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So, this is my very-very-very first gorefic, don't hate me, I tried my very best. ._.' And, of course, English is not my main language, and I had a really hard time to translate it, so if there are language errors, tell me my mistakes, and I'm sorry! ^^'
Also, I have dozens of ideas with dozens of feral characters. Well, this show came out recently, sooo, I decided to start with this one. If you will wish, there could be more in the future, maybe a sequel, maybe others, I take request ideas!
Now, enough talking.

For tags: f/m, bestiality, rape, young, torture, hard gore and hard snuff, feral, death
The copyright goes to Dreamworks and Dragons: Rescue Riders (in the How to Train Your Dragon universe)

The Hunter

Either way, it was a successful hunt.
Two beasts at once.


As a child I loved dragons. My warchief father told me a lot about the tamed specimens, the riders, the bond. Then my father's ship sank, the waves mercilessly pulled him into the deep… and I was alone with my sister, my mother, and the small farm that was kept together mostly from the corn fields and sheep breeding. We had a small mill, but it hasn't worked for a long time. I used to retreat here with my thoughts… how awesome it would be to ride the clouds on a dragon… freedom… fame… adventures …
…hiding in the shadows of the mill, I couldn't see the two raincutters hitting on our farm. Not that I could have done anything without training and some good viking weapon, but even then, I was stuck in the thought that I was watched over - them.
The dragons were ruthless. They were driven by hunger or rabies, but my picture of dragons, my loving illusion was broken to pieces there and then. The corn was devastated, the lambs were slaughtered, and the farm building was destroyed. One of them ripped off my fleeing mother's head with one single echoing and haunting clench of its jaws, the other one knocked over my seven-year-old sister frozen in panic and gutted her with a long cut.
The whole attack happened so fast… and I stood there, at the door of the mill, paralyzed with fear and inability. What should I have done?! They would have torn me apart in a blink of an eye! I was a coward - but I survived. The two raincutters left, but they destroyed everything… even what they did not eat. Only the ruins were left behind and the bodies bathed in blood.
And my desire for revenge.


It all starts with observation. To know the habits, environment, weaknesses and strengths of prey: that's the key to it all.
Huttsgalor's tiny seaside town had five tamed beasts. Tamed… as if it mattered.
Not many vikings lived in the village, and apparently they were not prepared for combat, but I still ruled out direct attack. Five dragons, a few dozen people… the numbers were against me. The observation remained.
The dragons lived in an old tower, not far from the village, with two very young riders. The girl even reminded me a little of my sister, but I couldn't care less in a long time. Without any remorse, I could have cut the throat of the two kids while they were asleep, but there would still be five dragons left, which is a quantity no matter how young they were. I needed some… separation.
The puffy rockspitter promised an easy murder, ignoring all kinds of glory. The blue, muscular swiftwing seemed to be a more exciting challenge: I have to catch him when he is all alone. I had mixed opinions about the little fire fury… she was really tiny, but a fire fury is always a hard opponent. There was also the razorwing, young, small, but because of the blades that cover his body and his expected bullets of thorns, I have to finish him quickly. And finally the fastfin, sleek, agile, flexible… but her water spit is a bad joke, not a ‘danger’ I should be afraid of.
They could defeat me together, but separately… Yes, I needed a chance.


I learned a lot about them, the dragons.
Shortly after the… tragedy, I joined an assassin guild. They trained me to kill, I got the tools to kill… but it wasn’t enough for me. Of course, I enjoyed the way life ceases to exist in an instant, and it only required a precise stab from my dear dagger… but I wanted dragon blood.
I had no rest, I had sleepless nights, so after a while my manhunts was supplemented with research, a lot of reading, questions and answers. I learned about the species, their limits, their habitats. Later, I bought dragon carcasses on the black market from the coins I earned, and I dissected them to get to know their anatomy. How they work and how they die the fastest.
Finally he moment has come.
A living, cornered, lone skrill.
The adrenaline rushed to the skies, my heart was trying to jump out of my chest. Excitement, some fear, curiosity. My first dragon. I couldn't know if I'd succeed or die, and my bones stay there, deep in the woods like a sad memento.
The skrill is a dangerous beast, but it fired all of its lightnings and none of them strucked me. And now he was on the ground.
That didn't mean, of course, that he won’t impale me, like a steak, but my concerns have not been proven. He rushed, made a mistake, and I stabbed he in the heart.
That was it. Victory.
Then why didn't I feel victory?
The desire was not gone, the flame continued to burn. I wanted to kill dragons, and I did. At first I executed them quickly, I got some non-fatal cuts, stabbing and burn wounds of course, but I already trusted my abilities and they were never let me down. Soon I was no longer satisfied with only the killing of the dragons. I wanted them to be afraid me, to urinate themselves in fear. I wanted them to hurt. And I enjoyed it. I enjoyed torturing them, humiliating them, and slaughtering them. Every cut, every move came with the promise of slow death. I sliced scales, truncated limbs, and cut out internal organs. I enjoyed it.


Two beasts at once.
After four days of patient waiting, shortly before dawn the fastfin and the razorwing left the tower, they descended on the cliffs and disappeared under the cover of the sea rocks.
Of course my shadow followed them. That was the chance, there were only two of them, the others couldn't see or hear them. They were hidden by the shoreline of rocks and their voice was suppressed by the thunder of the waves. They could have screamed. In vain.
Unfortunately, I couldn't afford the luxury of having both of them as my toys. What a pity.
When they both showed their backs to me, when the towering wave hit the cliffs, the hunt began. From my hand-crossbow with a steel wire bolt I shot through the left hind leg of the aquamarine fastfin called Summer, and while she shrieked, I did two things at once. I tucked the end of the wire into the rock wall with the corresponding hooked nail, so the dragon became somewhat immobile… then I charged forward and cut the razorwing’s throat with the twenty centimeters long blade of my curved dagger. While the blood of the absolute deadly deep wound splashed and sprayed on the fastfin and the beach sand, I kneeled into the stomach of Summer who were writhing on her back. She gasped for air, and in the meantime I reloaded the crossbow, and repeating the previous operation on the opposite rock column anchoring her right hind leg I practically stretched her two limbs apart.
If I had any doubts before, the dragon was obviously a female, from her swollen labia and the spiked malehood emerging from his partner's corpse I figured that these two here… wanted to do naughty things. Which I interrupted so maliciously. Again, what a pity. Like the fact that I had to kill the razorwing immediately. Whatever. I can cut him up later.
I quickly turned my thougths back to the prey still alive, after a powerful jet of water hit me on my face. She was still moving too much. I thumped twice into her throat to avoid another wet surprise, then I pulled out a wicked-looking but beautifully glossy harpoon stake from my belt. She continued to struggle more than it was needed, so at first I only hit the sand with my spike, but for the second try I managed to nail her left foreleg to the ground. Another stake, and so did her right foot. She moaned painfully. I didn't care.
I could have put a peck on her mouth, but I wanted to hear her crying as she was suffering. I didn't fear her ridiculous spits of water, and if she would have the appetite to bite, it would not have penetrated my leather armor. She probably figured it out because she didn't attack me anymore. She howled, her eyes were begging, as if she just said: "Please kill me!"
I laughed.
Still riding her belly I turned around, and with a third stake I stopped her flapping tail. Judging by the sound, I also broke a bone this time.
By the way, fracturing bones. I turned back on her again. Although she didn't try to flutter her wings, but grasping one wingbase after another, with a definite twist I broke them to unusable. Summer shrieked again, and under my arse I felt a flood of warm moisture. Oh, yes. She urinated herself in pain.
It reminded me of something. I took a small wood carved object out of my beltpouch, which was more like a cork of a wine bottle, but it was larger than that, and on one side it narrowed first, then suddenly widened. Practical accessory. Without hesitation I plugged it into the dragon's anus. It's not unprecedented that the dragon I'm playing with… makes some mess under itself, and yet it should not be. It’s smelly and disgusting.
I paused for a few moments to admire my own work. A stretched, jerking female dragon, almost a nestling, her greenish-blue back and light beige belly stained with her mate’s fire-red blood. Wonderful. Impressive. I stroked her neck, but she immediately winced at my touch. My fingers slid downward and stopped on her chest. Her heartbeat told me everything. She was afraid. Oh god, how much she was afraid! It was a miracle that the muscle piece under her ribs didn't explode. Summer, meanwhile, stared at me strangely. She whimpered, but in the meantime she found a secret hope in my touch. Maybe I won't hurt her anymore. Maybe she'll survive. Maybe I'm sorry.
Stupid little dragon.
My knife struck at her like a lightning strike, and as accurate as the sting of a scorpion. The blade disappeared under her right eye. What beautiful eyes! Those forest brown irises! And that shock!
Before she could realize what had happened in that hopekiller second, a precise rotation with the blade of the dagger blade, and her eyeball leapt out of her eyehole almost unharmed. Pop! It was hanging on its stalk like a fat spider. And it was barely bleeding.
Summer, however, screamed. I think she realized she wouldn't get away with this. She COULDN’T get away with this! I don't know if she believed her companions would save her, but if the two really descended the cliffs to have sex, they will not come after them, and the shouting will be completely silenced by the waves.
I did not cut off the eyeball that was gouged out, I let it hang, and I left the other eye without any damage. She still had to see what games I will play with her!
She bit me, but as I expected, her teeth did not penetrate the leather. I cut her face and she cooled back.
I put my hand on her chest again and wandered further down. Her belly. I could feel all the whiffle, the buzz of the beautiful anatomy hidden under her scales. Soon everything inside will see sunlight. Patience. Soon. I proceeded further. Now I was between her two spreaded hind legs. Her genitals. As many lizardkins, there are so many variations: hers was a bit of a transition between a cloaca and a vagina. Her anus was separate, lower, and her labia shaped an inverted T-letter.
Her remaining eye were filled with dread, as well as curiosity. She could not have a faint guess of when or what I was planning. That's what made it so beautiful. The randomness. The unknown.
After all, why not?
This would not have been the first time (and probably not the last), when I rape a dragon. If her size and capabilities are right, if the situation allows it to me… then why not?
I unbraced my belt. I think she understood what was coming and she didn't like it. She began to squirm again, vigorously, but the stakes and the wires held on, and she only bleed her own wounds out even more. Useless. I went in.
They always make such a strange, but cute sound. I don't think they enjoy it, even by instinct, but sex is sex. She made painful moans and less painful ones, maybe for a while Summer was even at peace, after all, in those few moments I didn't cut her, didn't mangled her. It may have been humiliating to her, but then it’s even better. Bitch.
Did I enjoy it? Yes, but mostly because of pure dominance. Of course, again, sex is sex, and it was pleasantly warm inside with scales soft enough, but the point is, I was in control of the moment. And she knew that too. Whether punching, stabbing or rape, it was up to me that she was still breathing. And I enjoyed this.
After I finished, with another flurry she let me that know she knew: from here it will only get worse. She barely made a sound, but she cried. Perfect. She gave up.
I didn't made her wait much, she got some quick test-thrusts at non-essential points, to make me feel: how much resistance my dagger can expect. The answer is always the same. Not much. I stabbed her in the left front paw, in the left rear thigh, in her tail at two points… and in some insignificant places. She jerked at each sting, sometimes whimpering, but kept herself pretty well. Or did she just run out of voice?
I found a stronger grip on my dagger, and where I stroked Summer's fragile body with the palm of my hand before, now I scratched her with the cold tip of steel, from neck to genital, swinging slightly left and right, but not deep enough to stimulate blood.
I looked her in the eye again. In that one. She begged. I do not know why. For mercy? For a quick death? Come on!
The point of the dagger slid back into her chest, looking for the point between her sternum and her two lowest ribs, and then it stopped.
I've already cut a dragon in half with a huge battle axe. I've dragged a dragon through a spear's tip. I've broken a dragon's every bone with a hammer. But for the gods, there is no sweeter game than gutting a dragon alive!
I put a little pressure on the dagger and the tip disappeared between the scales. Another catch on the knife handle, and thanks to the hungry edge of the curved blade, I pulled it down almost unhindered, all the way across her belly, to her hips, and then I took out the weapon. A long, vertical red line slowly formed on the dragon's body. At the bottom of the cut, I made two more incisions, one to each thighs, then I grabbed both edges of the huge wound on her belly and opened it like a small tent entrance.
I was happy. Probably my prey was less, but it's not that interesting. I managed to cut Summer's abdominal muscles so precisely that the sack of the viscera remained intact. Only a few blood left the wound, behind the thin membrane, behind the web of capillaries her internal organs were pulsating, were rippling, were LIVING! An indescribable sight. Beautiful. Simply beautiful. It's almost a sin to ruin it. Almost.
Summer seemed to suffer a lot. She scraped the sand as far as she could, trembling, she stretched her neck farther as it could pull her out of her hopeless situation. I did not understand. Instead of accepting the beauty of the moment.
Actually, the rest was just good butcher work. I have autopsied enough to know which is for what, what can widen the agony, what can prolong the death struggle. Because she will die. I want her to die. I want to feel the life leaving her disclosed body as her tortured soul comes out of it.
I gently patted the visceral sack like a smart pet, and then I opened it with another straight cut of my dagger, and I started pulling her guts out like some badly bunded eels. Eels. Funny metaphor. Dragons are afraid of eels. As they are afraid of me. After her small intestines were out and spreaded on the sand, I grabbed her colon and pulled it until her rectum and her anus let it. I didn't cut it out, I didn't want to contaminate my toy, my artwork with any excrement. Her sand-stained, several meters long pretty pink guts had now left her body, her abdominal cavity, their original location. I went astray with the idea of releasing the dragon's forelegs so I can watch with guilty pleasure, as she desperately tries to sweep her bowels back into her tummy, but they run spill of her paws again and again… The thinking was satisfying enough for me.
I continued the work. Her stomach was the next. Because of my curious nature, if I can, I like to cut open my prey’s stomach, so I can see what they had for last lunch. Innocent curiosity, nothing more. So I took my dagger again, and I stabbed it deep in the thick wall of the dragon's stomach above the duodenum. Her stomach showed a little more resistance than her abdomen, but some slicing moves, and in the midst of various juices, four half-digested fish came out of it, and… the remnants of a slice of cake? A strange diet, at least for a dragon.
I looked at Summer's face again. Her tongue hung out, her eye began to turn inside, but she was still panting firmly. Good. I like when the toy lives longer. She was probably not quite here anymore, for reality she was beginning to become elusive. I snapped one in front of her eye. She responded and stared at me.
It was time for some creativity. As long as I could. With a simple move I cut out her liver. She grimaced. She felt it even if she was numb. Perfect.
"I know you hear me and you understand me, so it would be really nice to give me some attention!"
It was the first time I had spoken to her. I don't really communicate with my prey, but now I needed it for the… play.
"Do you want to finally die?"
It was needless to ask. At this point she was clinging to nothing but nothing. She nodded so I held her own liver in front of his mouth.
"Then eat this!"
I don't think she could decide if I was kidding. No reaction. I shook the organ in front of her eye.
"I'm serious. If you eat your liver, I'll end it all."
I was serious. I didn't felt sorry for her, but she didn't have much left anyway. At least let's have some fun at the end.
She lifted her tongue weakly and touched the offered delicacy. Her whole body shook, if she had been biologically capable for it she would have probably vomited. Carefully, she took it in her teeth, as if she were worried, as if it mattered, and then she removed it in her mouth. A few chewing motions, then a hard swallow, and… she ate her own liver! Brilliant! What it is if it's not the best closing chord?!
I looked at my work one last time. Amazing artwork! Perfect play! Her dying body is stretched apart, her right eye is sticking out and shaking, as she breathes for the very last times… Her wings are twisted, remains of on her cloaca, her belly is cut open in full length, her intestines are poured lazily to the left of her gaping cavity, her stomach is mutilated… I leaned close to her, kissed her face, while I pulled off my glove from my right hand. With my free tactile fingers I reached up between her remaining organs, and above her slow-working lung lobes I pinched my fingers around the intensely pounding little heart.
“Goodbye. And fuck you.”
I ripped it out.
And Summer was no more.
I took the piece of meat out that was pumping life in her not too long ago. The life I took away. It was a good feeling.
I enjoyed it.
I put her heart in my pouch. General souvenir, most of the time I bring the heart as a trophy. Preserved in grog it is good for a long time.
Revenge? Slowly I forget why I seek so much revenge. Memories fade. The desire remains.
Three hundred and twenty-six.
I turned to the corpse of the razorwing, grabbing the handle of my knife again.
Three hundred and twenty-seven.

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