THERE WERE MANY , many ways to describe how the island of Berk looked the second Scratch Haddock rolled out into the open air, lashing out with her battle axe at the terrible beast which launched toward her, claws extended to rip her head clean off her shoulders.
Miserable, some would say. Sturdy, others would claim, upon gazing at the multiple flaming houses, the cracked statues which refused to fall, or even the many vikings who clung to the back of their current enemies which laid siege to the village.
Dragons.
Were they crazy? Perhaps.
Did that mean they were going to leave? Absolutely not.
Scratch had lived on this island her whole life, and Berk had settled here for the last seven generations. She had learned long ago that Vikings remained here by spite alone.
Stubbornness issues. One just had to love it, didn't they?
Swinging her axe as the dragon which had destroyed her house — again — pounced, the teenage girl flipped back onto her feet, twisting as a torrent of fire blazed mere inches from her face. She gritted her teeth in a feral snarl, pushing off the ground to leap toward the creature's wing. A spray of blood splattered in her face as her axe made contact with the doomed lizard.
Wiping her cheek with her sleeve, Scratch succeeded in only smearing the blood across her face before she turned and ducked through the mess of bloody fighters in order to find another, more challenging, opponent.
See, the eldest Haddock child was known throughout her sorry little village as The Dragon Killer. She took after her father, and each year was the one to come out of dragon training on top. Deadly Nadders, with their molten-hot fire and deadly spines, had fallen to her might. Tough-skinned Gronckles were no match for her power. Hideous Zipplebacks had lost their heads when facing Scratch Haddock, eldest child of the Chief, and the greatest dragon warrior to walk the island.
Well, second to her father, that is. Legends told that when he was just a little baby, he had taken a dragon's head off its shoulders.
Did she believe it?
Of course she did.
"What are you doing here?"
Off to her left, Scratch heard one of her tribemates shout in irritation, and when she snapped her head around to see who he was talking to, her heart stopped dead in her chest upon sighting a familiar blur vanish around a corner.
More vikings were shouting at the figure who dodged around them, and Scratch was almost tempted to leave the situation alone, keep searching for her own dragon to fight. However, knowing her father would be displeased if that certain Berkian was carried off or eaten, she groaned and charged in the same direction.
Apparently, however, she didn't need to, because just moments later, she saw a muscular hand swipe out and grab her target by the back of the shirt.
"Hiccup!" The Chief of Berk snarled, holding the boy off the ground just as Scratch came to a halt in front of them. "What is he doing out ag— what are you doing out? Get inside!" He wasted no time in practically tossing his catch away, before lifting his gaze up to glare at a Deadly Nadder which soared overhead.
The daughter of the Chief took her place beside him, knuckles turning white with how tightly she gripped her axe. She watched as her father snatched up a broken cart, heaving it above his head, before he hurled it right at the dragon he'd targeted. It smashed against the beast, but unfortunately, it didn't fall.
Disappointment burned like dragon's fire in the pit of her stomach.
Watching the Nadder fly off to torment someone else, Stoick the Vast turned away, now facing Scratch and another viking who'd run up beside them. "What have we got?" He demanded, the flames around him bringing a strengthening glow to his eyes.
"Gronckles, Nadders, Zipplebacks, and someone thought they saw a small Deathgripper pack near the water." the viking replied, glancing over his shoulder as the shrieking of one of those winged terrors could be heard over the roaring of flames, "oh, and Hoark saw a Monstrous Nightmare."
A thrill coursed through the veins of Scratch at the words spoken. She'd never taken on a Monstrous Nightmare, as only the strongest vikings went after those nasty creatures. The largest of the main classes that attacked them, they were pure fire. They could spit it from their huge jaws, as well as coat themselves in some sort of flammable gel which allowed them to set themselves aflame, destroying everything and everyone in their paths.
"Any Night Furies?" The Chief demanded at the same second as a dragon blew up a nearby building. It hardly seemed to gain a reaction from their leader, even when a piece of flaming rubble landed on his shoulder. He simply brushed it off, looking at the sky.
"None so far," the viking answered, his shield up to protect him from the shower of flame that rained down on him.
"Good," Stoick growled, before he grabbed Scratch's arm and began to lead her further into the devastating fight. "Hoist the torches!"
Freeing her arm of his grip, she ran after her father, keeping tight hold of her axe. He halted in front of a group consisting of a few other vikings, beginning to bark out orders.
"We move to the lower defenses," he explained, his voice gruff, "we'll counter the attack with catapults."
Scratch nodded and charged ahead of them, wanting to make it there before the others so she could get the first hit of a dragon. However, she had to make it through the battlefield alive, first.
Wouldn't be hard. This was not her first battle.
Barely dodging the strike of a Monstrous Nightmare as it set alight a house she happened to run too close to, Scratch dropped and rolled to the side, axe at the ready, but the beast soared overhead once it had taken out the building, off to take out another house.
Panting heavily, the teenager wiped sweat from her brow, before she let out a shallow cough and continued up toward the catapults. As she approached, one viking barked out, "Defend the ships! Concentrate your fire on the lower banks!"
She halted at the side of one of the catapults, joined moments later by her father. He raised an eyebrow toward her, but she gave a simple dip of her head to show that she was fine.
"Hurry up, fire!" One of her fellow vikings ordered, setting off the loaded weapons to hurl rocks at some Deadly Nadders which were snatching sheep from one of the farms. Satisfaction weighed in her heart as the boulder struck one, sending it spiraling out of the sky.
Her smug exterior did not last long, however, as a shadow caught the corner of her eye. Her father tensed, snapping his gaze to follow the beast's figure until the pillar beneath them was set ablaze.
Scratch followed Chief Stoick to the edge of the platform, staring into the flames with intensity before a dragon exploded from within the lit embers, jaws snapping aggressively.
"Reload!" Stoick ordered the vikings manning the catapults, his gaze flashing toward Scratch. "We'll take care of this." Taking out his mace, he bashed the side of the Nightmare's face, ignoring the fact that flames could crawl up his arm at any second.
The teenage girl tightened her grip on the axe she held, but before she could get a hit, a particular sound overtook the night air, causing even the great Chief to pause his assault on his opponent and look up at the sky, which allowed for the flaming dragon to take off and escape.
"Night Fury!" Someone from below the catapults screamed.
"Get down!" Another warned, at the same second as a powerful blast took out the weapon directly next to Scratch. The force of the strike as well as the sound it made knocked her off her feet, sending a painful ringing to her ears.
Stoick the Vast grabbed her roughly by the shoulder, pulling her to her feet. "Jump!" He ordered, and she wasted no time in obeying that command, launching off the tower after her father just as it crumbled, falling parts shooting down around her.
She landed hard, but hit the ground sprinting to keep herself upright. She'd missed it. Not even seen a shadow before it had taken her out. It made her blood boil.
The Night Fury — the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself. According to the other vikings, it never stole food, never showed itself, and never missed a target.
No one in her village — no matter how great they claimed to be — had ever killed a Night Fury. Not even the Chief himself.
Scratch suspected there was a very good reason for that.
"There!" She growled, pointing downward, where she had spotted a small group of three Nadders trying to round up some sheep in a farm field below.
Her father wasted no time, diving past her and throwing a large roped net over them. They screeched, one of them shoving its head through a parting in the trap and blasting fire into the air. Snarling, Stoick lunged, wrapping his arm around its snout to cut off its flaming attack. "Mind yourselves!" He commanded, wrestling the head of the dragon down to the ground. "The devils still have some juice in them!"
Scratch jumped down with another rope in her hands, tying the muzzle shut of the dragon her father had taken down. When they both rose to their feet, breathless and bloody, Stoick turned toward his daughter, opening his mouth to say something, before he was cut off by a dragon's screech and the terrified cry of a familiar boy.
She snapped her head around, spying immediately the source of the screaming with a less than pleased expression on her face.
Hiccup.
Of course.
Somehow, someway, that stupid kid had managed to anger a Monstrous Nightmare, which was pursuing him in an attempt to get its fangs into his skin. Stoick sighed, annoyance clear in his gaze as he backed away from the Nadders, glaring at the other vikings around them. "Do not let them escape!"
Scratch watched as he ran off to help the unfortunate soul who'd by some miracle made it this far in life, turning her gaze onto the Deadly Nadder she had helped to bind. Its golden eyes were lit up with fury, but the girl felt absolutely no pity for them. They were monsters, the lot of them. Dragons were nasty vermin who needed to be driven off the face of the earth before they could destroy anything else.
She noticed the Monstrous Nightmare take off from the cliff a few moments after her father had left to deal with it, and she lifted her eyes upward to see where he'd gone.
She was blinded by fire.
Barely registering the fact that the head of one of the huge torches had crashed down, Scratch had only a split second to escape the deadly flames. She dove to the right, feeling the burn against her clothes as it rolled past her, freeing the Nadders from their nets and allowing them to take to the sky, along with the sheep they'd been hunting for previously. They had taken the nets and were using them to carry their food off into the night sky.
Once she had pushed herself to her feet, Scratch made her way up the slope and toward her father, the pain of the burns being pushed to the back of her mind as she came to stand beside the Chief, glaring coldly at the boy who had screwed up everything.
After a long moment of silence, the boy turned around to look at the Chief and his daughter. "Okay, but I hit a Night Fury."
"Sure you did," Scratch seethed, sarcasm dripping like poison from her lips as her father grabbed him by the back of his shirt and began to drag him along. The teenage girl sighed and followed them, rage flowing off her in waves. "Because my incompetent little brother managed to, not only find, but also shoot a dragon no one here has even gotten a good look at."
The boy let out groan, scrambling to keep up with his father as he was half-dragged through the village. "It's not like the last few times, dad, I mean I really actually hit it."
Her rage grew warmer with every breath he wasted while speaking.
"You guys were busy, and I had a very clear shot." He gestured toward the sky. "It went down, just off Raven's Point. Let's get a search party out there-"
"Stop!" Stoick roared, spinning around and releasing his son with a glare powerful enough to melt steel. "Just . . . stop."
The boy went quiet, eyes wide.
"Every time you step outside, disaster falls." The Chief growled. "Can you not see that I have bigger problems? Winter is almost here, and I have an entire village to feed!"
After a moment of hesitation, Scratch's brother mumbled, "Well, between you and me, the village could do with a little less feeding, don't you think?"
"This isn't a joke, Hiccup!" Stoick snarled, before closing his eyes and letting out a soft sigh. "Why can't you follow the simplest orders?"
Hiccup blinked, his eyes shifting from his father to his sister. "I— I can't help myself!" He splattered. "I see a dragon, and I have to just . . . kill it, you know? It's who I am, dad."
Putting a hand to his head, the Chief sighed deeply. "You are . . . many things, Hiccup, but a dragon killer is not one of them. That trait only passed to one of my children, it seems."
The boy turned his gaze onto his elder sister, but Scratch turned away, arms crossed at her chest.
"Get back to the house," her father told him, before raising his voice, "make sure he gets there! I have his mess to clean up."
As Gobber the Belch led her brother away from the village center, Scratch turned around to run after her father, ducking through the crowd of villagers. "Dad, wait!"
Stoick turned around, pausing briefly to allow her to join him at his side before continuing on. "You did well out there tonight, Scratch."
A smirk curled at her lips. "I learned from the best."
"You will be eighteen in a few weeks. Anything in particular you would like for your first steps into adulthood?"
Scratch paused. "That's actually what I came to talk to you about."
"Oh?" He cast a glance toward her, eyebrow arched as an invitation to go on.
"We captured a few dragons in the fight, didn't we? Nadders, Gronckles, Zipplebacks — the usual. But I've already had my chance with those monsters." She told him, halting in front of her. "I saw a Monstrous Nightmare go down earlier."
Stoick blinked, just once. "You want to be the one to kill it."
"I've never had the chance to face off against one," she replied. "Hiccup ruined it today for me."
"I admire your drive to take on more dangerous enemies, my daughter," he told her, "but I'm afraid the Monstrous Nightmare cannot be your birthday present."
Scratch recoiled slightly. "What? Why not?"
"Because I have decided to use it in the Dragon Training course this year, as the champion." He noted her sour expression and snorted. "That won't be too much of a blow, now will it? This is your last year of Dragon Training before you're fully-fledged. If you go about it as you have previous years, the Nightmare is yours anyway."
"I wanted something special for my birthday," she told him, a glare settled on her features. "Something that is guaranteed to be mine."
The Chief ran a hand through his beard thoughtfully, before he finally met her gaze again. "Let me see what we caught, and I will get back to you, alright?"
"So long as it's something I haven't killed yet," she told him, lifting her chin.
"Perhaps we captured more than one Nightmare. I'll let you know in the morning, alright?"
Scratch hesitated, then nodded. "Alright."
"Now, go help with the cleanup. See what we have lost and help with damages. I have a meeting to get to."
"You're planning another search for the dragon nest?"
Stoick rubbed his temple. "One more, before winter sets in." He glanced at her. "I'd let you join in, but—"
"Dragon Training starts tomorrow." She finished, before offering him a predatory smile. "It's okay. Good luck."
He set a hand on her shoulder. "Luck can't help us now."