The Rebirth Of A Dragon

Chapter 139: Chapter 128 "The Trap Is Lit"



Point of View: Hiccup

The air stank of fear.

It rolled off them in waves—thick, suffocating. From where I sat, high above the battlefield, I could smell the despair bleeding from their pores. Even through the smoke. Even through the sulfur rising from the cracks in this cursed stone.

They reeked of it.

Of failure.

Of death.

And I drank it in like wine.

Beneath me, the volcanic shore that moments ago had echoed with cheers was now drowning in screams and scattered orders. Warriors scrambled across black sand, their formations shattered, their confidence obliterated. Everything they'd built—their siege lines, their neat little ranks, their pitiful bravado—crushed beneath the sheer weight of her.

The queen.

The bitch.

She was doing my work for me.

And doing it well.

I felt Astrid shift slightly in my lap, the tension in her spine as real as the heat in the air. She'd claimed my arms were too comfortable earlier and insisted on settling into them to "watch the show properly."

I hadn't argued.

My arm was draped across her stomach, firm and possessive, while my other hand rested against her thigh. Her body moved with mine as we watched the chaos unfold—bound not just by proximity, but by purpose. By blood.

Then the Green Death finally pushed free.

And Astrid jumped.

"Shit." Her voice cracked in disbelief. "She's one big motherfucker."

I barked a laugh, sharp and dark, before dipping my lips to her ear.

"Watch it," I whispered. "Keep moving like that and you might wake another monster."

I let my teeth graze the shell of her ear, then bit—soft, teasing, promising.

Her breath hitched. She went completely still in my arms. Then flushed crimson from her cheeks to her chest, caught between mortification and arousal. The way she clenched her fists only made me want to do it again.

Luna, behind us, let out a sudden bark of laughter, startled and delighted. I turned my head to see her—no longer in human form. Sleek black scales. Emerald eyes. Night Fury.

She hadn't shifted from fear.

She shifted because instinct demanded she be ready.

Because like me, she knew.

This was the beginning of the real dance.

"You good?" I asked her, smirking.

She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head, wings twitching. "Better this way," she said through the bond. "More prepared."

I kissed Astrid's neck again. "Mmm. Maybe I should shift too. Even the odds a little."

She elbowed me lightly in the ribs. "We already tipped the odds, remember?"

Below us, chaos escalated.

One of the Berkians, some half-drunk fool with a sword and too much panic in his voice, screamed out:

"Get to the boats! Everyone—get to the boats!"

I leaned forward slightly, my voice cold. "Wrong move."

And that's when Stoick shouted.

"No! NOOO!"

But it was too late.

The queen moved.

The Green Death's massive head turned toward the sea, her eyes locking onto the tiny wooden dots bobbing against the horizon. With a roar that cracked the air, she unleashed her fire—a torrent of green flame that lit the entire shoreline.

It was like watching a god exhale death.

Ships were incinerated instantly. Masts crumbled. Men dove into the water, burning.

Only one boat, the furthest from the shore, drifted untouched—its distance saving it from the inferno. A single, tiny shadow against a sea of flame.

Astrid's breath caught.

Luna hissed.

And I?

I smiled.

Because then came the moment I'd been waiting for.

Stoick's voice tore through the smoke.

"Take the men to the far side of the island!!"

Perfect.

Right where I wanted them.

"Luna," I said softly.

She turned, eyes glowing.

"Would you be a dear and fire one of your plasma blasts straight into the sky for me?"

She blinked, confused—then recognition snapped across her face.

The signal.

My signal.

The trap.

She launched upward in one powerful leap, wings slicing through ash-heavy air, and released a searing blast of plasma into the heavens.

It split the sky like thunder.

For a heartbeat, everything stopped.

Then—

The beach ignited.

Luna spun midair, shocked. Astrid stood bolt upright in my lap, staring wide-eyed as lines of fire burst to life across the sand.

Nightmare gel.

Laid out in precise trails along the edges of the beach. Enough to create a ring of living flame around the entire landing zone.

Veil's handiwork.

Luna landed beside us with a thud, her voice echoing through the bond. "What... was that?!"

Astrid turned, stunned. "That wasn't us... was it?"

I chuckled darkly and rose to my feet, brushing sand from my armor.

"No," I said. "That was Veil. My little secret."

They looked at me—both of them, in disbelief and awe.

"You planned this?" Luna asked.

"Of course," I replied, watching the fire rise. "Did you think I'd let them run away after all this effort?"

Below, the Berkians were trapped.

Surrounded.

The beach now a burning cage—with the Green Death snarling behind them and no escape ahead.

They were locked in hell.

Exactly where I wanted them.

I stood between my mates, one hand resting on Astrid's hip, the other on Luna's shoulder. The flames roared. The wind howled.

Third person point of view

The screams didn't stop.

They rose over the crackling fire and the groaning of the earth itself—high and sharp, like blades slicing through smoke. The air had become thick with heat and blood, heavy with the scent of burning flesh and melted metal. It clung to every breath, suffocating even the strongest lungs.

The trap had closed.

And there was nowhere left to run.

The ring of flame from the Nightmare gel roared to life with unnatural fury, fueled by the precise trails Veil had laid out beforehand. It seared the sand into glass and curled around the beach like a dragon's jaw snapping shut. It didn't have to last forever—only long enough.

Long enough for her to move.

Long enough for the monster to claim her kill.

The Green Death's massive limbs slammed into the volcanic ground, each step shaking the island like a death knell. Her claws, thick and jagged, crushed rock and man alike. Bodies vanished beneath her sheer weight—flattened, snapped, and torn like leaves beneath an avalanche.

Some tried to fight back.

Spears were hurled.

Axes were swung.

Catapults, half-melted and smoldering, were turned toward her in desperation—but nothing held. Nothing pierced. Every weapon failed. The few bolts that made contact did so with a sound like twigs breaking against stone. Others simply shattered on impact, their force laughably small against the mountain that moved with hunger and hate.

One man, brave or foolish, screamed as he charged with a hammer overhead, striking her claw with all his might.

The beast didn't even notice.

Her next step drove him into the ground so hard that his armor exploded, the crushed metal embedding into the bodies of those nearby.

The fire from the gel was already fading—its brief but brutal presence burning bright for only a few minutes. But that was all it needed.

In those minutes, dozens had already fallen.

Skulls cracked. Bones split. Limbs were lost.

And even those who lived through the first wave found themselves crawling through ash and shattered rock, their weapons warped or torn from their hands, their vision blurred by smoke and pain.

A group of ten tried to retreat together—shield bearers forming a line, backing toward the cliffs.

The Green Death turned toward them slowly, her maw opening wide.

They didn't even have time to scream.

Her fire washed over them like a tidal wave, consuming them in one flash of green inferno. Their bodies lit up like torches, skin sloughing off in sheets, armor glowing red-hot before collapsing with the husks inside.

One man ran from the flames, his arm nothing but bone, his legs aflame—but he didn't make it far. He tripped over a broken pike and fell forward, face-first into the sand that was no longer sand—but molten glass.

He didn't rise again.

Another group tried climbing the jagged cliffside to escape, using ropes hammered into the stone—but the rocks trembled with each of the queen's steps, and one by one the supports ripped free. They plummeted like stones, screaming all the way down.

The Green Death didn't look up.

She didn't have to.

Her attention was elsewhere.

She swept her tail once—just once—and took down three more catapults and the twenty men trying to defend them. The impact hurled bodies into the air like dolls tossed by a bored child. Some hit the cliff walls with wet, final thuds. Others were torn apart midair, their gear exploding into fragments.

Blood soaked the black sand.

It was everywhere.

Pooling in craters.

Running in rivulets toward the sea.

Painting the spikes that had once been meant for dragons—now impaling their own creators.

Stoick stood in the center of the storm, shield raised, his face pale but set like iron. He was untouched.

And so was Gobber, at his side, helping drag the wounded who could still scream.

But that was all.

The rest?

Broken. Dying. Gone.

The flame of the Nightmare gel faded to a hiss, leaving only glowing lines in the sand as smoke choked the air. But it didn't matter anymore.

The damage was done.

The men were scattered. Their war machines reduced to smoldering piles. Their ranks obliterated by fire and fear. Even the strongest of them—battle-hardened, scarred, born for war—had never faced a force like this.

This wasn't a battle.

It was a culling.

Fast.

Efficient.

Merciless.

And the one behind it—the boy who had once been their chief's son—watched from above, silent and unmoving, like a god of fire and judgment.

He didn't need to raise a blade.

He had already won.


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