip of the iceberg. Do you really think you're going to take on Berk's dragons that way?"
Not surprisingly, none of this had entered Alvin's mind. Alvin screwed up his face as he thought it over, even bringing a metal hand to his chin and scratching it absently, then wincing when the hand scratched a little too hard. "I'll figure something out, Outlander. Besides, my new best friend here can lead me to other steel devils."
"That thing is out of its mind, Alvin," stated Nestor.
"Yes, and it has good company," replied Alvin with a smile.
"It's also thousands of years out of date. I, on the other hand, know where some of the steel devils are buried right now."
Alvin gave Nestor a distrusting glare and then laughed dismissively. "Are you actually offering to trade information for you life, Outlander?"
Nestor sighed in exaggerated weariness. "I know when I'm beat, Alvin. I can't win this one. But we can both get something out of our unexpected meeting here."
"I already have gotten something, you fool," bragged Alvin. "Besides, I know a thing or two about silver tongues, and you have a big one. Once upon a time, your pal Hiccup tried to pull one over on me… and… okay, he did pull one over on me, but I've wizened up since then. No friend of the Dragon Conqueror is going to sweet talk me away from the violence I so richly deserve."
With that, the negotiations came to an end as 429's giant legs resumed their walking, Alvin chuckling as a pair of new tentacles formed from his metal body's midsection. The tentacles waved in the air like irate cobras, growing sharp clamps at the tips that opened and closed like eager mouths, adding to the misshapen design of Alvin's walking weapon. Alvin must not have thought he had enough killing power, as the fingers of both hands lost their shape and merged into a singular appendage on each arm. The appendages then twisted and molded into new shapes, the right one akin to a double-bladed axe and the left one a spike-covered mace. Typical Viking tools of the trade.
It had to have been over three minutes by now. It had to be – it certainly felt like it. But there was no voice in Nestor's head giving him advice or pointing out the weak spot in 429's defenses. Proto was silent, and Nestor was out of time.
Nestor held his ground as Alvin advanced, charged up his field as Alvin came into melee range, and hoped that Proto rusted in his hiding spot as all four of Alvin's metal limbs came in for the kill.