Hiccup's Point of View
We charged again.
No pause.
No mercy.
Just raw power colliding with precision.
His claws swept like scythes. His bulk thundered across the arena like a living avalanche—but he was learning. His strikes were tighter. His footwork more deliberate. His movements weren't wild anymore—they were focused.
So were mine.
I shifted lower to the ground, let my body twist with every near-miss, rolling through narrow windows of death like water through a storm drain. His claws grazed air. His fangs snapped where my ribs had been.
But one thing changed—
He didn't use his fire.
Not once.
Not when I closed the distance.
Not when I struck his chest again with a sharp elbow.
Not when I used his wing as a vault and drove a knee into his neck.
Not even when I spun under his swiping claw and slammed both palms into his jaw, snapping his head back with enough force to rattle the walls.
No flames.
He wanted it raw.
I respected that.
But so did I.
The Nightmare pivoted and lunged. I countered, driving my foot into the dirt and launching into a twist—but his tail snapped forward faster than expected.
Too fast.
The edge caught my cheek.
Just barely.
But it was enough.
I felt the skin split.
Hot.
Shallow.
But real.
I rolled off the impact and landed in a crouch, sliding to a stop as dust kicked around me. My fingers brushed my cheek—and came back slick with a single streak of red.
A drop.
Just one.
I stood up slowly.
The crowd was silent.
Waiting for a scream.
A curse.
A reaction.
Instead, I looked at the blood on my fingers.
And chuckled.
Low. Amused.
I raised my hand.
Let them see it.
Let him see it.
Then I quoted a line from another world—one that still echoed in the dark corners of my mind.
"You did all of that..."
I wiped the blood from my cheek with the back of my hand.
"For a drop of blood?"
The Nightmare's pupils narrowed. I felt his mind ripple through the link.
Delight.
Approval.
Challenge.
He crouched low again, claws digging deep into the stone.
"You bleed," he said.
"Barely."
"Good."
And he came again.
Faster than before.
His claws scraped sparks from the floor. His roar shook the bones of the stands. I met him mid-charge—not dodging this time, but meeting him, shoulder-first, colliding like thunderclaps.
We tumbled, wrestled, rolled.
Claw and claw.
Scale and armor.
The ground cracked beneath us.
We separated in a burst of dust.
I landed hard, slid back on my heels, and exhaled slow.
The Nightmare stalked sideways, steam rising off his back.
I wiped the last trace of blood from my face.
Smiled.
And charged again.
The heat was rising.
Not just from the scorched earth or the Nightmare's steps, but from the air itself—buzzing with tension, watching, waiting.
The Monstrous Nightmare lunged again, claws carving trenches into the arena floor. I pivoted, letting my momentum swing me behind his flank, narrowly dodging a crushing back-kick that would've shattered ribs.
I danced around him. Slipped past his claws. My elbow cracked against his shoulder. He snarled and spun, and I backflipped out of range, landing low and crouched in the dust.
Then I heard him growl—not with rage, but with glee.
"FLAME ON!!"
The air erupted.
His entire body ignited in a burst of flame, roaring into full blaze like a torch held to the gods. The heat wave hit me a second later, rushing like a tidal wave across the arena, forcing the front row of spectators to shield their faces.
My hair shifted slightly from the heat.
I didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
I smirked. "I'm starting to think Hookfang might be Johnny Storm's spirit animal."
He didn't ask what that meant.
Didn't need to.
Because he charged again—on fire—a living comet of fury and claws, roaring like a burning hurricane.
This time, he was faster.
Much faster.
I ducked under the first swipe, flipped off his knee, and planted a spinning heel against the side of his horned jaw, twisting with a grunt of force that sent him staggering—but he recovered mid-roll and lunged again, using the rebound to catch me with a vertical slash.
I barely dodged—his claw scraped against the metal plating of my shoulder, sparks dancing from the contact.
We exchanged flurries of blows—claw against claw, body against flame, footwork and angles and pivots honed by years of blood and survival.
He roared again—wild, delighted—and I met it with a scream of my own as I ducked inside his guard, struck his ribs, turned with a backward elbow into his collarbone, and leapt.
He twisted just in time and caught me midair with a rising shoulder—jarring, but I rolled with it and landed behind him, slashing a low claw into the back of his ankle.
The Nightmare hissed—just a flicker of pain—but then spun with his tail.
Fast.
Too fast.
It was an opening I knew was dangerous.
Still—I wasn't fast enough this time.
WHAM.
The tail slammed into my ribs.
My eyes widened.
And then I was airborne.
I didn't land.
I crashed.
Back-first into the arena wall.
Stone cracked.
I stuck.
Dust rained down around me, cracks spiderwebbing from the point of impact.
And for a moment—
I didn't move.
Didn't need to.
Because the wall held.
And I just hung there—
Still smiling.
Luna's Point of View
He was magnificent.
My beloved.
My Alpha.
My king.
Every movement, every strike, every sidestep—it was like watching the wind itself toy with fire. He didn't fight like a man. He didn't move like one either. The way he flowed around the Nightmare's blows, how he struck not with brutality but with precision, it was art.
And he was enjoying himself.
I could see it in the smirk curling at the edge of his lips, in the way his claws flexed between attacks. The thrill of combat. The joy of being challenged. Of testing someone worthy.
It made my heart burn with pride.
And my blood warm with want.
I'd been half watching the fight, half distracted by the soft golden hair in my lap. My fingers absently threaded through Astrid's locks, idly toying with the strands like they were silk. I hadn't really thought about it. I just... liked the feel.
It wasn't until I heard a soft exhale—almost a sigh—that I glanced down and realized:
She wasn't asleep anymore.
Astrid's eyes were open.
And she'd been awake for some time.
Her cheeks were flushed, and she was resolutely staring anywhere but at me, but her body hadn't moved. Not once. Not even when my fingers brushed behind her ear.
She'd let me play with her hair.
She was enjoying it.
Oh.
Ohhh.
I smirked wickedly.
And then it got worse for her.
Because a second later... she purred.
Soft. Barely audible. But I heard it.
So did Freya.
She turned her head sharply, blinking in confusion. "Mama?"
I froze.
So did Astrid.
Her eyes widened in horror as the realization hit her at the same time mine did.
She had purred.
Instinctively.
She had just purred for me like a bonded dragon would for their mate.
I stared at her.
She stared back.
And then she just... shut down. Completely still. Face frozen in mortification.
Freya giggled but didn't press.
Not yet.
But I would.
Later.
Right now... something else pulled at my senses.
My ears twitched.
My eyes snapped back to the arena—just in time to see Hiccup go flying.
The Nightmare's tail had caught him squarely in the ribs and launched him into the wall like a meteor. The stone cracked. Dust rained down. He didn't move immediately—just hung there in the impact crater.
Freya gasped.
Astrid sat up, eyes wide.
But me?
I froze.
Not out of fear.
But instinct.
Something deep.
Old.
Feral.
Something was waking up.
I stood slowly, eyes locked on the broken wall.
And I felt it.
His aura shifting.
Power curling around the edges of the crater.
Not rage.
Not pain.
Something... worse.
Or better.
Depending on who you were.
"Freya," I said quietly, pulling her closer to me. "Astrid. Stay close."
Astrid obeyed instantly, eyes still on the arena, but I felt her hand on Freya's back as she moved with me.
And that's when I felt her.
Veil.
She was behind us. Silent. Invisible.
But even she froze.
I spoke into the link. "Veil. What's happening?"
There was a pause.
Then her voice came back.
Cold. Respectful. A little afraid.
"He woke up."
I inhaled slowly. "Who?"
Another pause.
Then her answer, almost reverent.
"The Alpha."
I blinked. "He's been fighting this whole time."
"No," Veil replied. "That was just Hiccup. The Alpha... the real Alpha... he fights for the thrill. For the challenge. And when he finds a worthy opponent... something wakes up."
I swallowed.
Veil continued.
"You're about to see why the Vanguard kneel. Why we follow. Why we never question. Our king—the true Alpha—is about to show why we call him that."
Her presence shimmered behind us.
"And you, my Queen... are about to witness what it means to see the king... hungry."
I didn't speak.
Because I saw it now.
The dust in the arena had begun to settle.
The wind had died.
And from the crater in the stone wall...
A shadow shifted.
And smiled.