Chapter 13 — The Sky Bleeds
The sun hung high over Berk, cruel in its brilliance, as if mocking the unease knotting Hiccup's chest. He stepped out of his house, boots clattering against cobblestones, and froze, the wind tugging at his hair with a warning he couldn't place. The village looked normal—smoke lazily rising from chimneys, fishermen hauling nets at the docks—but the air felt heavy, thick with tension, like the calm before a storm no one could see.
Toothless had been resting at the cove, a safe distance from the village's daily chaos, and Hiccup had promised himself he'd check on his friend before attending to his chores. But the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. There was a scent, faint at first, metallic and alive, that made him pause. It was unmistakable.
And then he saw it.
A black shape tore through the sky, slicing the sunlight into jagged shadows, glinting in the sun. One dragon.
Hiccup froze, instincts screaming. One dragon could be normal. One dragon could be curious, lost, even harmless. But there was something wrong about the way it moved—purposeful, precise, predatory.
Then another appeared.
The first landed near the cliffs, claws scraping stone in an unnerving, metallic screech. Its wings flexed like springs, coiled and ready to strike again at any moment. The second dove for the harbor, talons extended, moving with an almost mechanical intent, calculating, deadly. And then, impossibly, the dragons multiplied.
Two became five. Five became ten. Dozens tore through the sky, shapes twisting and turning, wings blurring into shadows, each casting darkness across the village as if the sun itself were being swallowed. The sky darkened with movement—Nadders whistling in swift arcs, claws snapping at anything that moved; Gronckles rolling, plowing through boats and carts with unstoppable momentum; Monstrous Nightmares diving from impossible heights, spines glinting like knives.
And yet it was not random. Every movement seemed coordinated, instinctive yet unnervingly precise. Some dragons swerved mid-air to avoid collisions, others even fought briefly among themselves, misjudging speed or territory, creating small flashes of chaotic violence. The pattern was both natural and unnatural at once—a storm alive.
Hiccup swallowed, his chest tightening. This isn't a raid like before… this is something else.
Hiccup ducked behind a toppled cart as dragons descended. Nadder tails snapped like whips, slicing ropes and barrels, sending objects flying. Gronckles landed heavily, toppling crates and flattening fences, the ground vibrating under their rocky bellies. Nightmares struck like bolts of black lightning, diving low over the streets, only to rise again in dizzying loops, scanning for targets.
Villagers screamed and scattered, some running for cover, others clambering into the air on dragons they barely knew. Snotlout wrestled Hookfang into the sky, bellowing commands as the Gronckle rolled past, missing him by inches. Astrid was already airborne, Stormfly twisting and spinning, dancing through the chaos with lethal precision, pulling children and villagers out of the path of snapping tails and claws.
Hiccup's stomach dropped. The sheer number and variety of dragons was overwhelming. Each species moved differently: Nadders weaved like arrows, Nightmares plummeted in deadly dives, Gronckles bounced and rolled unpredictably. It was impossible to track all of them, impossible to anticipate what would happen next.
Hiccup's gaze snapped to the square. Stoick was in the middle of it, standing firm, axe swinging, trying to hold the dragons off. The older Viking looked impossibly large and strong, yet the attacks came faster than he could counter.
Beside him, Gobber's face was red with effort. He shouted, waved, threw objects, and shoved villagers, trying to get Stoick's attention. "Stoick! Get out of the way! Stoick, listen! Move!"
Gobber grabbed Stoick's arm, yanking him back from a tail sweep. Stoick barely flinched. The blacksmith's desperation was clear, but the chief's focus was absolute. Gobber's frantic energy seemed almost comical in contrast, but Hiccup could feel the tension radiating from him like an electric current. Every second mattered.
Hiccup wanted to run to help, to drag both Stoick and Gobber out of the way, but the chaos around him made even a single step dangerous. Fire streaked the docks from Nadder blasts, Gronckles crushed carts like toys, Nightmares dove unpredictably. And all the while, Hiccup could see it—the shadow looming behind Stoick.
It appeared slowly, creeping through the edges of the square, elongated and twisted, limbs moving unnaturally, dark as if it drank in light. It didn't attack immediately—its presence alone made the ground tremble, a ripple of dread that radiated outward. The other dragons instinctively gave it space, some even emitting warning screeches, while villagers froze in terror.
Hiccup's pulse quickened. Every instinct told him this was no ordinary dragon. Its claws scraped the stones, leaving deep gouges, yet it moved with a terrifying elegance, deliberate, calculated. It studied Stoick like a predator sizing up prey.
Hiccup's thoughts whirled. Toothless. I have to get Toothless. He has to be safe. But my father… Panic clawed at him, threatening to root him to the spot.
Ignoring everything else, Hiccup sprinted through the chaos, weaving between panicked villagers, leaping over crates and broken fences. Smoke burned his throat, wind clawed at his hair, sand and dust stung his eyes. He had one goal: the cove. Toothless had to be warned, had to be moved out of danger.
He skidded to the shore, shouting. "Toothless! Go! Get out of here! Now!"
The Night Fury lifted his head, ears flicking nervously, wings bracing, sensing the chaos but uncertain. Hiccup waved frantically, trying to make him understand. "Go! Leave! I'll—I'll handle this!"
Then a scream tore across the square. Stoick.
Hiccup looked back, stomach sinking. Stoick was in the center of the storm, surrounded. Nadder tails lashed toward him, Nightmares dove straight at his axe, Gronckles barreled forward like boulders. Each dragon moved differently—some twisting in flight, others lunging, some circling like vultures. The square was a living map of chaos.
Even the small dragons contributed to the cacophony, darting in and out, claws raking walls and rooftops, creating a shifting, unpredictable battlefield. Hiccup felt every vibration through the ground, every roar in his chest.
Gobber lunged at Stoick again, grabbing his arm, trying to yank him out of danger. "Stoick! I mean it! Watch out!"
Stoick barely flinched, swinging his axe, moving like a force of nature. Gobber cursed, frustrated, pulling Stoick aside, but Stoick's focus was unbreakable. For the first time, Hiccup realized that Stoick's strength might be legendary, but even he might not survive the shadow.
Hiccup's heart thudded. Why aren't they noticing it? he thought. Why is he still standing there?
A subtle change swept across the battlefield. A sudden drop in temperature, an almost imperceptible hum that vibrated through Hiccup's bones. The villagers recoiled, some muttering, sensing something unnatural, something not entirely dragon. Toothless' ears flicked, tail tensing, sensing a presence beyond ordinary scales and wings.
Hiccup didn't understand it yet, but instinct whispered the same truth that would become impossible to ignore: there was more coming. Something far older, far stronger, and far more terrifying than anything Berk had ever faced.
And then Hiccup saw it in full.
The monstrous shadow shifted closer to Stoick. Limbs coiled unnaturally, claws digging into stone, muscles stretching and twisting in impossible ways. Its head tilted, black eyes glinting with intelligence and malice. The sun caught the edge of its spines, glinting like jagged knives.
Gobber screamed, waving desperately, shaking Stoick. But it was too late. Stoick's axe swung, true and powerful, yet the figure behind him did not falter. It moved deliberately, slowly, like a nightmare crawling out of the shadows.
Hiccup's chest constricted. His lungs burned. His voice caught in his throat. Toothless growled at the edge of the cove, sensing the danger Hiccup could only partially see.
The last thing Hiccup saw: the shadow leaning closer to Stoick, each movement deliberate, horrifying. The square, the villagers, the dragons—they all fell under its presence.
This is not a raid. This is the end of everything we know.
And then, Hiccup ran toward it anyway.