How To Train Your Dragon fanfic2


Night had fallen upon the viking island of Berk, where all of the warriors and dragons, now living in peace and harmony, had all doused their torches and lights and had drifted into a slumber, awaiting a bright, beautiful morning that would occur tomorrow in the morning. Now with the Dragon/Viking War over and done with, a future of prosperity was open to them, and with the hero who had ended the war now awake, the Rebuild of Berk would be underway.

However, on the other side of the island, deep within the forest, a dark haze roamed along the surface. Many of the trees' silhouettes stood their grounds with their roots buried deep within their soil, they all stood around without motion, allowing the early gloaming winds to blow softly across their leaves, their shadows lost within midnight's realm. Barely any creatures stirred at the time, only the clattering of the crickets, the hooting of nocturnal owls, and, on a desire of his own business, one lone man.

Although it seemed more of a time when all should be sleeping instead of fulfilling some delight and thrill, Zhan Fray saw midnight as the perfect time to hunt. He placed lit lanterns in a circle of trees, surrounding himself as he hung a hook in the center of it all. In his hand was a dead boar, acquired and killed only a short time ago to ensure that the meat was still fresh, but with the creature likely to begin decomposing immediately, its dead scent would draw throughout the forest and attract his prey. After all his years of hunting experience he knew exactly how to get and lure in his target, and he only hunted natural predators.

Fray was alike many of the vikings of Berk, he was strong, swift, brave, but more adroit, he kept his build necessary and without portliness. Though he was once apart of the village itself, another among the brutal warriors and barbarians of the island, he never considered himself a viking, in fact, after he had slain his dragon had was granted that honor, he refused it and became an outcast, leaving the village for his own life, the life of hunt. He could never grow accustomed to be a viking anyway, running straight into battles without making plans or stratifying, while the vikings used brute force to win their fights, he used wits, calculations, and a balance of strength to come out on top. He had won many of his own personal skin fights with the others, and even when everyone thought it was pointless, that too much thinking would only distract you and get you killed, it had been what had kept him alive for all this time.

He never applied to viking ways, he never even used the same blades or weapons as they did while in training and in conflict with the dragons. Instead, he used his own arsenal of weapons he had devised himself. Weapons such as the automatic-reload crossbow, the wrist sling, wrist blades, and even his own blacksmith-crafted machete. He didn't wear a lot of armor, considering it would mostly just weigh him down, only shoulder pad and shin-guards of a very light steel, it never killed him to take the precaution. He even had his own dark hair in a different style than the vikings, braided in dreadlocks that hung only from the back of his head, where it shouldn't fall in his face and get in his way. Finally, his last piece of wear of was a mask, originally designed to protect his face from dragon's fire, but had now become his "game face" for every hunt, he never went anyway without it.

With the dead boar lure placed and now hanging in the center of the torches, surely already giving away its rotting scent, Fray stepped away from the bait and climbed up a tall, nearby tree, his his movements nearly silent. Upon standing on a high branch, he unsheathed his machete and lunged it within the tree, deep past the bark to where it might touch the core ring of its first age. Softly he placed his ear on the hilt and listened, hearing for any vibrations that will announcing the upcoming of his target.

He waited for seemed like hours, still listening for movement through the cooperative tree he perched himself in. As time seemed to go on and the moon traveled slowly across the star painted skies, he occupied himself by thinking. Everything was quite, ever since the Red Death, the largest dragon ever recorded, had been slain and silenced. The Dragon/Viking War was over, which meant there would most likely be no more use for new recruits in dragon training, now there would be dragon taming classes open for the next generation. It may have taken a little time of thought but he had accepted that a month ago, however, it seemed liked a real shame that fighting dragons was now a thing of the past, because in that case so was hunting dragons too.

Real shame too, dragons, to him at least, were the ultimate prey, the perfect creatures to hunt and engage in a fight, all so unique, exotic, and challenging creatures to take down, they had sport. But it wasn't all that bad any more, with the dragons now become pets, he might even consider it, maybe, though there was another reason why hunting dragons being illegal didn't bother him, because for tonight, he was going to hunt the next best thing... a Jabberwock.

Suddenly, he froze and fell silent at the thought of hunting such a vicious creature as he heard something through the tree, the vibration of wings, and it was surely no dragon. He stood motionless on the tree branch as the creature hovered into view, floating between the silhouette trees and spoting the bait lure. It was about the same size of a Hideous Zippleback, and it was twice as ugly, with the same skinny, serpent neck, but its single head was clearly shown as nothing like a zippleback, it had a circular mouth filled with large sharp teeth, wide insect eyes, and antennae on the top of its head. Its two front limbs, armed with talons that could easily rip through flesh, were actually quite short, while its hind legs loomed over the surface, almost touching it. Its tail swished back and forth, detailing that it was eager to see to the food placed out in the middle of the circle of torches. Its featured wings flapping at a rate that kept it leveled off the ground.

Though disturbed by the sight of the ugly creature, Fray himself was eager, eying its small head, its skull surely would look nice on his trophy wall. The Jabberwock, although with the appearance, wasn't exactly reptile, it was more of a giant insect. They were vicious, ruthless, and all at the same time, intriguingly fascinating. Yes, the Jubjub birds were the perfect substitute prey for him to replace the dragons, he can already see that.

With slow movements and maneuver, Fray released the hilt of his machete and reached into his pouch, pulling out a bowie knife, a projectile for his wrist sling. Being the same as a regular sling shot, he placed the knife into the pad and pulled back the sling, locking it for a shot he would have to take. His auto-reload crossbow was still slung on his back, and he couldn't pull it out now, but it would take too much time and likely draw the prey's attention. Though the Jabberwock didn't have the best hearing or sight, especially in the dark, it had this sharp sense of smell that allowed it to find and hunt its prey, even if it were a mile away. Hopefully the scent of the dead boar would distract it.

Suddenly, the beast rotated its round head and glanced in his direction, as he remained still on the tree branch. The Jabberwock's antennae twitched, as if it had pinpointed prey, and it revealed its teeth in the manner of a smile. Fray could only wonder if the beast was now aware of his presence in the tree. Impossible, he thought, the creature can't see him in the dark, they were near blind at night. But then he recalled the dead boar, its scent, it could have been picked up by anything. It was the moment he realized the mistake he had made while setting this trap for the target, he had held the dead animal for too long and unwillingly obtained its scent. And now that the Bandersnatch knew where he was, things had just become difficult.

Quick Disclaimer: I don't own How To Train Your Dragon or the Jabberwocky (that really belongs to Lewis Carroll). Special thanks to a few previously created works, such as Aliens, Halo, and 3DMonsters, for the idea and inspiration to create the Parasite and this fanfic.