Hiccup's Point of View
The dust hadn't even settled from her last charge before I stepped off the bench.
The crowd saw me rise, and something in the air shifted.
The warriors tensed. The villagers leaned forward. Stoick's jaw tightened.
Luna's eyes gleamed with anticipation. Freya paused mid-bite, blinking as her dragon senses caught the change in the wind.
Astrid looked up at me, her expression unreadable but her posture alert.
The other teens?
Still groaning in the dirt.
Pathetic.
I stepped forward towards the center of the arena calmly. The heavy sound of my boots against the stone rang like a countdown.
Meatlug turned.
Her molten eyes locked onto me—already glowing with residual fury. Her wings shifted. Her stance widened. She didn't snarl.
Not yet.
Because she recognized me.
We'd fought before.
That time, I'd used swords. Let her dance with me in a game of movement and rhythm. I'd never struck her. Never injured her. Just led her with the blade—made her feel free for a moment, if only in the flow of motion. And before I left, I made a promise.
"I'll free you. I swear it. Soon."
I stepped into range.
Our eyes met.
And the link formed like fire blooming in my chest.
"It's almost time."
Her pupils narrowed as my voice echoed in her mind—clear, strong, direct.
"Tomorrow, freedom will be yours. No more chains. No more pretending. No more cages."
She didn't answer right away.
"But..." I added with a grin, "you seem... tense."
A heavy snort of steam burst from her nostrils.
"You think?" she snapped, "They starved me. They beat me. They parade me like a beast to slaughter and call it training."
I nodded slowly. "Then let's do something about that. Fighting's a good way to burn off stress."
I dropped into a loose stance, arms relaxed, claws itching to tear loose.
"What do you say? No tricks. No blades. Just strength against strength. You and me."
A beat of silence passed.
Then...
"You're serious?"
"Completely."
Another snort—this one tinged with amusement. Then her wings flared, and she stomped the ground hard enough to crack the stone beneath her feet.
"Last time, you led my movements with those elegant little blades of yours." Her thoughts practically purred now. "But today you have none. Today, I'm not holding back."
My grin widened.
"Good. Neither am I."
Outside the link, the arena was still confused. All they saw was me walking up to a furious Gronckle and smiling.
Only dragons could hear what passed between us.
Only Luna, Freya, and the others with wings or scales understood the truth of this moment.
Luna leaned back in her seat, resting her chin on her knuckles like a queen watching a favored gladiator enter the pit.
Freya bounced in her seat. "Papa's gonna wrestle a dragon!"
The crowd?
They held their breath.
The twins looked up from the dirt, dazed and blinking.
Gobber muttered, "He's lost it. He's completely lost it."
Stoick didn't say a word.
But he watched.
Watched closely.
Meatlug's tail lifted.
Her eyes narrowed.
And then—she charged.
The earth shook.
And the first clash began.
Third Person POV
The arena trembled beneath Meatlug's charge.
Her weight alone shook the stands, her stubby wings flaring like war banners as her molten eyes locked onto her opponent. There was no hesitation, no testing of waters—only the full, explosive force of a dragon driven to the brink.
Hiccup didn't move.
Not at first.
He waited—calculated. Watching the angle of her run, the rhythm of her steps, and the curl of her claws through the dust.
And then, just as she lunged—
He shifted.
One step to the left.
Her bulk slammed into the ground beside him, teeth snapping inches from his ribs. The impact sent gravel flying, but he was already moving—twisting around her back leg and shoving his shoulder into the joint with a low grunt.
The crowd gasped.
He didn't dodge her completely—he met her.
The two collided again, this time with Hiccup's hands locking onto her rocky hide, boots digging into the earth as he pushed back. Dust erupted around them as Meatlug snarled, trying to shove forward, wings flapping once to add weight.
But Hiccup didn't budge.
Muscles rippled through his arms and chest. The villagers watching were silent, wide-eyed, stunned by the sheer force the thin, the boy was exhibiting.
"This isn't possible..." one warrior muttered.
Luna leaned into her hand, expression amused, silver eyes glinting with pride.
Freya, still in her seat, clapped excitedly. "Go, Papa! Show her the twisty move!"
Astrid, seated just outside the arena wall now, could barely breathe as she had all her focus on him while try to control her legs from moving. She knew—she knew what Hiccup was. What Luna was. What Freya was. And loved it. But to everyone else?
They still thought he was human.
And here he was—grappling a full-grown Gronckle in front of hundreds of people. Not with weapons. Not with tricks.
Just strength. Something that takes multiple vikings to do.
Meatlug twisted suddenly, throwing her weight sideways. Hiccup went with it, letting his grip shift before he flipped onto her back and shoved her face-first into the ground with both hands gripping her head.
A dragon hit the dirt.
The crowd screamed.
She roared, twisting violently and bucking him off. Hiccup landed in a controlled roll, dragging one boot through the ground to slow himself, then crouched low, smirking.
Meatlug shook the dust from her face, growling.
She looked at him.
Then laughed—a deep, rumbling sound that echoed in the minds of the dragons watching.
"You've gotten stronger," she said, words only dragons could hear. "But you're still in your weaker form. Why hold back?"
Hiccup said nothing aloud.
His body tensed.
She charged again.
This time, they slammed into each other fully—her claws crashing into his shoulders as he planted his feet, straining. His bones creaked, jaw clenched, every tendon in his arms burning.
And then—inch by inch—he lifted.
Just enough to throw her momentum off-balance and spin her around before slamming her back to the ground.
The earth cracked.
Luna's smile widened. She didn't even blink.
The crowd erupted—gasps, stunned murmurs, some even cheering. They didn't know what they were watching.
Not yet.
Astrid's eyes never left him.
Meatlug kicked upward, sending Hiccup tumbling back. She leapt to her feet and roared, her voice rattling the bones of everyone in the stands.
And then, in the minds of dragons only, her voice rang again.
"You're still holding back, Alpha. Stop playing and fight me."
As she said this the air had grown thick.
Sweat. Fire. Dust. The roar of dragons lingered on the edge of silence as Meatlug circled, eyes glowing with molten wrath.
Across from her, Hiccup stood tall—calm, unreadable.
But in his mind, something sparked.
A memory.
Not from this life.
From the one before.
He remembered watching an anime. Baki, if he recalled correctly. A brutal martial arts series filled with insane techniques, powerful fighters, and one move in particular that had stuck with him.
The Triceratops stance.
It had been absurd. Primal. Terrifying in its simplicity.
But effective.
Perfect for grounding and countering raw force.
And this was a strength match.
Perfect.
Without a word, Hiccup exhaled and let his body drop fluidly into the stance. His legs spread low, one arm curled over his head like a horn, the other braced and coiled at his side. His weight dropped fully into the earth. His spine curved. His muscles locked.
The crowd didn't know what they were seeing.
Luna not knowing what u was doing but felt how confident I was trough our link.
She sat up straighter, smirking.
Freya clapped excitedly. "Papa's doing the beast pose!"
Astrid's eyes widened. She had never seen that stance before—but gods, it looked dangerous.
Meatlug growled.
"What are you doing?"
"Remember when I said I'd free you?" Hiccup replied in the link. "Well, first I need to win. And I'm done playing."
She snorted.
"Try me."
She charged.
Like a cannonball wrapped in rock and fire.
And Hiccup didn't move.
Until the very last moment.
His foot shifted, heel grinding into the dirt, absorbing the momentum—and then he launched upward like a spring, slamming shoulder-first into her snout while wrapping one arm behind her wing joint and driving his weight down.
Meatlug screeched, her legs flying out from under her.
Hiccup moved with precision. Fluid. Ferocious.
He rotated his stance mid-fall, twisted over her back—and slammed her to the ground with a brutal thud that cracked stone.
Dust exploded outward.
The crowd gasped.
Even Stoick stepped forward at the ledge, his brows furrowed.
And when the dust cleared...
Hiccup was on top of her, knees pinning her wings, one hand buried in her shoulder, the other clenched tight in the air above him—still curved like the horn of a beast.
I
Meatlug groaned, pinned—immobile.
"You win," she said flatly. "You freak."
Hiccup chuckled in her mind.
Then, without looking at the crowd, he lifted his head slowly.
His emerald eyes locked onto Stoick—towering over the rest in the stands.
And Hiccup smirked.
He lifted his thumb...
And then turned it down.
The crowd erupted.
Shocked gasps. Confused shouting.
Stoick's fists clenched on the railing.
Gobber looked like he was going to vomit.
Luna? Luna just started purring.
Freya laughed and clapped again. "Yay! Papa wins!"
Astrid could barely stop her own grin as she leaned forward, whispering, "Oh gods... he mocked him."
Hiccup stood from Meatlug's back, brushing dust from his clothes, his stance relaxed—dominant.
And in that moment, the village realized something they should have never forgotten:
Stoick the Vast might be the chief.
But Hiccup...
Hiccup was the one in control not him.