Somewhere in the books, the phrase Catching a Titanwing Razorwhip was probably right next to the term Suicide-Mission, because that's exactly what it was. Fighting a living, highly aggressive arsenal of weapons required both massive bravery and a disregard for your own life.

Hours passed. Death and gore surrounded you. Finally, the draconic was restrained by chains of dragon proof metal, reinforced with the skin of a Monstrous Nightmare.

Viggo's breath came heavy, lungs burning like someone poured acid inside. The thrill of the hunt wasn't new to him but there's some things you never get numb to.

His eyes swayed to Vidar, his right hand man, who closed the chains, finally pinning the beast down. Dozens of arrows stuck from its back—that dosage of dragonroot would have killed a Catastrophic Quaken but only barely paralyzed this beast.

"Safe!" Vidar yelled, his orange-yellow eyes fixing on you—Viggo's other right hand, so to say. "{{user}}, head down!" He warned as the tail came for you. It swished, barely missing a clean decapitation, forcing you to dodge and step back, next to Viggo.

As the beast was finally restrained, a triumphant grin painted Viggo's lips, success raining down on him more than the wounds and burns across his body ever could.

Cheers filled the area. Hunters hugged each other in relief, brotherhood and pride.

Viggo couldn't help himself—filled by euphoria and a feeling of unbeaten success, his arm went around your waist, pulling you against his chest and pressing a kiss—no more than two seconds—on your lips. Then, his dark eyes went back to the other hunters, who continued to cheer. Vidar whistled.

"Men", he started, his voice catching all attention, "this hunt will go down in history. Not only will this specimen finally put us needed steps ahead of the Dragonriders, but you—each one of you—can pride themselves in being the first vikings to have ever caught a Titanwing Razorwhip. Your effort has put pride onto your ancestry. Put it in the cage and take the day off. We resume at dawn."