The sea raged and swerved as a ships pierced through the waters.
Their oars smashed upon it's surface. Steady, firm and strong, much like their beating hearts.
But within the flex and burn of their muscles, the men rowing them showed a loud silence. Every stretch, every heave, ever flare of their nostrils, each done with bloodshot eyes and a snarl barely contained within their lips. The vikings of Berk rowed with united purpose ignoring the dark skies, the rumble of thunder, the spattering of the salty seas, and the rise and fall of the dark watery waves. They endured all to save their home and those they left behind.
At the bow of the ship, like the a spear tip leading the sailing arrow stood Stoick. He stood with his back slightly hunched, like a beast eager to pounce forward. His billowing cloak was tattered. His armor was scratched, his arm sported a few bruises and cuts. With dry blood to showcase his closing wounds.
He held a Warhammer in one hand, planted like a banner against the wind, his shield at his back, and the gifted sword from his son at his hips. He gazed at the horizon with eyes glinting like twin pools of darkness that highlights his furious glare.
And as lightning illuminated the tip of a mountain that reached his eyes with smoke coming from its feet, an explosion of strength bubbled from his belly rapidly flowing to his chest and engulfing his entire body in searing heat in seconds.
His arms flexed, he snarled with frosty breath, hands shaking as his fists clenched white and with a heave-
"ROOOOOAHH!!!"
All who heard him felt his roar. Felt the shiver of winter months away, the cold winds of a none existent gale and their eyes that watered with worry for their families, yet they remained glaring furiously at the fear of all that was left.
And as one, their bodies burned through the seas as all heaved-
"FORWARD!!!"
—.—.—.—.—
The Outcasts saw them cutting through the waters with ships holding their sails proudly, displaying the seal of Berk.
Orders sparked from their captains and the men scrambled to move the floating platform that housed their catapults. But the large barge was too big and too slow. Made worst by the speed from which the Berkian ships were moving aided by the wind in their sails.
Like a boulder rolling down a slope and the echo of thunder, one ship crashed against the platform. Throwing splinters, blood and men across the rippling seas as it pierced a third of the way through the platform, planting deep like an axe through wood. And with frenzied rage, massacre erupts as Berkians poured from the ship killing all that they could reach.
One beheaded an Outcast, another smashed a skull into a pulp with a mace, one snapped a man's neck, a fourth pierced his sword through shield and skull, and a fifth cut a man down through a knee before shoving his spear through the Outcast's mouth, cutting off their screams.
Blood spilled into the sea, and with every passing second, more and more died to its non-existent mercy.
And for the Berk ships, one stayed to remove the enemies at the seas but two stayed the course. Each containing more men with blood boiling, eager for purpose.
—.—.—.—.—
Alvin heaved with deep breaths, his arm shaking as he held the lightweight axe. Sporting cuts, bruises and a couple of missing teeth. He stood rigid as rage shimmered within him.
He had failed... he had lost. And most of all, he fails to understand how...
His mother's concoction had worked, the Monstrous Nightmare had reached the Great Hall and yet... what chaos it should have brought barely bore fruit till it died. He knew it died as even from afar he could see the shadow of two men guarding it's burning doors.
His men had failed... so much sacrifice to draw the fight to him, yet those who were given the opportunity to traverse the insides of Berk undetected failed to even bring any result from their given tasks. No word from the men he sent to take hostages and thralls, and those that did scoured the village, left only burning houses and empty handed.
No word from those he sent to the pit, no dragons... no chaos... and what little panic among his enemies ranks he drew, they snuffed out too quickly for him to truly capitalize.
And now... 'He' returns.
His blood boiled remembering his old friend. His heart felt as if it were begging for a fight. To prove himself the better warrior between the two of them and yet... another stood in his way.
And the longer he watched him, the more Alvin felt his anger bubble to the surface.
Gobber the Belch stood strong with a silvery axe attached to one arm and a hammer on his grip.
His clothes were torn off, and for all the fat the man had gained, he remained dauntless. His shoulders remained round, arms and chest just as muscular and bulky, with a face as cold as ice during battle. All who saw the old Smith would see the strength and skill of the renowned Dragon Slayer, and know that his strength remains.
A cacophony of warcries reached his ears -with the crack of thunder and the splintering of wood mixing with cries of pain and rage- and from the distance, the clash of steel slowly crawled it's way closer and louder to where he stood.
Alvin knew then that there was no point in staying. Quiet and unspoken, Alvin's eyes suddenly darted to the nearby warriors each absorbed in a clash of their own. Finding his mark, his eyes gleamed into focus. A tell-tale sign for Age old Warrior like Gobber, who tensed and coiled himself ready for an attack.
It was sudden and quick. Alvin threw a dagger. Gobber smacks it away with his hammer, flexing his axe-hand at the ready. Alvin then rushed forward, swerving as if dodging- and suddenly grabbing one of his own men by his hair.
In the suddenness of the situation, the Berkian fighting the Outcast had his eyes widen in surprise as his sword slit the Outcast's throat open.
Alvin spun swiftly without losing stride as he beheaded the stunned Berkian, grabbed the body like a handheld battering ram, and shoved it forward towards the rushing Gobber whos Axe planted deeply at the corpses torso. Only for him to be shoved further and further back till-
Gobber sneered feeling his peg leg fail to find purchase and slide through the dirt then- *bam!
"Argg!" Gobber hisses as he felt fire and wood crack against his back. Desperate, Gobber grunted and heaved pushing forward. Ignoring the flames licking his back. Only to suddenly topple forward atop the corpse.
Confusion swept over him, and in that second Alvin had made great distance running towards the tree lines.
And with bloodshot eyes, Gobber grinded his teeth in rage, let go of his hammer and let the straps twirl around his finger. And with a few flicks, he swung the hammer to a fast spinning circle like a wheel on an axel.
The air whistled as the hammer picked up speed and in seconds, the heavy iron slab was then launched-
"Hn!" *Fwof– *Bang!
Hitting the coward by his right shoulder guard. And while Alvin stumbled, the traitor just kept on running. Leaving behind Gobber whos rage looked palpable as the fire behind him illuminated his eyes from the shadow.
—.—.—.—.—
In the fierce clash of the night, Berk itself felt renewed. Strengthening every soul. Be they crumpled on the ground, heaving for breath, bleeding to death or fighting. All felt their purpose renewed as hope bloomed with the arrival of their brothers and sisters.
The battle instantly shifted as the Berkians pincered the Outcasts. Led by Stoick who smashed his Warhammer like an enraged god. Sending men flying with caved chests, broken limbs, or smashed skulls.
At heart of the Village Square, the defenders of Berk pushed back with their last remaining strength. Each one ensuring to cut down as many as they could while their enemies scrambled with no command as they tried to make distance.
Stoick fought with grace and skill, one that bellied his size. He swerved from a sword swing while breaking the exposed knee. He harshly parried an axe with his silvery bracers, while yanking the extended arm close and a powerful kick at the man's knees, bending it the wrong way. He ducked low beneath a sword, hooking the exposed feet with his hammer and with graceful movements, raised his weapon and brought it down hard. Crushing the man's chest.
An Outcast suddenly rushed him with a shield, only for Stoick to stand his ground, gripped the rim and sneered as he yanked the shield downwards with a headbutt hitting the Outcast at the nose.
Reaching the heart of his burning village, Stoick snarled as his Warhammer traced a beautiful wide arc and- *bang! *crunch! caved a man's helm from his temple. The Outcast's eyes crossed, tounge lolled out as he stilled and slowly wobbled to the ground. Blood and goo spilled from the rims of his helm, noting how his crushed brains had turned to mush.
Seeing a familiar warrior in the distance, Stoick booms. "Spitelout!"
"Aye Chief!" Spitelout answers as he heaved deeply with several wounds himself.
"Send the men after this cunts! They either leave my island! Or the die here!"
"Aye Chief!"
"Gobber!"
"Here Stoick!" Stoick turned to see his friend, looking just as badly injured as he was. "What do ya' need?"
"Make safe the village! I want no stragglers!"
"Aye Chief!"
Stoick then turns to another familiar face standing not far from them. "Halvard!"
"C-Chief!" the man turns, startled and struggling to move his eyes away from something.
Frowning, Stoick marches with quick and steady steps and saw several bodies littering the village square. The claw marks, the scorch on the stones, and the torn bodies...
"...dragon." Stoick whispers before his eyes sharpened once more. "Lead a dozen men! Scour the island! I want this Dragon found!"
"The Hall..."
Their attention snapped to the voice and there, shielded from his view, sat man leaning against a wooden beam. Stoick shoved Halvard aside and saw who it was... Flynn Hofferson, dead in the eyes with his focus afixed at the half corpse a few steps from them.
"...where?" Stoick asks coldly.
"The Great Hall...
The answer made the Chief shake in quiet rage. Snarling at the broken man at his feet, he turns and run towards the Great Hall.
Leaving Halvard and his brother to the speculative stares of those within hearing distance before they too left with some sneering as they did.
Halvard could only look down, broken hearted for his brother's plight. Already knowing what scrutiny will come next.
—.—.—.—.—
At the woods, Outcasts were butchered like pigs. The warriors of Berk showed no mercy to those that got left behind. One even went so far as to remove the limbs off of one man, leaving the poor sod to die while blood spilled from him in buckets.
The chase was relentless, but salvation from those of Outcast Island came when they reached a couple of ships waiting for them at one of the secluded beaches of Berk.
Arrows rained, killing a handful of Berk's own while others took cover. Allowing the Outcasts to escape as they sailed back to their rocky hole.
—.—.—.—.—
Every house was searched, every closet, to every chest and every room. All home standing was looked to and those that hid themselves found a painful way to die, as their throats were slit while their heads were pulled back by their hairs.
No amount of struggle, begging or pleads granted them mercy. Only a dagger through the necks and hearts. And a sneer of anger and hate pouring down from their killers.
—.—.—.—.—
Both Falric and Fjorn stood guard. With the old warrior leaning on to Hiccup's sword.
And as more and more of their fellow Berkians poured into their homes. The more they felt the weight lift off of their shoulders.
From the village marched a retinue led by a distinct man among Berk. Stoick the Vast moved with speed outpacing the rest despite the size of both his body and weapon.
"I guess we now know where the kid got his speed from." Falric jokes. Making Fjorn winced out a laugh and a smile on his face, while held his side in pain. Falric could only rub the back of his head in unspoken apology, smiling all the same.
A noise from within grabbed their attention, making them turn to the occupants of The Great Hall. Eyes scanning the crowd still fuzzing about the corpse of the Dragon but above all else, the unconscious body of the young viking, the covered body of a comrade.
Fjorn nodded in satisfaction as he watched the boy be cleaned and treated by Sigrid Hofferson and with a little help from her daughter Astrid. Footsteps reached his ears and saw Stoick ran up the stairs without stopping.
His eyes scanned the two of them. Answering with a resolute nod and a small bow of respect to the man. They let him continue without fanfare, followed by several others.
And as the occupants of the Hall saw them. Sighs and small cheers of joys left their lips in unison, prompting others to run and hug their brothers, sisters, fathers and sons that had returned. And then-
"NOOOOOO!"
A woman's wail cut through them, and all turned to the wife and son, both kneeling beside the corpse of Borin. The wife scooped him, holding her husband's face against her chest close while her son could only kneel, clasping his father's hand with his, as the two sobbed and cried at their loss.
The pain cut through the hearts of the two. And while Falric hid his pain, gulping it down his throat. Fjorn shed his tears, the least he could offer to a fallen warrior.
"My son..." his Chief said as he beheld his boy. And for the first time, the man reeled a step as if he was struck with a visible hurt in his face.
The two took a deep breath as they walked forward, Falric to Borin's family and Fjorn to Stoick.
Both with determined gazes. Both wanting to make sure that the courage of their kin was known to many and all.
—.—.—.—.—
The rage of Berk found no mercy, granted no leniency and gave no quarter. As those who came to destroy their homes died by blade some... even by fire or drowned even in mud and puddles. And for every blood they spilled, coldness gripped their hearts.
A coldness they embraced, as if a balm from their enflamed hearts at the image of their fallen comrades and burning homes.
And so they hunted, chased, and killed as many as they can.
When the sun rose, and the conflict ends. All who would be fortunate enough to survive will remember. That it was always the quiet ones they should never provoke.
As the saying goes, only a fool wakes a sleeping dragon.