He launches skyward like a shot.
Wind slams into me, but I'm already locked in. The clouds part as we climb—up, up, through veils of white mist into open sky, the air crisp and sharp.
Below us, the island fades into the sea.
"To Berk, Stormbolt." My voice is soft. "Let's see how far we've come."
My compass rattles uselessly at my belt—the needle spinning aimlessly under the interference from Stormbolt's lightning-charged spines.
—---------------------
"So… this is Berk." The words slip from my lips, barely audible against the rush of wind as Stormbolt glides silently through the morning sky.
Below us, the jagged cliffs and curling shores of the island come into view—its strange familiarity amplified by all the stories, sketches, and crude carvings I'd studied. Smoke curls lazily from a few chimneys, but the rest of the village looks… still. Too still.
I glance down at the docks, eyes narrowing. 'No ships. No sails. Not even a damn fishing boat.'
Only a small, weather-beaten rowboat rocks softly against the tide. My brow furrows.
"That's odd… it's past mid-morning. They should be bustling by now."
I pull a folded map from my inventory—its edges curled from salt and age, bought off a grizzled trader who'd reeked of fish and mead. Still, it had gotten me here—and it had been surprisingly accurate. I smooth it briefly with my thumb before tucking it into my inventory, my eyes sweeping once more across the silent village.
Then I hear it. A soft trill behind me. Stormbolt's attention has shifted—his ears perked, his posture coiled with anticipation. I follow his gaze to the southern sky.
There—just specks at first—color streaking the horizon. Movement. Shapes.
Dragons. Riders.
I lean forward in my saddle, eyes narrowing.
A slow smile pulls at the corner of my mouth.
'So it is the end of the first movie.' I press a hand to Stormbolt's warm, scale-plated neck. His spines crackle softly beneath my palm.
"Stay above them," I whisper, "keep to the clouds. I don't want them to see us—yet."
Stormbolt answers with a soft, excited rumble, then dips his wings and banks into motion—his movements sleek and fluid as he drifts just below the cloud layer, silent and swift.
I lean forward fully now, buckling my saddle strap tighter. The air bites cold at this height, but I don't feel it anymore—not with Thor's blessing pulsing in my blood. We match speed with the group below, Stormbolt holding just above and behind them, coasting on updrafts like a shadow.
"They're heading for the Red Death's nest, Stormbolt." My voice barely cuts through the rush of wind around us, but Stormbolt hears me—his ears twitch in response, and I feel the subtle shift of his wings as he adjusts to keep us level just beneath the cloudline.
Below, the six riders cut through the sky, flying with the reckless speed of desperation and newfound purpose.
Barf and Belch swerve wildly, its twin heads bickering even mid-flight while the twins aboard it cackle with manic glee, nearly falling off from their chaotic enthusiasm. They're barely in control, but loving every second of it.
Behind them, Snotlout looks more confused than courageous. The Hookfang growls and flies on autopilot, trailing behind Stormfly, wings sharp as razors and body sleek—carrying Astrid and Hiccup. Hiccup clings tightly to her waist, his knuckles pale from the grip, his eyes constantly flicking around. Fear. Worry. Hope. All etched into his face like cracks in stone. Toothless isn't with him. Not yet.
Trailing behind them is Fishlegs, Meatlug painting with each heavy flap, wobbling through the air like a boulder desperately trying to swim. Fishlegs's face is a mix of childlike wonder and pure panic—smiling one second, screaming into the wind the next, clinging to the saddle for dear life.
I squint through the veil of sky between us and murmur to Stormbolt,
"You see the scrawny one? The one clinging to the blond girl like his life depends on it?"
Stormbolt trills in reply—low and charged, static electricity sparking faintly along the ridges of his back like a warning drumroll before a coming storm.
"We don't move in until he mounts the Nightfury. That's when we help them. Not before."
I speak with resolve, but even I feel the rising tempo of my heartbeat—the steady thump syncing with the distant roar of the sea and the wind rushing past us.
Stormbolt answers with a soft roar, his body tensing beneath me. He's ready.
Below, Hiccup shifts—his head turns, eyes scanning the sky. Not searching for the Red Death. Searching for something else.
Us.
For a fleeting moment, our eyes nearly meet, though I know we're too high to be seen. But instinct… it's strong in him. He knows something's out there.
—---------------------
(Hiccups POV)
"Astrid… something doesn't feel right."
My voice cuts through the roar of the wind, soft but edged with unease. The air is thin up here, colder than it was just a few minutes ago, or maybe that's just me. I glance around the cloud-dappled sky, my eyes scanning the edges of the horizon. Every so often, a flicker—a shadow, like a sliver of black darting between cloud banks—catches the corner of my vision before vanishing again.
Astrid shifts in the saddle ahead of me, her arms tightening instinctively around Stormfly's reins.
"Well, of course you feel off, Hiccup," she says with a dry breath, her tone trying to mask her tension. "Your dad took Toothless, and they're flying off to fight a mountain-sized monster. It'd be weird if you felt normal."
I nod, but the feeling only deepens. It isn't just dread about the Red Death—it's something else. Something... watching us.
"I know. But... it's not that," I murmur, leaning slightly to get a better look through the clouds. "It's like something's following us—above, maybe behind."
Astrid doesn't reply right away, but I feel her shift again, her posture tightening. Stormfly's head twitches slightly, reacting to her rider's unease.
"What could possibly be following us up here?" she finally asks, her tone just a shade too casual to be convincing.
Before I can respond, a sudden burst of orange light below catches our attention.
"AH! HOT! HOT! HOT!!" Snotlout's panicked yelling cuts through the air as Hookfang ignites, his whole body wreathed in fire, the Monstrous Nightmare clearly annoyed by his rider's constant fidgeting.
The twins erupt in laughter, Barf and Belch spiraling dangerously close to a barrel roll as Ruffnut and Tuffnut howl like maniacs.
I offer a weak smile but it quickly fades. "Maybe I'm just... seeing things," I mutter. "I haven't been away from Toothless this long before. Feels like I left a part of me behind."
Instinctively, my hands tighten around Astrid's waist. She doesn't say anything—just leans back slightly, letting me know she hears me.
I glance back over my shoulder.
Fishlegs is holding on, white-knuckled and wide-eyed, but at least he's not screaming anymore. His Gronckle lumbers along, its heavy body wobbling like it's swimming through the sky instead of flying. He's scared. We all are.
I scan the clouds again, eyes squinting.
There it is again—just a flicker—a dark shape, slicing along the edge of a cumulus veil, too quick to track, too quiet to hear.
—---------------------
(Erik's POV)
"Damn… she really is a massive bastard, isn't she, bud."
The words leave my lips in a breathless mutter as I stare down at the monstrous behemoth below. The Red Death—a titanic force of destruction—looms like a mountain given wings, her coral-like protrusions jutting from her armored back like grotesque spines of a forgotten god. Smoke coils from her nostrils. Each wingbeat stirs hurricanes. Just existing, she radiates power.
My eyes scan the roiling sea below her—the surface still churning violently. Stoick had already vanished into the waves after Hiccup. My grip tightens around Stormbolt's neck as I peer down, waiting for the inevitable burst of black scale and fire.
'Any second now…' The thought simmers in the back of my mind, nerves coiling like a live wire.
I glance at Stormbolt, the hybrid's muscles tensing beneath me. He's quiet. Too quiet.
"You good, bud?" I ask, rubbing the base of his neck where scales give way to softer plating.
A jolt of electricity flicks up my arm—a small spark, short but sharper than usual. Not panic… something closer to anticipation.
"No need to be scared," I murmur. "I've got you."
Then—splash.
A geyser erupts from the ocean as Toothless and Hiccup rocket from the sea's depths, sun cutting across their soaked forms like a divine spotlight. My heart skips—there they are.
A grin carves across my face. "Time to introduce ourselves."
I pat Stormbolt's side, the signal clear.
He launches—explodes—forward like a ballista bolt loosed from the heavens, slicing through the sky on wings laced with crackling arcs of power.
From my inventory, I summon my glaive—gronckle-forged steel, polished obsidian dark with streaks of Stormbolt's own purplish-black scales interwoven into the pole. A long, violet ribbon flutters at the head's base, snapping wildly in the wind as the air pressure around us builds.
"Let's fuck her up."
Stormbolt screeches, a piercing cry of challenge and defiance as lightning coils along his jaws and fires in a searing streak directly into the Red Death's shoulder, exploding in a burst of white-blue energy.
She howls, the sound like a dying volcano, but even as she rears, we're already there—cutting along her armored flank in a blur of speed and steel. My glaive bites into her hide—not deep, but enough to leave a bleeding line.
Stormbolt jerks left, banking hard beneath one of her massive wings as the air shudders from her sheer size. I catch sight of Hiccup and Toothless, their eyes wide as they catch us slicing through the chaos. Confusion etches across their faces.
"Yeah," I mutter with a sharp breath, "we weren't in the script."
Stormbolt snarls, letting loose another lightning bolt that blasts into her wing membrane, searing holes through the leathery flesh. We rise with the gust, my glaive whipping down and slicing into her wing, sparks flying as the blade tears sinew—but she's just so big. The wound feels like a pinprick on a leviathan.
"Come on, give me something," I growl in frustration.
Then—BOOM.
A plasma blast, wild and furious, slams directly into the Red Death's face, staggering her backward in a thunderous roar of pain. The beast flinches—glaring between me and Stormbolt, and Hiccup and Toothless.
"You take her left!"
I bellow the command through the roaring wind, knowing full well Hiccup probably can't hear a damn thing over the chaos. But Stormbolt—ever the translator—lets loose a crackling thunderclap of a roar, the meaning carried in its fury. Across the battlefield, Toothless lets out a short huff, acknowledging the call, and I watch as Hiccup leans forward, instinct clicking into place as the Night Fury arcs right.
Good. He got the message.
We surge forward—two shadows diving into a tempest, streaking lightning and living fire cutting through the storm.
Stormbolt drives straight toward the Red Death's massive eye, his form slicing through the air like a bolt from Odin's spear. My glaive bites deep into the beast's leathery side as we strafe past, sparks and steam erupting from the gashes. Electricity pulses from Stormbolt's maw, searing flesh and blackening bone as we hammer her wings, trying to cripple her mid-flight.
But the Red Death is done playing.
With a roar that shakes the sky and rattles my bones, she surges upward—wings straining, massive frame fighting against gravity. Her maw opens wide, and then—
Flame.
A blast of fire rolls out like the breath of hell itself, a wave of searing orange and white that screams toward us and Toothless in tandem. We barely pull up in time, climbing fast into the storm-choked skies, the heat trailing behind us like death itself.
"Let's show her just how fast we are too, bud!"
Stormbolt answers with a trill, wind and electricity wrapping around us like a cyclone as we tear through the clouds in pursuit of Hiccup and Toothless. The Red Death follows, her massive form wounding the sky, her bloodlust now locked onto her former soldier turned rebel.
Below, the other riders are still wrangling chaos on the ground—but up here? It's a war in the heavens.
Toothless banks hard right, disappearing into the clouds.
We break left.
Split her focus.
The monster snarls and turns—picking Toothless—and goes after him, jaws gnashing and fire curling at her lips.
"Let's roast her."
We dive low and fast, circling beneath her massive wingspan. I launch javelins, each tipped with sharpened Nadder spines, and they whistle through the air before slamming into the veined membranes of her wings. One. Two. Three. Each one disrupts her flight, forces her higher and slower. Stormbolt rakes her back with another barrage of lightning, dancing around her like a phantom of the storm.
She howls in agony and twists her head, eyes locking onto us now.
And that's all Toothless needs.
BOOM.
A plasma blast smashes into the side of her face, stunning her just long enough for me to stand in my saddle, hurl another javelin—dead on. It punches straight through one of her left eyes, a wet pop echoing as she rears back in agony, loosing another wildfire scream.
Then she starts to spin, spiraling, fire erupting in every direction in a desperate, blinding fury.
"DOWN!"
We dive—me and Stormbolt plunging like comets, cutting under her belly—and suddenly we're alongside Toothless and Hiccup, the closest we've ever been.
I glance sideways, grinning. "So... how you guys been?"
Hiccup nearly falls off his saddle in shock, wide eyes blinking as Toothless squints at Stormbolt like he's just now realizing we're on the same side. Stormbolt trills, clearly enjoying the moment.
"Bad time," I add with a chuckle, as if we're chatting over ale at a tavern instead of dodging a dragon the size of a fortress.
Then we split again—me and Stormbolt veering skyward, Hiccup and Toothless diving low. From opposite ends we unleash our fury: lightning and plasma, streaking through the air, slamming into the Red Death from above and below.
"Get me to her head, bud."
The words leave my mouth without hesitation, despite the insane weight behind them. It's reckless. It's unnecessary. But by the gods, it'll be glorious. I can feel Stormbolt's confusion, but he doesn't question it. Instead, he beats his wings hard, a loud whump-whump-whump propelling us upward like a bolt of living thunder.
My fingers find the harness clips. I unhook. Wind roars in my ears like a battle cry.
"Hit her wings and sides, bud. Light her up."
And I jump.
The sky tears past me, wind screaming around my body as the world tilts sideways. My hand shoots to my inventory, fingers curling around two custom climbing hooks, forged from Gronckle iron and blessed by the flames of my forge. The instant I reach the Red Death's massive, scorched back, I drive them down.
CHSHHK!
They bite deep into her thick hide—smoking, oozing, red—and I anchor myself against the storm-tossed sky.
"Gotta love high vitality and strength," I grunt with a wild smile, muscles burning as I haul myself up toward the base of her neck. Below, Stormbolt and Toothless are blitzing her wings, plasma and lightning tearing ragged holes through sinew and membrane. The sky is a canvas of fire and fury. I glance down only once—and see Hiccup, wide-eyed, slack-jawed, completely baffled.
The Red Death shrieks, twisting midair in a rage. The flesh beneath my feet quakes, trying to buck me off like a flea. But I hold.
I climb.
My fingers bleed. My boots nearly melt. But I climb.
And finally—her neck.
"You're not truly living—or fighting—if you don't earn a few scars!" I roar into the wind, my voice raw and laughing. From my satchel, I pull the object that had burned against my side since the storm atop the mountain:
Lightning's Sigil.
It pulses in my palm—crackling white-blue arcs licking across my arm.
"Thor!" I shout to the storm above, defying the heavens. "Strike me down and show me the might of a god!"
As if the sky had been waiting for my cry, the clouds tear open. The sky goes black.
And then—the heavens answer.
CRACK–BOOM!
Lightning tears through the atmosphere, a blinding white line ripping toward me. For a fraction of a heartbeat, time stands still. I see every drop of rain suspended in the air. Every ripple of heat along the Red Death's back. Even the horror dawning on Hiccup's face below.
The bolt strikes.
My body convulses—no pain, only power. Pure, divine energy pours into me, racing through every nerve like liquid fire. My veins glow faintly beneath my skin, the sigil a radiant core in my palm. But it isn't me who screams—it's the Red Death.
The lightning arcs into her skull, cooking her from the inside out.
BOOM!
Another bolt. Then a third.
The air turns white, the thunder shredding the clouds.
She buckles mid-air, wings folding. Her body begins to plummet—a collapsing mountain of smoke and flesh, screaming into the abyss.
And I—laughing like a man possessed—ride her all the way down.
"THIS IS GLORY!"
Bolt after bolt crashes down around us. I launch myself from her burning back just as she hits the ocean, her corpse sinking like a fortress into the sea. At the last second, Stormbolt dives, catching me with outstretched claws as we spiral back up through the lightning-wreathed air.
And just as we steady—a final strike hits us both.
But there's no pain.
Only energy.
Stormbolt's body flares like a living stormcloud, glowing with a pale, electric aura. His wings shimmer with arcs of violet-blue as he lets out a howl that splits the sky.
"This is the might of a god!" I bellow, my voice cracking like thunder itself, laughter bubbling from my chest in wild, euphoric waves as I slam back into the saddle—my fingers locking tight to the harness just as Stormbolt dives like a thunderstrike from the heavens.
We hit the ground like judgment itself.
The earth splits beneath us. A ring of charred soil and scorched stone spreads outward from the impact, the air heavy with the scent of ozone and burned earth. Arcs of lingering electricity leap from Stormbolt's wings to nearby rocks and trees, dancing in the storm-choked air.
Our bodies still pulse with light—crackling veins of energy racing across my arms and down Stormbolt's plated hide like veins of molten silver. We don't walk—we glow.
"Being a maniac is fun," I laugh again, head tipped back as raw adrenaline floods my bloodstream, the aftershocks of divine power still coursing through my bones. Every nerve in my body sings, each breath sharp and alive.
Hiccup and Toothless land beside us with a clumsy stumble, the two of them staring at us like they've seen spirits descend from Asgard itself. Their eyes are wide with disbelief, their limbs tense like they expect me to keel over any second.
"How is this even possible?" Hiccup breathes, barely more than a whisper as he stares at me like I've broken every law of reality.
I slide down from Stormbolt's back in one smooth motion, boots thudding onto the cracked, blackened ground, my hand still trailing sparks as it leaves the saddle. My heart beats like a war drum, but I grin with the ease of someone who's enjoying every second of the chaos.
"By the blessing of a god, my friend," I say with a wink, "anything is possible."
Behind us, a massive wave crashes onto the distant shore, the sea pulled inward from the Red Death's fall finally reclaiming its territory in a thunderous crescendo. Water sprays high into the air, mist catching the remaining light like fractured crystal. The entire scene is surreal—a painting painted by the storm itself.
'Perfect timing… though I still want her body,' I think, eyeing the still-burning remains beneath the waves. That much biomass could be useful.
I turn to Hiccup, my grin widening into something feral, something triumphant. "That aside… it's time for me and my friends to make our exit. You've got a world to change, chief. Vikings and dragons need a bridge. You're it."
I raise my hand like a pistol, mock-aiming at him with a playful smirk.
"Bang."
"Wait—what?" Hiccup stammers, clearly not ready for this cosmic rollercoaster to throw another loop at him. He takes a step forward, as if he might chase after me.
But I'm already turning, already climbing back onto Stormbolt's saddle. "Don't worry. I'll show up at Berk tomorrow. I've got… other things to attend to tonight."
With a final nod, I give Stormbolt the signal—and we're off, a black streak riding the wind, trailing arcs of electricity like falling stars in reverse. Behind me, the Dragon Riders stare upward in stunned silence. The twins, naturally, begin arguing whether they should start worshipping Thor. Tuffnut suggests a hammer cult. Ruffnut threatens him with an axe. Snotlout is just crying that he didn't get lightning powers.
[Quest Complete: Kill the Red Death]
Objective: Slay the Red Death
Rewards: +200 Gacha Tickets, +3 World Tickets, +10 to All Stats
[Quest Complete: Thor's Proving]
Objective: Survive a direct lightning strike empowered by the Sigil
Rewards: +100 Gacha Tickets, +10 Strength, +10 Vitality
[Achievement Unlocked: Alpha Slayer]
Slay a top-tier apex dragon
Reward: +50 Gacha Tickets, +10 Intelligence
[Achievement Unlocked: Thor's Proving]
Survive divine judgment and be empowered by it
Reward: +50 Gacha Tickets
Title Unlocked: Thor's Champion
Passive: Stat Multiplier x2 during storms
'Now this is a haul,' I think, smiling as the stormlight dances over my armor, as if the clouds themselves are applauding me. The wind howls around us as Stormbolt banks low and we descend into the volcanic nest of the Red Death.
My eyes scan the shadows for anything left behind. Eggs. Bones. Scales.
'Still… why didn't Thor remove my lightning immunity when testing me?'
A chuckle rumbles in my throat.
'Maybe he didn't want me to survive in pain… maybe he just wanted me to win.' The thought lingers like the last echo of thunder across a distant sky, humming in my bones just beneath the fading lightning in my veins. I roll my shoulders, still buzzing with energy, and can't help the grin that creeps across my face.
Twenty points. Twenty full points in both Strength and Vitality—just from that single act of divine madness. I haven't even bulked up in the traditional sense. These stats are additive, not cosmetic. With a flick of my wrist, I could probably match—or even surpass—Stoick the Vast. And I'm not even trying yet.
"Can't wait to fight in a storm," I muse to myself, eyes gleaming. "I swear I'm gonna rip someone's head off."
Now, with a couple of World Tickets in my pocket, the temptation is strong—leave this world for two months, farm upgrades, test myself against some poor bastards in another timeline. Cyberpunk? Witcher? Maybe even Elden Ring if I want to be masochistic. But another idea stirs in the back of my mind, more calculated.
'No… wait until after the first major event in the show. Once I reach fourty percent world completion, I'll have enough of a foothold to leave and not lose momentum.'
Before I can finish the thought, a sharp jolt runs up my spine—Stormbolt shocking me, as if pulling me out of my daydream. "Alright, alright, I'm focused," I mutter, rubbing my neck with a smirk.
And then I see it.
The lava below has receded, not fully gone, but sunk low enough to reveal tunnels—twisting, spiraling paths carved deep into the earth, smooth and gnarled at once. Stormbolt picks one without hesitation, his instincts as a Skrill hybrid tugging him toward raw minerals and metal deposits like a compass chasing magnetic north.
'Heh… not random at all. You're sniffing out treasure, aren't you?'
We weave through the tunnels, walls glowing faintly from residual heat. Along the edges I spot long, circular gouges—spirals of rock carved out like something chewed its way through the stone itself. Whispering Death. No mistaking those marks.
'This place must have been one of their nests before the Red Death moved in.'
But whatever thoughts I have unravel like smoke when we emerge into the next chamber.
A massive cavern yawns open before us, its bottom still bubbling with molten rock. Across the lava lies a skeleton—no, a colossus. The ancient, crumbling remains of a Screaming Death. Its bones span the entire chamber, like the fossil of some god-sized leviathan. Its scales, dulled to a weathered gray, form islands above the lava. And atop those islands?
Eggs.
Dozens.
No—hundreds of Red Death eggs, glistening with heat. Some are a deep crimson, others a strange, sickly green—and some are both, marbled like infected gemstones. A quiet reverence takes hold of me as I hover with Stormbolt, staring down at them.
"Holy… fucking shit," I breathe out, the words barely audible over the hum of rising heat.
'Green Deaths… mates…' My mind shifts into analysis mode despite the shock. 'There's obvious sexual dimorphism. The Red Death was larger, more aggressive—so she was the dominant of the pair. But the green eggs… they're not hers, not fully. They're hybrids. A mix.'
"We have to take those eggs," I say, patting Stormbolt's neck. "And the Screaming Death skeleton too. We're not leaving that behind."
Stormbolt veers lower, wings gliding carefully through the superheated air. I reach out, fingers brushing against one of the eggs, only to remember—they're alive. I can't store them. Not unless I find a way to stabilize or shield them. The skeleton, however? That slides into my inventory with a pulse of energy.
A boom reverberates through the cavern as the sudden removal of its immense weight causes a violent displacement in the molten lake below. The lava drops, slow at first, then surging downward like a falling tide. Crimson heat recedes, and in its place...
Bones.
Thousands of them.
They emerge like ghosts surfacing from a bloodied sea—charred, blackened, yet intact in their silence. Clusters of ribs, tiny snapped spines, scorched wings curled in upon themselves. Piles upon piles stretching as far as the eye can see. A mass grave drowned in magma, now laid bare.
And they were all the same size.
Gronckle-sized. No larger than hatchlings. Barely weeks old. Too small to fight. Too young to flee.
I hover with Stormbolt in stunned silence, the flickering lava painting their remains in hues of dying gold and orange. My breath catches. My jaw tightens.
"She ate her own brood."
The words fall from my lips like ashes, soft and poisonous. There is no echo. Only the steady hiss of bubbling lava and the quiet, mournful hum of Stormbolt's wings.
I drift lower, closer, eyes scanning every fractured skull, every splintered ribcage, every twisted spine that still bore the marks of her digestion—acid-worn and blackened at the ends. Some bones were cracked, others shattered as if by immense pressure. I even spot clumps of bone, fused together by heat, too warped to belong to just one hatchling.
They were born into flame. And consumed by the one who birthed them.
Stormbolt shudders beneath me.
His body flares with electricity, arcs dancing wildly from spine to spine. Not like before—not playful, not proud. This was primal. Uncontrolled. Furious. His wings twitch. His breathing deepens. Sparks jump between his teeth.
"She bred them… only to feed on them." My voice is a low growl now, ragged with disbelief and fury. "Let them hatch. Let them see light. Let them take their first breath—then swallowed them whole."
I feel bile rise in my throat. My fingers curl into fists against Stormbolt's saddle. My jaw clenches hard enough to ache. This wasn't just monstrous—it was ritualized predation, an endless cycle of forced birth and devouring.
A predator… of her own kind.
I scan the layout—rings of bones, like nests. Clawed grooves in the stone. A circle of death, repeating endlessly in this molten tomb.
This wasn't a lair. This was a slaughterhouse.
Stormbolt lets out a deep, low snarl—a guttural, almost electric rumble that makes the cavern tremble. Lightning crawls along his wings like veins of living fury, bathing the cavern walls in flashes of white-blue.
"There's… nothing we can do about this, Stormbolt." The words come out hollow—stripped of weight, as if the truth of them aches too much to carry.
I stand at the edge of the graveyard, the oppressive heat from the receding lava barely reaching my skin compared to the fire boiling beneath it all. The skeletons—those thousands of broken, charred remains—lie still in a silence that screams. There's no wind here. No movement. Just death... and shame.
I grit my teeth, my eyes scanning the endless expanse of bones. "All I can do is… store them. Piece by piece. And maybe someday find a place to bury them properly. Honor them. Or use them for equipment but…" I trail off, my voice tightening, "That feels wrong. Like it'd just be another desecration."
Stormbolt shifts under me, claws grinding against the rock, his muscles taut beneath his scales. "All we could do is wait…" I say, softer now. "Wait for the Red Death's mate to return. Maybe they'd kill her for this. For what she did." I take a deep breath, trying to steady the gnawing storm in my chest and the one building in Stormbolt's. "But that doesn't fix it."
I glance to the side, to the molten lake still pulsing with lazy heat. Floating on the surface, resting on the scorched scales of a long-dead Screaming Death, are the eggs—dozens of them, still unhatched, cradled by a monster's corpse.
"We need to figure out how to get the eggs out," I mutter, eyes narrowing. "We can't store them. They're alive. Sentient. Taking them one at a time… that'd take days, maybe longer. It's a deathtrap."
Suddenly, Stormbolt rears back and unleashes a roar—louder than I've ever heard from him. A thunderous, gut-wrenching sound that shakes loose pebbles from the walls and sends a cascade of sparks flickering across his spines. Not one of defiance. Not one of triumph. It's the sound of betrayal. Of rage. Of sorrow.
And I understand it.
"Skrills may eat their own," I whisper, "but they don't farm them." Stormbolt hisses like a live wire. Lightning crawls along his wings in erratic pulses, like his own body can't decide whether to mourn or explode.
"I don't think there's a single species on this planet—or any other—that would do this." I exhale slowly, disgust curling in my stomach like acid. "This wasn't instinct. This was intelligence. Sadism." My fists clench. "She didn't just breed to survive. She bred to savor."
My thoughts spiral.
We can't store the eggs. We can't save the bones. And this whole nest is a time bomb waiting to go off—if the mate returns, or if these eggs hatch and repeat the cycle.
I can't do this here. Not like this. I need time. Space. Options.
"Maybe we leave. Maybe that's why we have to leave…" I whisper aloud, the weight of helplessness dragging down my shoulders.
Stormbolt doesn't respond. He doesn't need to. I feel his disappointment echo through the bond we've forged, as bitter and electric as a lightning storm churning beneath calm skies.
My mind races. Where could I go? The rules of this world choke every option I have. I need something permanent. Biological. Integrated. Not magic—it's too scarce here, too fickle. Not tech too advanced, or it'll break the world. Just… something real. Tangible.
Witcher. Dark Souls. Cyberpunk. Warframe. The names flash through my mind like cards in a deck.
Warframe's too chaotic. Dark Souls too cursed. Cyberpunk… maybe. Sandevistans, mantis blades—real upgrades. Witcher? Mutagens. Elder Blood. More than promising.
My thoughts drift further. Marvel. DC. DXD. Too dangerous. Too volatile. And then… AOT.
Titanshifting. Genetic rewriting bound to the soul. Biological evolution through inherited memory. Could work. Could actually work.
But that all depends… if I can even bring Stormbolt.
"Fuck." I mutter, raking a hand through my hair, frustration boiling up like the lava beneath us.
"Fucking specifications and restrictions."
I shut my eyes, taking one more deep breath to quiet the chaos inside me.
Then I turn to Stormbolt. "We're going to grab a few of those Screaming Death scales that don't have eggs on them," I say, my voice steady but low. "Then we're leaving."
Stormbolt growls, not in defiance—but grief. His wings twitch with restrained fury. Even at a year old, his eyes are older now. They've seen death. Cruelty. And they know when they've found a wound they can't heal.
He doesn't want to leave. Neither do I. But we both know staying won't fix this.
"We'll come back," I murmur, voice low and burdened. "But for now… we need to prepare. A new world's waiting—and I don't even know if you can come with me."
The words hang in the molten air, heavy and uncertain. I exhale slowly, forcing my lungs to take in the superheated atmosphere, each breath feeling like it's been scraped over a forge. The oppressive heat doesn't just cling to my skin—it clings to my thoughts, warping them, making everything feel heavier than it already is.
But Stormbolt doesn't hesitate. With a crackle of tension through his spines, he launches skyward. I grip the saddle tightly, my other hand sweeping across the ground to store a few of the massive Screaming Death scales before we rise, spiraling out of that festering tomb of death and silence.
Behind us, the cavern mouth shrinks, swallowed by the scorched cliffs—and the unburied dead within it.
The air cools as we break free, but the weight doesn't leave my shoulders.
'Great,' I think bitterly. 'Now I get to deal with a tribe of shaggy-haired Vikings who've just decided dragons are their new best friends—and I don't know jack shit about the first show's plot beyond the basics. No idea what's canon, what's filler, or if I'm walking into something I should be dodging like the plague.'
The thought of flying into Berk half-blind has me clenching my jaw, fighting the instinct to scream out into the wind. But I bury it. I have to keep it together.
"You'll finally get to meet one of your parent species," I say aloud, hoping to lighten the mood. Stormbolt doesn't answer—not really. The young hybrid's silence is telling. His wings stay steady, but his mind is clearly still circling the memory of the bone-strewn pit, of the eggs left to float on their murdered ancestor.
I sigh and run a hand down my face. My palm comes away slick with sweat and ash.
'I wonder how Ragnar and Runa are doing…' They're probably fine. But it's strange being this far from the island. Strange not hearing Ragnar yelling something stupid, or Runa laughing in her silent way as Muzzlemaw coils around her like a scarf with wings. I can almost see Ragnar now—flailing, covered head to toe in amber spit.
"You think Ragnar's been encased in amber by now?" I ask, glancing sideways at Stormbolt.
This time, he lets out a trill. It's not thoughtful or focused—more of a reflex, like laughter that slips out before you know why you're smiling. But it's something.
"We'll get the eggs out," I say more firmly now, speaking not just to him but to myself. "The skeletons too. I swear it. This… isn't the end."
As if the world hears the promise, raindrops begin to spatter against us—soft at first, then steady, then cold. I lift my gaze.
The storm behind us has followed. A wall of steel-grey clouds broils above the ocean, lightning pulsing in distant veins, thunder murmuring like the voice of an ancient god.
"Maybe if we're lucky, it'll turn into a thunderstorm," I say with a smirk, brushing damp hair out of my eyes.
—---------------------
(Hiccups POV)
"Do you think… that was the one following us?" Astrid asks, her voice low and tight with something between wonder and fear. Her eyes are still fixed on the sky, where the storm has begun to retreat—leaving only the scent of ozone and the memory of a man who survived being struck by Thor himself.
"I… think so," I reply, brushing my hand along Toothless's neck, his skin still damp with sea spray. "I don't know for sure. But—who else could it be?"
We land in the dragon arena under the shadow of a storm-lit night, the wind still carrying whispers of thunder across the sea. The place is quieter than usual, like even the island is holding its breath.
"Hey Tuff… do you think he's single?" Ruffnut blurts out, a crooked grin plastered on her face as Barf and Belch touch down beside us.
"Like he'd want you?" Tuffnut scoffs, hopping off the dragon with a flick of his braid. "He literally called down lightning like a god. You're barely qualified to throw rocks at fish."
Ruffnut frowns and hurls a blunt mace at his head. He ducks, giggling wildly.
"Not like it matters," Snotlout chimes in as he jumps off Hookfang—only to be immediately thrown by the dragon with a disgruntled grunt. "I mean, come on. I'm still the best rider here. Right, Astrid?"
Astrid doesn't answer. Her eyes are distant, still watching the clouds fade as her mind replays what we just saw.
Meanwhile, Fishlegs is rummaging through one of his dragon card pouches atop a patient, wheezing Meatlug. "I've never seen a dragon like that," he mutters, scanning the cards frantically. "It had traits of a Skrill—maybe even a Night Fury—but it wasn't either. It was something else."
"Neither have I," I say quietly. A chill runs up my spine as I remember the way its wings shimmered with energy—how it seemed to command the sky. "It was faster than Toothless… and it didn't just shoot lightning. It became lightning."
"And that man—did you see what he did to the Red Death?" Fishlegs continues, his voice cracking with disbelief. "He cut through its hide like it was paper. With a spear. A spear!"
"And then there's the lightning," I add, barely above a whisper now. "He called out to Thor. Begged to be struck down. And the sky obeyed. Not once, not twice—but over and over. Bolts that should've killed him. Burned him to ash."
I swallow hard, the image seared into my brain—his silhouette illuminated in the storm, hair blown wild, arms outstretched, laughing as the lightning fed him.
"And he didn't just survive it…" I pause, my voice trembling with the weight of what I'm about to say. "He got stronger."
There's silence. Real silence. Even the wind seems to hush.
"I think… I think he's Thor's Champion," I say at last, the words tasting like madness on my tongue.
They look at me like I've said something impossible—but not unbelievable. Astrid's expression shifts—shock giving way to realization, to fear, to awe. Fishlegs gapes. Tuffnut mutters something about worshipping him. Even Ruffnut looks stunned.
"No," I correct myself quietly, "Unscathed isn't the right word. That lightning—it didn't hurt him. It blessed him. It made him… more."
Beside me, Toothless nudges his head against mine, soft and steady. I run a hand through his ears, grounding myself in that familiar warmth.
"You sound crazy, Hiccup," Snotlout says—not to tease, not to mock—but because he doesn't know what else to say. There's no bravado in his voice, just the raw honesty of someone trying to make sense of something beyond them.
"I agree," Astrid admits, her voice gentler, but no less stunned. "We all sound crazy."
And yet… not one of us denies what we saw.
—---------------------
(Stoick's POV)
"Stoick… who do you think that boy was?" Gobber asks beside me, his voice quieter than usual, thoughtful—almost reverent—as we both gaze out across the sea.
The sky above churns with clouds as dark as coal, the storm still rumbling in the distance like a beast clearing its throat. Thunder growls. Lightning flashes across the horizon, painting the world in a stark, white blaze before vanishing again, leaving the crashing sea black and restless.
I exhale slowly, arms crossed, jaw tight. "I don't know, Gobber," I say at last, my eyes tracing the flashes above. "But he took the strike of Thor's own wrath and stood. And even if he hadn't… we'd still be tellin' his story as if he had."
Another bolt splits the sky, illuminating the waves with ghostlight. It strikes the sea with a deafening crack, sending ripples across the surface and shaking the very air around us.
Gobber scratches at his chin with his hook, eyes still searching the clouds as if he might spot the boy riding the lightning again. "It's one thing when it's Hiccup and the rest of the kids ridin' dragons," he mutters. "But a stranger, from gods know where, with a beast none of us have ever seen?"
His words weigh heavy in the air.
"Aye," I murmur. "But if someone like that can bond with a dragon… maybe Hiccup was right all along. Maybe we can all find a way to live with them."
My heart twists as I say it, my mind pulling up memories I've buried like shipwrecks beneath the surface.
Valka—her soft voice, her fierce eyes, the way she spoke of dragons not as monsters, but as misunderstood creatures. I remember her pleading with me to see, to understand, to stop the killing. I remember not listening.
"They're alike, Stoick," Gobber says gently, more softly now, sensing where my thoughts have wandered. "Hiccup and Valka."
"Too alike," I whisper, my throat tightening. "And I… I didn't know how to face that."
Rain begins to fall—not heavy, not yet—but enough to trace cold lines down my cheeks, down my beard. I welcome it. Let it hide the tears that begin to fall too.
"I spent so long trying to make Hiccup strong. A leader. A warrior like me. I thought if I pushed him hard enough, if I kept him busy, maybe I could shape him into someone the tribe could follow after I'm gone."
I look up, blinking into the downpour, letting it sting my eyes.
"But really… I was just pushing him away."
Gobber rests a heavy hand on my back, solid and warm despite the storm. "He'll understand, Stoick. He's a smart lad. You didn't push him away because you didn't care. You did it because you care too much. Because every time you look at him, you see her."
I don't answer. Can't.
"You were doing what you thought was right," Gobber continues, quieter now. "But he's not just your son. He's mine too, in a way. I've watched him stumble and fall and pick himself back up. And through all of it, he's kept that fire burning. That hope. You should be proud. But more than that… you should tell him."
I nod—just once. Slow. Heavy.
Then Gobber steps away, clinking down the boat's side with the weight of his prosthetic leg, trading places with one of the rowers. His back is broad, and the storm rolls behind him like a curtain of fate. I stand there, alone for a moment, the sky roaring above, and I let the storm cleanse me.
"I will tell him," I whisper to myself.
"Before it's too late."
—---------------------—---------------------
{A/N Hey everyone, I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
First off, I want to sincerely apologize for the delay and if the chapter may be shorter than usual as life's been throwing hands lately. Finals have been brutal, job hunting hasn't been kind, and to top it all off, my neighbor actually got swatted. So yeah… it's been a week. That said, I promise the next chapter should arrive on time. I have no intention of dropping this story, and your support genuinely means the world to me.
On that note, I wanted to get your thoughts on something: alternate POVs. Personally, I really enjoyed writing from Stoick's perspective this chapter. I feel like there was a lot left unexplored in canon—layers of emotion, grief, and love that never fully surfaced. Stoick's distance from Hiccup, Gobber acting more like a surrogate father… there's depth there I'm excited to explore. Let me know what you think—should I continue weaving in more perspectives?
Also, if you've been enjoying the story, I'd be incredibly grateful if you dropped a review or tossed a few powerstones my way. It might seem small, but it really helps keep the fire lit on my end.
Before I go, I'd love your suggestions for future worlds. I'm specifically looking for settings where biological enhancement makes sense, since HTTYD is light on both magic and tech. Think grounded upgrades over spellcasting or cyberpunk gadgetry—at least for now. I'm aiming for something that fits the 11th–12th century aesthetic while still offering growth potential.
As always, I'll include the usual details below: updated stats, quest completions, titles, and any new skills Erik may have unlocked. Thanks again for sticking with me—I'll see you all next week!
[Status]
Name: Erik
Race: Human
Gacha Tickets: 630
Strength: 80
Vitality: 85
Intelligence: 74
Dexterity: 73
[Quests Completed]
[Quest: Kill the Red Death]
Objective: Slay the Red Death
Rewards: +200 Gacha Tickets, +3 World Tickets, +10 to All Stats
[Quest: Thor's Proving]
Objective: Survive a direct lightning strike empowered by the Sigil
Rewards: +100 Gacha Tickets, +10 Strength, +10 Vitality
[Achievements Unlocked]
[Achievement: Alpha Slayer]
Slay a top-tier apex dragon
Reward: +50 Gacha Tickets, +10 Intelligence
[Achievement: Thor's Proving]
Survive divine judgment and be empowered by it
Reward: +50 Gacha Tickets
[Title Unlocked: Thor's Champion]
Passive: Stat Multiplier x2 during storms