Hiccup's Point of View:
"Any questions?" I asked, my voice light and almost teasing, like a dagger sheathed in silk.
Silence.
They knelt before me, beaten not by blade or fang, but by the crushing weight of something they couldn't name. Something they never imagined lived in me.
The weakling.
The mistake.
The failure.
Now, they couldn't meet my eyes. Their heads bowed, their shoulders shaking. The arena—this cage where they were supposed to become dragon-killers—had become their execution ground. And all I had to do was speak.
I let the silence stew, heavy and choking. Their fear simmered in it. I could taste it in the air.
"Look at you," I murmured, my voice laced with venomous amusement. "The supposed Warriors of Berk. Trained, proud heirs of a legacy soaked in dragon blood and Viking arrogance."
I took a step forward. Just one. That was all it took for them to flinch.
Astrid's shoulders tensed. Snotlout's lip trembled. The twins clutched each other, no longer laughing. Fishlegs didn't even try to look up. Gobber stood still, unreadable.
"You think you know pain," I said, and I laughed. Not kindly. Not gently.
It was hollow. Sharp. Cruel.
"You think pain is a bruised shoulder from tossing an axe too hard. You think pain is a fractured wrist from botching your grip. A cut from a blade in training, a twisted ankle from one too many drills. Toffhousing gone wrong. A bump on your precious little heads."
I spat the next words like poison. "That's not pain."
I took another step, circling them slowly.
"Pain is freezing in a cave with your ribs cracked, blood drying in your mouth, knowing if you fall asleep, you never wake up. Pain is dragging yourself through three miles of forest with a dislocated knee and a dragon's roar chasing your heartbeat. Pain is having your flesh bitten off while you force yourself not to scream so you don't alert the next predator."
I stopped beside Astrid, just close enough that she could feel the heat of my breath.
"Pain is training yourself every night while your bones ache, while your muscles scream, while your lungs beg you to stop—and doing it anyway because you can't afford to be weak."
I turned to face them all, my voice growing sharper.
"You don't know pain. You've played with it. Danced around it like children. You've worn your bruises like medals, your scars like glory."
I reached for my belt and pulled down the hem of my pants just enough to reveal the jagged scar across my waist—a wound left by a dragon's talon that nearly tore me in half.
"This," I hissed, "was earned. Alone. No teacher. No backup. No mercy."
They couldn't look away. Not now.
"You thought I was a joke. An inconvenience. Something to mock when you were bored."
I stepped to Snotlout. His fists were clenched, shaking.
"You thought you were strong because you could push me around," I said, voice dripping with mockery. "Do you know how many times I could've ended you, cousin?"
I leaned in, inches from his face.
"One twist. One breath. And I could've broken your spine like dried timber."
Snotlout whimpered.
I moved on.
"Ruffnut. Tuffnut."
They flinched, wide-eyed, as I stood over them.
"All your pranks. The shoving. The laughter. All of it for what? So you could feel brave next to the 'runt'? What would you do if I had caught your hand during one of those games? Just once? You'd never use it again."
I looked down at them with a tilt of my head, feigning curiosity.
"Would you still laugh then?"
I walked to Fishlegs next, who had fallen fully to his knees, clutching his arms.
"You didn't hit me. You didn't insult me. But you let it happen." I crouched, voice lowering to a whisper. "Do you know what guilt smells like, Fishlegs? I do. It's the same as fear. Pungent. Sharp. Weak."
He sobbed harder.
And then… Astrid.
I rose and turned to her. She hadn't moved. Her chin was lifted, her eyes still holding onto something fierce. But I could see it now.
Cracks.
"You never touched me. You never needed to. One look from you was enough. That cold glare. That disgust."
I approached slowly, voice softening with cruel tenderness.
"You acted like you were better. Like I didn't deserve to breathe the same air. You didn't have to swing a weapon to cut me, Astrid. Your eyes did it for you."
She didn't answer.
But she didn't look away either.
"I let it happen," I said. "Every insult. Every blow. Every sneer. I let it happen because I needed it. Because I needed you to believe I was nothing."
I spread my arms wide, letting the scars show again. My armor.
"You didn't break me."
I smiled—cold, crooked, gleaming with something far worse than hate.
"You built me."
I took one slow, deliberate step back, addressing them all now.
"I am not the boy you bullied. I am not the embarrassment you whispered about behind your hands. I am not your weakness."
My voice turned cold. Flat. Final.
"I am your consequence."
I looked over my shoulder at Gobber.
He hadn't spoken once. But I saw the sorrow in his eyes. The shame.
And the fear.
"You were the only one who tried," I told him. "You didn't stop them. But… you tried. In your own way. That matters. You deserve to live."
He nodded, slowly, but said nothing.
The rest?
I turned to the teens again, watching them shake and pale in the dust.
"You live because I let you. That mercy is mine to give."
And then I stepped past them, toward the gate.
No one moved.
No one dared.
With my back to them, I called over my shoulder—voice calm, steady, final:
"Next time… don't pray to the gods to save you."
I paused just before exiting the arena.
"Pray I'm still in a good mood."
Then I walked away, leaving behind the ashes of who they thought I was—and letting them tremble before what I had become.
Their monster.
Their reckoning.