Hiccup's Point of View
The first thing I noticed was their numbers.
Five.
Five raiders. Sloppy, loud, and unaware of the grave they were stepping into. Not enough to warrant an ambush. Not enough to waste time hiding. Not enough to survive.
I crouched in the tall grass at the forest's edge, moonlight washing over my bare skin. The air was cool, silent but for the faint rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of insects. The Terrible Terror had done its job well—luring them in with the glint of gold and the illusion of unguarded treasure.
Now they were here.
And I wasn't hiding.
I rose from the grass, slow and deliberate, letting my presence become known. My boots stepped into view like the first toll of a funeral bell.
The raiders halted.
One of them laughed.
"Is this it?" he scoffed. "This is who lives here? Some half-starved freak with a few scratches and cheap blades?"
Another chimed in, "Look at those scars—looks like something already chewed him up and spit him out."
They all laughed.
Except the woman. She stood near the back, a fur-lined coat draped over armor, her hand resting on the hilt of a blade. Watching.
Calculating.
Good. She wasn't stupid.
But she was too late.
I smiled. Not kindly. Not warmly. A slow, sharp curl of the lips—the kind of smile that precedes a scream.
The laughter stopped.
And when I spoke, it wasn't in anger. It was low. Melodic.
Like the hum of a blade drawn from its sheath.
"You shouldn't have come here," I said. "You've signed your death warrants the moment you stepped into my territory."
Silence.
Their bravado cracked like thin ice.
I moved.
Fast.
My right claw plunged forward, catching the loudest one by the throat. Steel tore through muscle and cartilage as easily as parchment. His eyes bulged, mouth opening to scream—but no sound came.
"I didn't want to hear yours," I muttered as I lifted him off the ground. "Your death is the only mercy I'll give tonight."
I ripped my claw free.
He collapsed in a heap of blood and twitching limbs.
The others froze.
"Don't just stand there!" the woman shouted. "Kill him!"
The largest of the group roared and charged.
I welcomed him.
He swung wide. Too wide. He was angry. I was focused.
His hand reached for my face.
I sliced it off.
The blade of my claw passed cleanly through his wrist like water, severing the limb in one motion. Blood sprayed across the grass in an arc of crimson.
He screamed.
And I smiled.
That sound... that shrill, panicked wail of a man who thought himself strong—delicious.
He lunged with his other hand.
I cut that one too.
He stared in disbelief at the stumps where his arms had been, shock overtaking pain.
"You don't get to punch," I said coldly. "You get to bleed."
I grabbed his chin and dragged my claw across his throat—not deep enough to kill quickly. He fell, choking on his own blood, gurgling as his lungs filled.
Two more came, blades drawn.
I was already moving.
The first raised his axe. I ducked low and slashed his thigh, severing tendons. He fell screaming, and I finished him with a claw through the base of his skull.
The last came in a frenzy—sloppy, wild.
I side-stepped, drove my elbow into his temple, then drove both claws through his spine. He spasmed once and fell limp, blood pooling beneath him.
That left one.
The coward.
He ran.
"Pathetic," I muttered.
I knelt by one of the dead, plucked two throwing knives from the corpse's belt, and stood.
The moonlight shone on the blades.
I threw them.
One, then the other.
Both found their mark.
One in the knee.
One in the ankle.
The raider crashed to the ground with a scream, his legs useless.
I walked toward him.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
The grass whispered beneath my feet.
I passed the woman.
She didn't move.
Not a breath. Not a twitch.
Frozen.
I reached the last man, who was dragging himself through the dirt, blood trailing behind him.
He looked up at me with wide, desperate eyes.
"I don't like greedy things," I said, crouching beside him. "They crawl into places they don't belong. They touch what isn't theirs."
I traced one claw down his cheek.
He whimpered.
"What kind of greed festers in your heart?" I asked softly, almost curiously. "Is it gold? Power? The thrill of control?"
He squirmed beneath my gaze.
I smiled.
Then I drove my left hand into his throat, pinning him.
His legs kicked, but I held firm.
With my right, I plunged my claw into his chest. The warmth hit me first. Then the pressure. Then the pulse.
I curled my fingers around his heart.
He screamed—raw and primal—as I pulled.
The sound turned to gurgling agony as the heart tore free, crimson fluid bursting from the wound.
I rose slowly, heart still beating in my hand.
The moon glistened off the blood coating my claw, running down my forearm.
The man twitched once.
Then went still.
The heart beat once more.
Then stopped.
And I stared.
Not at him.
At the heart.
At what it represented.
Greed. Cowardice. Weakness.
I let it fall from my hand, landing with a wet thump beside the body.
Blood dripped from my chin, streaking down my chest.
I looked toward the trees.
And I knew she was still watching.
Luna.
I didn't need to see her to feel it.
The intensity. The judgment. The curiosity.
Was she impressed?
Disgusted?
Did she see the monster in me... or something else?
It didn't matter.
Not yet.
But something in me wanted her to see. Wanted her to know what I was capable of. What I could become for this world I would forge.
For both of us.
The woman hadn't moved.
I turned.
Her breath hitched as our eyes met.
Her blade had slipped from her fingers at some point, lying useless in the dirt beside her.
I took one step forward.
She took one back.
Another.
And another.
Her eyes darted over the corpses. Her men—gone. Torn apart. Dismembered. Mutilated.
Each death a message.
And now... it was her turn.
I tilted my head slightly.
She flinched.
The fear in her eyes wasn't just for her life.
It was something deeper.
Recognition.
She saw what I really was.
Not a boy.
Not a warrior.
Not even a human anymore.
Predator.
And I was looking at prey.