Things are going south. That is it, you will get nothing more from me! :D
Toothless swiftly recognized that Barf&Belch were (was?) endangered, and he incinerated another catapult with a high-explosive plasma blast, sending stone rubble and burning wooden splinters to the houses below; his sixth plasma blast, to be exact.
He ascended higher into the air and glanced back at Hiccup, connecting their gazes and shaking his head. Conventional conversation was impossible at such speeds, and slowing down would deprive him of agility for far too long for a combat situation.
Hiccup was confused; after all, he had seen Toothless spit more blasts than that while fighting the Red Death. But this wasn't the time nor the place to explain; they had to do what they were planning to. And with their firepower spent, they were allowed — even encouraged — to commence by leader of strike force.
The shadowy streak across the night sky this time didn't make blood-freezing sound of a dive, and instead opted to fly quickly and in near-perfect concealment to the unassuming shack halfway from longhouses to the city edge.
It was just a tier worse than houses surrounding it. Someone living there ought to be despised by the entire neighbourhood, but those were just externals; well, technically internals too, but that wasn't the point.
The point was what Oswald the Agreeable prompted to his friend at the question why a dishonored warrior was given special treatment; stripped of honors but otherwise left to live in his tribe, the mystery shared in deepest trust and concealment; that he was guarding something really valuable, something so valuable that it wasn't entrusted even to the treasury of Berserkers or clanhouse of chief's clan itself.
Stoick was hesitant to reveal it even in those circumstances, but the prons apparently outweighed the cons.
Toothless scanned the surrounding area meticulously as Hiccup dismounted. It proved to be deserted, so he landed and prowled to the shack., He avoided its door, the only opening in the structure, and opting instead to break a flimsy wall and come inside on an unexpected route. He took the Viking residing there by surprise, the man's back turned to them when the dragon stormed in.
The dragon lunged, lightning-fast, his claws extending in lieu of fire. He was ready for a fatal strike; the human was far too slow, hopelessly outmatched, fear glistening in his eyes...
Mindless killer.
Instead of cleaving his throat open, the claws curled up at the last moment, turning the deadly attack into a powerful blunt kick — survivable, but strong enough to knock the viking out.
Hiccup followed him inside swiftly, and sighed in relief at not seeing blood splattered on the walls. Then they began to search, looking in every nook and cranny, on furniture and under it.
After a good long while he stopped to think; they did not have time for turning over the entire shack, so he needed to do it the smart way. Where would he hide something of great value in such a place? Scrap that; where would a Viking hide it in such a place?
The item's size would be a good clue, sadly one he lacked, but it couldn't be big; there weren't many places something big would fit here, and he was fairly certain he'd checked them all.
Planks on the floor creaked when he walked; no help there either. All of those were to some extent disfigured, therefore making the usual poking pretty useless. He would need to pull them all away to find it, if it was there.
He searched for a clue; humans were periodically losing memories after all, so there should be some marking.
No help here either. Toothless groaned, and his human sighed, failing his own analysis.
"It seems we will need to pull this thing apart," said Hiccup
Toothless shook his head. "No time. Where would we hide something incredibly valuable in patchworked wooden shack?"
"Somewhere it won't burn..." Hiccup's first thought was of course about fire; after all, there were no old buildings on Berk for this very reason. But how fragile this particular building looked prompted following this line of reasoning further from his trusted friend.
"Somewhere it won't get crushed, buried, or be in danger if the shack gets destroyed." The Night Fury looked around haplessly, it wasn't something he could discern from just looking at the building; it all seemed equally worn and misshapen to him.
Thankfully he had Hiccup; his smart, smart human looked around, prodded at a few places, and then locked his eyes at the wall left from the door, specifically spot above the hole Toothless made. "There. It is the most durable part, it didn't fall apart when you came in, while all the rest would. Give me a lift, bud."
Toothless did, letting Hiccup to sit on his head and craning his neck higher, Hiccup extended his palm to signal that it was fine enough, and the Night Fury looked curiously as Hiccup dislodged the desk and took out a small bundle hidden behind it.
Soon, they were in the skies again, only to see the commotion that had started while they were occupied.
"Hookfang! Please stay with me buddy, please please please!" As always, his dragon failed to listen to him, and passed out.
Snotlout looked around in panic and took the burned warrior's hatchet. Thankfully no one was advancing on him, the Berserkers too busy with their grim work at chokepoints. Snotlout could see that if nothing changed, that will be it for rebellion.
He had more pressing concerns though. Like his Monstrous Nightmare with a torn wing membrane. It wasn't a small or clear tear; tt was ragged, bloody, with nearly a third of the entire membrane twisted and laying perpendicularly to how it was supposed to.
The teenager tried gingerly to place it how it was supposed to lay. Then with growing horror he realized that it wasn't connected to the dragon's body.
"Oh Thor oh Thor oh Thor."
Some dragons had gotten leather patches weaved into their wings, but this was beyond any of those injuries, dozens of times bigger. Would he ever fly again?
Snotlout managed to keep his panic contained and thought quickly. Hookfang needed extraction, but they were behind enemy lines and away from all the others. He needed to draw attention.
Thankfully, the slave revolt — stopped in its wake and overflowing like water through a too-low dike — was good at drawing attention. Especially since, to break the defensive line of Berserkers, the slaves had thought to set fire to houses being used by the Berserkers as a makeshift wall.
But that meant the Berserkers would retreat to untouched houses or run for water buckets, and he would be overrun.
As their warcry reverberated, Snotlout raised the hatchet, turned to Berserker line, and opened his eyes, trying to quench the shaking permeating his limbs at the utter certainty that he was going to die.
They ran in the opposite direction.
Huh?
He needed a hint in the form of countless screams to realize what was happening. The thralls hadn't't expected the assault, and there were pushed back by old grisly warriors and teenagers not unlike him, all significantly better equipped than members of the revolt.
Finally, a rider decided to show up. No, riders, he realised. The twins! He couldn't find it in himself to get exasperated over the fact when their Zippleback landed nearby, and he ran towards them with relief.
"Quick, Hookfang needs extraction!"
Tuffnut's gaze zeroed on the wounded dragon. "We can't carry him on our own, we need to go back for nets and more drago-"
"We would be exposed!" Snotlout snapped. "You can stay with me, Barf and Belch can communicate it well enough on their own."
The twins dismounted without objection and joined his side. Dragon took to the skies without hesitation as well. It went far smoother than he expected. Wait. Were they being serious?
Snotlout looked around for some shield, but there was none spared from flames, so he exchanged his hatchet for a two handed battle-hammer. The monstrous weapon weighed a lot, but he managed to handle it fine; it was what he wanted to use many years ago, before he witnessed why exactly going to fight with dragons without a shield was such a terrible idea from the example of his older brother.
The memory sent shivers down his spine. No. Focus on the present.
"Stand back to back, look out for trouble."
The twins did just that, brother standing back to back with his sister. Snotlout groaned. "Not like that, morons. Make it a triangle so I fit too!"
Tuffnut scrunched his brow, and got shoved by Snotlout for his trouble. At least they were properly formed now.
He finally took a while to overlook twins gear; Tuffnut had mace so polished that it downright shone and a usual circular shield, meanwhile his sister held seven throwing spears, six nestled at her back and one in hand as well as a large rectangular shield that she rested on the ground and that covered everything but her head and neck upfront.
Then they waited, and waited, and waited. Seconds felt like minutes and minutes like hours.
Suddenly a small kid ran out of nearby house chased by fearful cry from the house. Snotlout raised an eyebrow at the stripling, at absolute most having twelve winters and holding his dagger like one would hold a sword, with a massively oversized helmet on his head.
It would even look cute if not the fact that he was charging at them. Tuffnut hesitated midway of raising his mace, Snotlout just shook his head and made two steps towards the boy. "Kid, go back."
The kid stopped. "No! Imma son of Bonecruncher! I gonna kill you all and take your scalps and—"
Okay, the kid was cute anyway. "Maybe with someone your size. Go. Away."
"No! Imm-" Snotlout took step forward and grabbed the welp for the wrist with one hand while he held the hammer with the other, pulling out the dagger hilt out of his palm with his fingers and then taking it away.
"Now, kiddo, go back to your house." The welp broke into tears and fled, just as his mother went out of the front doors, armed and visibly unused to the sword she wielded; she held it awkwardly, on wrong height on the hilt and bent under the weight. That was the moment the name registered. "Bonecruncher you say."
The woman's eyes — she was the boy's mother, presumably — became even more fearful. "Of course not, sir, we are just a modest family at the outskirts, not even near clanhouses, my child just thought it would be 'cool', o-or however it is said."
Was she fearful or lying? Definitely fearful, but that didn't exclude lies. They were here to take captives. Bonecruncher was one of the clan patriarchs.
He didn't feel it was right. But he pointed his battle-hammer at them and spoke anyway. "Drop your weapons and come, and no harm will come to you."
The woman dropped her sword immediately, tearful, and Snotlout felt a sudden urge to comfort her. "Don't worry, we are not about to kill captives."
Uh. It came out wrong. She wasn't calmed down at all. Snotlout motioned for Ruffnut to tie them up and continued lookout with Tuffnut until three Zipplebacks arrived and splayed net on the ground, got Hookfang onto it, they got onto them, and the group took off, towards the sky, and away from battle.
Snotlout spared one more glance back. The thrall revolt wasn't doing well, driven back, scattering, scampering away and into the island.
Their raid, though, seemed to be a great success. There wasn't a visible difference in numbers he could see from when they set out to here, so likely just few casualties.
He still was on edge though, and memories of persons he killed returned to him swiftly.
The teenager gulped. He had a feeling he won't have a good night's sleep in a while.
"They'll die!" cried out Hiccup.
Spitelout only nodded, not sparing a glance at the slave revolt taking place down below. "Aye, but they made a good enough distraction, we secured our objectives with minimal casualties. Time to head off."
Before Hiccup could speak again Toothless glanced at him and shook his head. Seeing only a stubborn frown he elaborated. "Theh losht mohmentum, and whe ahe tirhed anh out ofh shoths, ish is alheady oveh."
Hiccup's lips were set in a thin line and he leaned to the side, signalling to dive. Toothless compensated for the incompatible tail-fin position by banking hard and maintained his bearing, cringing from effort.
"Toothless! We need to help them!"
Toothless shook his head. "There is no chance anymore, and besides, I am out of shots."
"You shot more while fighting Red Death!"
Dragon groaned as his rider tried to forcefully change direction of their flight yet again. "Stop that. And it was because of my blackheart! It can accelerate reaction time, flame regeneration and provide pretty much infinite stamina, and that works for all Night Furies."
"Well, can you use it again?"
"It is a blackheart, Hiccup. It is risky, I think I am halfway through my lifespan already; I wont decrease it further only to get few more shots for lost cause!"
Suddenly Toothless jerked and roared, then sped up and whimpered, Hiccup automatically matched tailfin, too shocked to react.
"Bud?"
Dragon shook his head. "Awooow. I wih livh."
Hiccup cringed. "Sorry, it was my fault. I just started arguing mid-battle."
Night Fury shook his head. "No."
They landed to take care of the wounded and double check if they got correct captives, Hiccup quiltily looked at arrow inserted into his best friend paw.
Toothless wasn't going to wait for healer though, he closed his gums around the arrow, cringing, bracing for pain. Hiccup waved his hands and forced him to back down.
"Don't do that! Berserkers use really nasty stuff on dragons. You would pull fourth of the meat in this paw away."
The dragon relented and settled down to patiently wait for healer.
His mind turned back to their previous topic, gulp raised in his throat. "Toothless... how old are you?"
Night Fury replied with closed eyes, splayed on the superheated peak of low seastack, his injured paw held carefully away. "Rrr, I was ten when I flew into this Starborn range."
Hiccup did some quick math and gasped, his eyes widening in terror. "It is twenty years since Night Furies showed up at raids. You really are halfway through."
Toothless raised his head and looked Hiccup in the eye comfortingly. "Don't worry, it is only approximate; my mother was one hundred and perfectly fine. Besides, with how much risk we are taking, we are both going to die before that. Let's just make the most out of it."
Hiccup's shoulders sank. "Or it can be tomorrow when I prompt you to try your luck again with Blackheart."
Night Fury snorted, ruffling Hiccup's hair. "Not happening. I know what the risks are, and I will not use it unless absolutely necessary for our survival, however much you might bawl."
Hiccup turned to him, indignant; Toothless was, of course, grinning. "Bawl? Bawl? Do you seriously think that I am behaving like a kid? You know what, better don't respond."
The healer reached them and started tinkering with the arrow. He was visibly unnerved by touching night fury, as if expecting his hands to fall off. "Distract him."
Hiccup picked up the topic once more. "How can you be so calm about it?"
Toothless shrugged. "It is just how it is. Some live longer, some shorter, but it is still life. It is there to enjoy while it lasts."
Teenager scrunched his brows. "But, what if one of us dies before the other?"
Toothless huffed, then hissed, cringing from healer's painful succes to wiggle arrow out of his flesh. "Not happening."
Hiccup shook his head. "But what if?"
Toothless pressed closer, his enormous eyes melting Hiccup's heart. "I will die for you, and you will for me. That is all I need to know about it."
Hiccup patted Toothless on the head. "Thanks bud." Horn sounded for takeoff. "Time to get going. Come on."
Astrid woke to the sound of an alarm horn, crackling fire and metal clanging against metal.
What?
There was no time for hesitation however, and she swiftly took her hatchet and shield, donned armored skirt, and sprung down the stairs, she was first to arrive, but not by a large margin; her cousin, son of her deceased uncle, was right behind her, and right behind him was his mother Niff and her own parents.
"What is happening?" she asked.
Bjorn huffed. "We know as much as you. Let's go and have a look."
Five vikings rushed out of the front door, only to be welcomed by two dozen opponents charging their way. Without any time to think, both sides formed their shields into walls and collided. Hoffersons dug their heels in, but were hard pressed and were forced back, until force pressing on them was lessened with screams and smell of burning flesh.
Without hesitation or thought, driven by instinct, they tore into the disorganised mass of bodies, Astrid smacked someone in the face with her shield, creating an opening for her father, while swinging her hatchet at someone else's stomach. With a wet sound, she found her mark. But there was no time to contemplate it, only well-hones instincts to conform to.
Her shield moved to intercept an incoming blow and the offending sword got stuck in it, which she promptly twisted and threw away, dislodging it from enemy hands and swinging her hatchet yet again.
Her next opponent raised his shield and went for dagger, intending to pull the very same trick as her, but then he screamed in anguish when her hatchet — made of purest steel any of them had ever seen — got right through it and into his forearm near the wrist. He fell; she stepped on his second hand for good measure and moved on, but found that most immediate opponents were either dead, injured or running for their lives.
Astrid wiped sweat from her forehead and gave thumbs up to blue-yellow Nadder, the only Hairy Hooligan dragon that stayed on Berk itself because she was too exhausted after patrol to go with the raiding party.
Stormfly squawked a wordless affirmative and flicked one of her spines outside Astrid's field of vision, Astrid swiftly took in battlefield in and cursed. Because she couldn't. Storm was still here, wind howling and throwing snow everywhere, making everything even two steps from her fuzzy at best.
"What is happening?!" One yellow eye focused on her for a split-second before going back to its vigil.
"They got to the island while we took shelter from the storm! They did not stop when it started! The dragons from dragon houses warned us! But there weren't enough to fend them off!"
Astrid breathed in and out, her mind racing. Think, think! What they should do?
Niff looked at Stormfly. "Have you seen the barrels with Monstrous Nightmare gel?" Dragoness stilled for a second then nodded.
"Then go get it, then drop it on the bridges to the main island and set it on fire. That's the only way they could have get here."
A great shadow emerged from the howling whips of snow: Stoick the Vast, holding a two handed battle-axe in one hand and shield that looked like a toy in his other hand. "Not all of them. If they have no retreat, they will fight harder."
Stormfly saluted with wing and disappeared into the snow. Suddenly, a cackle emerged from the other side, eerily easy to hear in the cacophonic environment. "So it is true then! You really have dragons do your bidding."
The shape emerging from the all-encompassing mist was much smaller than the previous one, but somehow more unnerving; maybe it was because of his wicked-looking hatchet, maybe because of the long and pointy horns on his helmet, or because of his utterly delighted expression.
"Leave. You heard what will happen soon. You can't win. Go home," said Stoick with an undertone of menace.
The madman just laughed. "If I die, I will experience eternal glory of Valhalla. If I win, I will have everything that belongs to your tribe. I can't lose!"
Then he launched himself at Stoick, only for the giant man to sidestep and bang him on the head with his shield, madman promptly landed on his feet, if a little dozed, and giggled. Astrid couldn't watch anymore though, because her family was under attack. She quickly went for a fallen warrior's shield before rejoining the fray.
This fight was devoid of fire support, but their enemies didn't have crushing numerical superiority either. Five Hoffersons pressed hard and their opponents buckled, then one of them fell over and their shield wall shattered, leaving them in disadvantage to the Hoffersons' still-coherent formation. The skirmish was over in a few seconds.
But just when they were finished with this group, another one sprung towards them. Shields clashed and both sides gritted their teeth and pushed as hard as they possibly could. Suddenly her mother perked up.
"Snotspit?!"
The pushing contest stopped. "Grunhilda?!"
Astrid huffed. "Trust Jorgensons to not distinguish friend from foe."
Small chorus of 'snow in my eyes' and similar excuses flew her way, until her father raised his hand. "Enough. Into formation."
And so they went, clashing with more Berserker forces, overwhelming them and breaking them apart, sending enemies to Valhalla, to frozen soil, or skittering away. Throughout it all, she rarely saw her enemies well, and she never had time to stop and think of what she was doing.
There was fire visible in many places, including the bridges; Stormfly had apparently done her part.
The sight of fire brigades running around and quelling fires brought back memories; she would even have felt melancholic if not for the ongoing battle. As it was, the bundle of twelve Berkians became too big to pursue individual opponents that hid between houses. They were forced to split to go after them, or join with others to push back the Berserkers' main force.
The Jorgensons went to join the major battle, the Hoffersons to eliminate stragglers. In Astrid's opinion, it was much more important than any Jorgenson could possibly imagine with their little brains; even a dozen or so attacking from behind with the element of surprise while they were busy with the main force would be really bad, and there were more than a dozen stragglers throughout the town.
She and her aunt Niff moved together, making their way through the alleys in search of enemies. They just didn't expect to find a particular person.
Dagur moved in rapid leaps and continuous circles around three Berkians. There was a nasty gash on his left arm, dripping blood even now, but since he didn't carry a shield, it did little to stop him. His opponents, on the other hand, were in much worse state, one clutching the stump of an arm for a second before promptly falling down, another bleeding heavily and swaying unsteadily from where flesh had been torn from his thigh, and last one clutching his shield desperately, a spear presumably belonging to him embedded into the wall of a nearby house.
"Ohohohoho! Come! Come! Grant me passage to Valhalla or let me grant it to you!"
None of them cared enough to respond to the madman, instead Astrid looked over the group consisting of two elders and one teenager and motioned for them to relax. They were taking this over. They took the prompt well enough, unharmed one rushing to staunch the blood flowing from stump of his companion and one with heavily damaged thigh trying to take care of himself.
Niff suddenly felt like talking. "Why!? We paid your blasted tribute, and then we housed your delegations with open arms! Where has the friendship between our chiefs gone!?"
Dagur snickered. "To Valhalla, in case of my father. But isn't this an act of friendship? I give you all more chances at entering the hall of Odin!"
Astrid poked at her shield with hers, not taking her sight from Dagur. There was no point in talking. They advanced slowly, cautiously, like towards a wild animal. He only laughed more and casually spun that wicked hatchet of his.
Suddenly his laughter stopped. The Berserker chief's face turned deadly serious, and he leapt on top of a nearby cart and then behind them. The Hoffersons swiftly repositioned their shields, but not swiftly enough.
Niff cried out and fell over, blood gouging from what was left of her leg. Dagur pressed on, but Astrid, fuelled by rage and conviction that time is of the essence, pressed even harder, taking them away from their wounded warrior.
Dagur laughed and the Hofferson heir maintained a deadly silent demeanor as their weapons and her shield clashed. Flurry of blows forced her opponent to step back constantly, but he took it in his stride, nearly dancing while moving backwards and grinning and chuckling and laughing all the while. Astrid realized that he was having the time of his life and with that struck only faster and harder.
Suddenly, right when her next swing was about to start, he sidestepped and swung his own hatchet. Her shield was on the other side, her weapon already in movement at empty air, so she did the only sensible thing and took rapid step back.
The madman's weapon wasn't your usual hatchet though, and Astrid's finely-tuned battle instincts failed to take into account the elongated tip — a tip that carved into flesh of the Berkian warrior.
Astrid screamed.