Hiccup's Point of View
The horns of Berk's watchtower howled into the night, a futile warning swallowed by the storm of chaos descending upon the village. Fire spread like a living beast, smoke curling into the sky in thick, suffocating waves. The roars of dragons mixed with the screams of Vikings, their cries for order, for strength, lost in the inferno.
And I watched.
Perched high on a cliff, hidden in the darkness, I took in the sight before me—the so-called mighty warriors of Berk scrambling like ants, clutching their weapons with shaking hands, their pride cracking beneath the weight of true terror. They prided themselves on their strength, their valor, their place at the top of the food chain. But in truth, they were nothing. Just men playing at being gods, believing in their own myths of power.
How pathetic.
A cruel smirk tugged at my lips as my eyes roamed the chaos. The teens—the ones who had tormented me, laughed at me, treated me like a joke—they were pretending to be brave, to be strong. Astrid led them, barking orders, her face set in determined fury, but I could see the fear behind her eyes. They fought to protect their homes, their people.
It was all so meaningless.
They were nothing more than insects waiting to be crushed. And I would do it myself—one by one, when the time was right.
But tonight was not about vengeance. Not yet.
Tonight was about taking my first step toward something greater.
My gaze lifted from the pitiful excuse of a village to the sky, searching for the only thing that mattered. A shadow among the firelight. A phantom of the night.
The Night Fury.
And then, I saw him.
A flicker of black slicing through the air, silent, precise—an apex predator among the chaos. The village below was meaningless, the people scrambling for their survival irrelevant. This was the only creature that mattered. The one being in this entire world that was worthy of standing beside me.
Toothless.
My grip tightened around my weapon, my bola launcher steady in my hands. This was not a desperate, foolish act of defiance. This was precision. A calculated strike, forged through years of pain, training, and unwavering resolve.
I didn't hesitate.
The bola snapped free, slicing through the night. A perfect shot.
The cords wrapped around the Night Fury's sleek body, binding his wings. A piercing roar shattered the air, filled with agony and rage. The great beast twisted, spiraling downward, crashing into the dense forest below.
I exhaled slowly, my smirk fading.
This was not about hurting him.
This was about control.
Toothless was the key. Without him, the future I envisioned could never exist. He would be mine—not as a prisoner, not as a tool, but as an equal. The rest of Berk's dragons, the ones still shackled under the rule of their queen, would bow to me in time.
But it had to start here. With him.
A deep, guttural roar interrupted my thoughts.
I turned, unfazed, as a Monstrous Nightmare charged toward me, its massive claws carving into the dirt, its eyes blazing with fury.
Fool.
I met its gaze without flinching, letting the weight of my presence settle over it. No fear. No hesitation. I had trained for this. I had honed myself into something beyond them. The dragon's charge slowed, its fire faltering, its rage giving way to something else.
Recognition.
Even under the Green Death's influence, it knew. It could see what the humans of Berk were too blind to comprehend. I was no weakling. I was no prey.
I was a predator.
"Good," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "You understand, don't you?"
The beast trembled, instinct warring with the queen's command. It took a step back, hesitating.
Then—
"HICCUP!"
Stoick's roar shattered the moment.
I slipped back into my mask in an instant, staggering backward, wide-eyed and flailing like the weakling they all expected me to be.
Stoick's massive form barreled past me, his axe gleaming in the firelight. The Monstrous Nightmare shrieked as Stoick struck, forcing it to retreat into the darkness. The battle was over.
Berk was left in ruins, its people reeling, its homes scarred and broken. Smoke still clung to the air, the stench of burning wood and desperation thick in my lungs.
And yet, even after all of this, they still believed in their strength.
Pathetic.
Stoick turned on me, his face a mask of fury and disappointment.
"What were you thinking, Hiccup?" he growled, his voice heavy with frustration.
"I… I shot it down," I stammered, forcing my voice to shake, to sound small. "The Night Fury. I hit it—you have to believe me!"
His scowl deepened, his hands clenching into fists.
"You?" A bitter laugh escaped him. "You can't even hold a weapon properly, and you expect me to believe you brought down the Night Fury?"
The villagers joined in his disbelief, their laughter cutting through the remnants of battle.
"Sure, Hiccup!" Snotlout sneered. "And next time, you'll tell us you took down a Skrill with your bare hands!"
I forced my expression into one of defeat, shrinking under their scorn.
Let them laugh. Let them mock. Let them believe their pathetic illusions of strength.
It was easier this way.
"Fine," I muttered, my voice hollow. "Don't believe me."
Stoick sighed heavily, rubbing a hand down his face. "Go home, Hiccup. Now."
I nodded weakly, turning away as the crowd dispersed. But I had no intention of returning to the house Stoick called home.
The moment I was free from their sight, I slipped into the forest, my heartbeat steady, my breathing even. My mind burned with anticipation.
I knew where he was.
The Night Fury. My dragon. He was waiting for me, tangled in the trees, helpless.
This was only the beginning.
Let Berk believe they had survived the night.
Soon, they would understand the truth.
Soon, they would bow.
Soon, they would break.