Stoick's Point of View
The arena reeked of fire and blood.
The dust hadn't even settled from the battle, and yet... even before I gave the signal, I could feel it in my bones—this wasn't victory.
The nightmares bow confirmed our worst fears. The dragon—no, the beast—had submitted to him. The cheers from the crowd had long died out. Fear had taken their place. The people stood frozen, unable to believe what they had just witnessed.
And then he roared.
It wasn't the roar of a man... nor the cry of a dragon. It was something far more primal. Something the gods must have buried for a reason. It shook the stone, rattled the very marrow in our bones. I watched men flinch. Women covered their children's ears. One warrior beside me vomited in his helm.
But then... he chuckled. Not at us. Not at the Nightmare. At her.
Freya—his child. My granddaughter.
She tried to mimic his roar, a high-pitched little growl that made a few laugh nervously. It should've warmed my heart. But instead, it made my skin crawl.
They were already too far gone.
I raised my hand.
From the shadows of the stands and the upper ledges, my warriors moved in—coordinated, silent, precise. The moment Hiccup turned his back, the ring closed.
Swords unsheathed with a unified shhhk. Spears lowered.
I saw Luna freeze... then turn. Her eyes narrowed just slightly.
Astrid reached for her axe—but paused the moment the blade kissed her neck.
Freya blinked, confused, her tiny hand reaching toward the nearest guard—until he grabbed her roughly and pulled her close. Her cry echoed like thunder in my ears.
"Hiccup," I muttered, then yelled, "NOW!"
He stopped moving.
He was crouched low, hand still on the ground, claws extended from that cursed armor. His head tilted slightly, but he didn't rise.
I forced myself to keep speaking. I had to do this. Had to believe I was doing the right thing.
"I didn't want it to come to this," I said, stepping forward, lifting my voice so all could hear. "But I can't watch my son fall deeper into this darkness. Whatever curse she placed on you... whatever spell she's using—we will break it!"
He didn't move. Not an inch.
"You're my boy, Hiccup," I said, ignoring the heat rising in my throat. "You were mine before she twisted you with her poison. I know you don't want to hurt people. I know you still love your family. So listen to me. Listen to your father."
He still didn't move.
Luna didn't cry out. Didn't scream or threaten. She just... sat back. One arm lazily wrapped around Astrid, the other gently running fingers through her hair. As if none of this was happening. Freya, gods help us, laughed. The little girl laughed as if this were a game, as if none of the swords mattered. As if the man below—her father—was a god who would never fall.
And Astrid—Astrid just relaxed into Luna's touch. No fear. No tension. Not even surprise. Just... comfort.
It felt wrong.
I had seen broken minds before—berserkers lost to rage, seers lost to madness, soldiers snapped by guilt. But this? This wasn't madness.
This was devotion.
I clenched my fists. I had no choice.
"I have your family!" I roared, voice echoing through the arena. "You hear me, boy?! I have your wife! I have your daughter! Your precious little Astrid! If you don't surrender now—if you don't come willingly—I'll do something even I'll regret! I just want my son back. I just want you healed! Please... let us fix this. Let Gothi cleanse whatever demon has taken hold of your soul!"
For a moment, there was silence.
And then...
He chuckled.
Soft at first. Barely a breath. But then it built... like ice cracking across a frozen lake.
The laugh that followed wasn't one of amusement. It wasn't the chuckle of a boy. It was the sound of winter finding its voice. Cold, unfeeling... ancient.
It echoed across the arena, sharp as steel and twice as deadly.
I felt the hairs rise on the back of my neck.
My blood ran cold.
Something was wrong.
Something was very, very wrong.
Hiccup's Point of View
The laugh faded from my throat like the last breath of a dying animal.
Silence.
Even the dragons didn't move. Not a growl. Not a breath. It was as if the entire world held still, waiting to see what I would do.
I rose to my feet slowly. Unhurried. Controlled.
My claws gleamed in the light of the setting sun—dripping not with blood this time, but with purpose. Every step I took forward felt like thunder against the cracked earth.
Then I looked up at him.
At Stoick the Vast.
And I smiled—not with warmth, but with pity.
"You really are quite the fool," I said coldly, voice cutting like a dagger through the stunned air. "To think that your little scheme could work on me."
His brow furrowed, but he said nothing.
"The idiocy of this village truly knows no bounds," I continued, louder now. "You all cling to your swords and your traditions like they'll protect you from the storm that's already inside your walls. You think me cursed? That Luna bewitched me? Is that what you tell yourselves to sleep better at night?"
I took another step forward. No one dared move.
"I knew from the very beginning, Stoick. From the moment you brought me here, from the way your guards lingered too long in the shadows... from the way you smiled. I could see it. That desperate little glint in your eyes. The pathetic hope that maybe—maybe—I'd fall for this trap. That you'd hold my family hostage, and I'd come crawling to you like a good little son."
I scoffed, shaking my head slowly.
"You blind, broken old man... did you ever see the hate growing in me since I was a child?"
Stoick flinched.
"You never wanted a son. You wanted a heir—one that fit your mold, that killed dragons and followed orders and believed in your archaic world. But you didn't get that. You got me. And you didn't know what to do with me, did you? So you neglected me. You cared more about this village than the broken boy under your roof."
My claws flexed. The steel scraped against itself with a ringing screech.
"So I did what you never imagined I could—I evolved. I adapted. I made myself stronger. You had such a fascination with dragons, with killing them, so I studied them. I learned from them. If I was a burden—if I was the weight you were forced to carry—then I'd become something you couldn't lift. Something that didn't need you. Something better."
I felt the heat rise behind me. Luna, calm and serene, her aura coiling like smoke. Freya's little giggle behind me gave me strength. Astrid was silent but present, relaxed in Luna's arms like she belonged there.
"And when the village gave up on me... when you gave up on me—I didn't crumble."
I spread my arms slowly, displaying my form. The armor. The claws. The monster they had all created.
"I thrived."
A low murmur rippled through the crowd.
"I survived the wild. I bled. I fought. I conquered. While you all sat behind your walls and told stories about who I used to be, I became something more. I became the best version of myself. I became..."
My voice dropped into a growl.
"An Alpha."
Stoick staggered back a half-step.
I tilted my head, smirking at the sight. "Still think you're in control, old man? You really believed I came here willingly... without a counter-plan?"
His silence was all the answer I needed.
"I've known from the start. Every step you thought was yours to make, I let you take. Because now, all your pieces are on the board—and I own it."
I pointed one claw toward him.
"So listen carefully, Stoick. This is the only warning I'm going to give."
I turned slowly, gaze sweeping across every warrior holding a blade to Luna, Freya, or Astrid. They tried to look confident. But I could smell the fear. Taste it in the air.
"To every warrior here who thinks you have power over my family..." I growled, my voice as calm as winter's breath, "I need you to understand something."
I met Stoick's eyes again.
"I want you, Stoick, to tell them. Tell them to stand down. Or suffer death."
My claws gleamed under the blood-red sky.
Luna smiled lazily behind me.
Astrid tilted her head slightly, as if awaiting the carnage with quiet curiosity.
Freya just beamed and whispered something I didn't catch.
And Stoick...
Stoick finally realized he was not staring at his son anymore.