'As soon as the battle begun, something gnawed at me. An instinctive feeling that something wasn't right.'
'I can't escape it either, this sense of... wrongness in the air. It bothers me,.like smoke clinging to my newly bathed skin.'
'This! is Alvin the Treacherous, an ambitious viking, formerly of Berk, granted a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to launch an assault at our weakest and still... He attacked from the front? Despite knowing about the narrow steps from the docks to the village?'
'Sure shields against arrows prevail but what about a boulder rolling down those steps?'
As Hiccup thought of this, a loud crash followed by a cheer mixed with a shout of rage echoed through the night. Reaching from the entrance of the village to the very steps of the Great Hall.
'Rocks could be dropped straight down from two rock walls that keep them boxed in. And no matter how much they defend, the strain will still be upon them.'
Shouts of pain mixed with anger the constant thudding of wood reached his ears.
'Where oil can be poured, and light aflame to bathe his men to an infernal grave.'
His eyes caught the light. Red and orange. Dancing with shouts of pain, horror and pleads for mercy and curses with promises of pain.
'Overconfidence? Stupidity? Madness or Courage? Whatever it was that drives his action, it made no sense for any of them to lead to this? To come to such a conclusion! So what is it? What are you truly after?'
His eyes turns to the other side, carefully scanning the treeline. Looking, observing, waiting for another force to suddenly reveal itself.
With the silence of the forest, he thought that for a time, victory seemed theirs. With the first clash of steel and wood resounding passed the village and to his ears. All seemed well as the men of Berk had spent little strength as they whittled down their enemies. Armed with weapons and armor that would never falter so long as they hold it. And a strategic location that controlled the clash to the point that numbers were diluted to manageable numbers.
All that was left, was to robe themselves the better warriors and be the victors.
But even to the maddest of warriors there is. An unspoken law overrules every conflict, in every battle, and in every war. It is that-
'Death must have meaning, more so to the man, fallen or standing beside you.'
And then it came. *RAAARRRRRGG!!!"
The roar that made every one flinch as it cut through the sky like thunder beneath the darkness of the night.
It filled heir hearts with doubt, some in fear, others in rage. But the indication remained the same... that the conflict had changed and the tide of battle they had been riding on, has now turned in the other direction.
—.—.—.—.—
"Odin help us." Flynn whispers. and with a thud of his heart, he ordered them to the only place left. "Inside! All of you inside now!"
"No! We have to face it!" Hiccup shouts, in mild panic.
But Flynn was not having it. "We have to defend the Hall!"
"Then we will die in there!" rage marred the boys features, making Flynn shake his head. Believing that the boy wanted more glory. So he continued ordering those who were still at the steps to hurry inside.
"Flynn listen to me!" Pissed of at being ignored, Hiccup drew his sword, "I said listen!" and held it by the man's face.
All froze in panic and fright, the feelings they invoked were evident in their faces but Hiccup- he didn't relent.
"If we lock ourselves in there! that Dragon will burn down those doors! and we'd lose more civilians behind insufficient shields! That roar was close, minutes from the treeline and five times further from the nearest shore! It means that they had kept it quiet throughout the majority of the island! That roar has reached the front lines. Our forces! thin as they are would scatter! And we would be surrounded by overwhelming numbers! And a dragon! We have to face it!"
"We don't know how many there are boy!"
"One!"
"Wh-"
"One dragon Flynn. Just one!"
Words exploded from every mouth, with those believing his words. The weight of the possibility hang in every word. Gripping on to hope that there was only one dragon with others saying otherwise.
Among the voices, it echoed again. *RAAARRRRRGG!!!"
This time, the battle field trembled as the clashing of steel and thudding of wood crawled to their very ears. At the far edge of the village, the flickering fires crept ever closer, as if the very light of the flames would burn them.
Flynn could no longer deny it. Their front lines was slowly collapsing to panic.
He turned to the runner. "Send word to Gobber! I-.. the Dragon will be taken care of! Go!"
Seeing their fastest run, he sprang to command as he split his forces of ten. Four to the Dragon, six to defend.
—.—.—.—.—
The village is on fire, as Spitelout fought a man that had just cut through their lines.
His axe arcs beautifully with every swing. Relentless and enraged. His eyes bloodshot with a warcry leaving his lips with every swing.
Thud, it went, crack it goes. The sound of wood carved by steel was his guide as Spitelout refused to give the Outcast bastard breathing room as he whittled down his shield. And as the first major crack begun, with a loud shout of rage, he lifted his weapon high before bringing it down like a hammer.
Blood, the smell and taste of iron touched his lips and tounge as his weapon cut through shield and arm.
"Ah! Ha! AHH!!" the outcasts shouts, as he held the stomp. *spurt! Only for his throat to split open with blood gushing like a fountain.
He gurgled once and spasmed at the dirt, but none mattered, as he was reduced to just another corpse in a burning village consumed with war.
Spitelout didn't wait before facing off against another and killing the man moments later.
And just as he took another step towards the battle, a glint of silver reached his peripheral. He ducked beneath the steel, and swung at the man's torso, but his axe was blocked by a shield.
The clink of his axe against the frame of the shield allowed Spitelout to let his blade slip further in before yanking his axe back in an upward arc. But his body froze, as an all too familiar sensation jolts him back to reality.
His axe had been caught by the beard of his enemy's axe. Locking their weapons in place.
His eyes saw the braided beard and braided hair, both as pitch black as the night. And eyes colder than any frigid winter he had ever known.
Before him stood the only man he knew who could match Stoick the Vast himself. One who was once known to have been his Chief's equal.
Charismatic, strong, handsome and just as fierce as he was loyal... till the day he betrayed them. The day he sold his kin and labelled them as Thralls. He who betrayed his home...
"Alvin the Treacherous..."
"Oho-ho-ho. Come now Spitelout." Alvine mocks. "Is that anyway to greet an old friend."
"Raahhh!" Spitelout forcefully shoved Alvin's weapon, and swung at his face only to be met with the same Axe.
"Hehehe~ getting slower...old friend."
"DIE TRAITOR!" Spitelout attacked relentlessly.
Their clash echoed with the chaos that was Berk. Spitelout, blinded by rage, knew only to push yet Alvin remained calm, his braided hair and beard, swayed little as he expertly dodged. His face, smiling and mocking yet his eyes shines like a blade. Sharp and edging ever closer.
He felt the heat first, before the sound of cracking fire registered in his ears. Alvin then locked his axe with Spitelouts, with his head turning slightly to the light behind him. A burning house inching closer and closer.
Alvin returns his attention and nodded in acknowledgement of Spitelout's rage. A fury in plain sight as it marred his face with unrestrained anger bathed by the flickering fires.
And so he sneered, stomped hard, and shoved Spitelout before bringing his axe down. *Clang! his axe went, forcing Spitelout's weapon down before bashing the man in the face with his shield.
The cracking of Spitelout's nose knocked the lights out of his eyes. And as he blinked back into focus, Alvin had his axe mid-swing towards his skull. Spitelout rolled to the side, and raise this Axe to defend from another strike but Alvin hooked his weapon with his own and yank it free from his grasps.
Alvin roared with anger as he swung twice.
Spitelout leans out of the way on the first and kicked the dirt hard as he made some distance from the second.
He then grabbed a wooden beam, scorched and still flickering with flames yet his fingers curled against the wood and flames. His grip, tightly fueld by desperation, anger and an all too familiar fear as he hastily parried Alvin's strikes.
Their confrontation was like a blue flame in the middle burning candles.
Both had been friends once. Ambitious, strong and with great respect to tradition. Spitelout could feel his own heart, aching as they fought.
This was the man he once called his brother-in-arms. Someone who had bled beside him as they defended their home. As they got drunk together, celebrating their first Dragon Kill, as they compared his Monstrous Nightmare Horn against his Deadly Nadder Spine.
Someone he had watched nearly drink himself to death as his sister, one they both grew up with, married Stoick.
This was him, the man he had complained towards as Stoick removed tradition after tradition that he believed no longer benefitted Berk.
Someone -he painfully admits- had thought a better Chief as he took charge of the village when Stoick and Gobber drowned themselves in grief upon his sister's death.
Yet that painful night, all he could remember we're his words.
'Stoick is lucky still... to have a son to hold close.. while all I have left, is her ghost...' he said.
"I should have seen it. I should have....as your friend. I should have stopped ya'." he thought, as Spitelout's eyes could still see it. The man he once was.
Alas, his trainof thought shattered as Alvin's former visage vanished beneath the madness and mixed with a cry that echoed through the chaos that was his home.
"HELP ME!! SAVE ME! GODS FLYNN HEL-"
*Bang! went the beam, as it cracked in the middle. Only for his world to spin, while his head was thrown to the side by Alvin's shield.
Spitelout rolled and rolled till his body was forced to stop due to the heat. Right at the foot of a burning home. The scream of fear still ringing through his ears. As a shadow looked over him, instincts screamed as he grabbed whatever his hands could hold, and smacked the offending shadow aside.
*swush! his stick went, along with his hope as Alvin remained smiling with his axe still raised. Mocking his vain attempt, one too obvious in his eyes.
"DIE TRAITOR!" Alvin shouts triumphantly, as he brought his weapon down.
All slowed for Spitelout, watching in defeat as the Gronkle Iron Axe descended. With his family's faces flashing through his eyes, his wide and beautiful wife, his strong little boy... his brother-in-law, his nephew ...his sister.
"...sister... forgive me."
*Clang! "We were brothers once." Alvin whispers. His Axe lightly planted right atop Spitelout's shoulder. "Yet you betrayed me... when I need you most. You, Stoick, Gobber... you betrayed me."
"No." Spitelout whispers. "You betrayed us. We believed ya' ...yet you still betrayed us."
Alvin's eyes widened. Surprise and hurt both slowly morphed into rage. "They attacked me! Chained me! And when I brought myself free- You... Would judge me for doing to them what they did!!!"
"Aye we did!" Spitelout shouts. "Just as we judged them! For attempting to sell ya! For betraying Berk! Aye we did! Just as we judged you for et... Berk believed yer plight Alvin... just as we believed your crimes....I did... I believed ya."
Alvin's fist shook and with a yank of his Axe, he raised it high only to suddenly bring it low and smacked harshly against his cheek.
Alvin stumbled back, his eyes finding itself fixed on the man that had attacked him.
"Teacher." Alvin greeted but...
Gobber simply attacked.