Freedom in its Richest Form

Attack(12)

Night falls, and after training with Toothless for a while and learning a whole bunch of truly helpful quirks about dragons, I fly under the cover of darkness to meet up with the other trainees at the watchtower for the usual post-training meeting.

It doesn't take long to lose its purpose.

Gobber regales us of his adventures, including how he lost his arm and leg to dragons. "-And I saw the look on his face. I was delicious. He musta spread the word 'cause it wasn't a week later that another one came and took my leg."

Snotlout looks particularly enraged. "I swear, I'm so angry right now! I'll avenge your beautiful hand and your beautiful foot. I'll chop up the legs of every dragon I fight. With my face."

"It's the wings and the tails ya really want. A downed dragon is a dead dragon," Gobber says, shooting a glance to me, a message of caution hidden within.

It's at that moment that I sense something...weird. I...I don't know where it's coming from, but it doesn't feel right. I place down my cooked fish, which I wasn't looking forward to eating anyways, and leave the group silently.

Once I'm far enough away, I release my guise and perch on top of a roof, expanding my senses as far as they can reach in the quiet night. What I find is horrible.

Dragons. A raid is coming to Berk, and it's coming fast.

What to do, what to do... I have to let everyone know, but if I tell them, they'll get suspicious. And I can't let them see me like this, even if it would more likely hide who I am. No one but Gobber would listen. Well... maybe Fishlegs or the twins.

Wait, I got it.

I fly up, between the village and the approaching dragons. Tapping into the most feral, draconian part of myself, I roar. 

It is deafening, wild, and just like a night fury.

Already, the remaining villagers are rushing out of their houses, preparing for the oncoming attack. A glance to the watchtower reveals Gobber and everyone else rushing down, and, in the case of the twins, practically, borderline literally, stepping all over each other, just to reach the weapons.

Knowing that there is a likelihood I will not escape completely unseen, I bolt to my house quickly and grab a black piece of fabric, tying it around my face to conceal from the bridge of my nose down.

I can't just stand by and do nothing, especially when I have the ability to do so much, so when the dragons come, I leap into the fray.

My goal, keep each race from killing the other as much as possible.

Seeing a Viking about to kill a nadder with a sheep in its talons, I swiftly dive towards the fight. I swoop in over him, grabbing his mace before dropping head-first to the ground. Upon impact, I roll, pulling the Viking down with the mace and fluidly kicking him away, tossing the weapon aside.

However, just as I roll to my feet, the now hovering nadder attacks. Gratitude, much? I dive to the side to avoid the scalding fire, landing in a crouch and flicking my tail.

It shoots its spines, leaving its side wide open. Twisting around the spines, I jump up and deliver a powerful kick, pushing it away from the practically paralyzed sheep.

"Why are you doing this!?" I shout, but all I'm answered with is an enraged roar. Something is definitely not right.

Seeing it about to return, I focus a low powered blast to my hands and shoot the dragon where I kicked it, just enough to make it get the idea.

Turning back, I take the poor, terrified sheep back to his owner, who is looking at me with the most shocked, unreadable expression I could ever imagine. I almost laughed. Almost.

"Wh...what in Odin's name are you?" He asks, hesitantly taking the sheep from my outstretched arms.

Briefly looking down at myself, I respond, "Y'know, I can't really give you a definite answer on that one, but I'm here to help."

Shooting back into the battle, I spot a zippleback about to blow up a house, so I tackle it to the side before it can ignite it, careful not to do so myself. With a blast identical to the one I used on the nadder, the two-headed dragon, too, flies away.

Spotting a herd of gronkles descending upon a flock of sheep, quickly moving between them. However, a nightmare has set a house on fire, so in a split second decision, I concentrate my power into my wings, and with a barrel roll upwards, I send to them a powerful shockwave. They go flying up, completely disoriented.

Flipping around, I shoot towards the burning house, which is now nearly completely enveloped in a torrent of flame, which the 'fire brigade' is trying unsuccessfully to handle. Spotting a falling timber, I tackle my Fishlegs out of the way, and consequently towards the rest of the brigade.

"Stay back!" I shout to them, turning back to the building. Deep breaths, I tell myself. Stretching my hands toward the house, the energy surrounding it, making it burn, flows into me like an ocean trying to fit through a knothole.

It hurts.

I scream.

It's done.

The fire's out, and I'm on my hands and knees before a charred but salvageable building, trembling wildly and panting heavily. That was exhausting. And painful.

Oh. There is a small mass of Vikings around me, including the other teens. Astrid's mad. She's yelling something at me, but I can't really make it out. Some of the other Vikings are doing the same. Some have weapons.

Others just look stunned, like Fishlegs. There's Gobber. He looks...scared for me. There's Gothi. She...she looks...shocked. Oh no. Did she figure it out? Ohhh, I can't think about that right now. It hurts so bad, I think to myself, squeezing my reptilian eyes shut.

Something pierces through the fog of my mind. A roar.

A night fury roar.

And it's not mine.

Ah, man, I'm on fire right now! (Pun totally intended) Can't wait to post again!

~Dj Z3nyth