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Alvin the Treacherous was a winner.
He was born to a witch and his father was from the line of Grimbeard the Ghastly. He became the ruler of the Outcast Tribe. He was a good-looking, charming fellow that could get anything that he wanted in just a few cleverly spoken words.
He was a king among men.
Yet, despite all his excellent qualities, Alvin the Treacherous was repeatedly bested by a sloppy, runty child.
Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third. A mistake, some cosmic accident that kept stealing from Alvin bit by bit, limb by limb, part by part. The boy was a blight on Alvin’s future, a future of kingship and power (and, more importantly, a future in which he wasn’t plagued and harassed by his mother).
Alvin was the destined king of the Wilderwest. He was the King of Kings, the man whose legacy would last for longer than an Age. How could a lowly hiccup tear him down when he was on top of the world and in better shape than ever before?
His kingdom would last forever. His legacy would remain in statues and art: eternal, immortal, omnipresent. Alvin would never die. He, the uniter of the Wilderwest, would live on forever, always dwelling in men’s memory.
There was just one problem, a problem that had followed Alvin like a pest since he was let out of that coffin.
Alvin scowled on his throne; he had just received news that Hiccup had been freeing more dragons under the noses of the Alvinsmen. Despite his army’s power, the boy had slipped out of his clutches.
His mother glared unwaveringly next to him, a constant presence that never left his side, no matter how hard he tried to make her go away.
She was always disappointed in him. It was always “Alvin, why haven’t you captured the boy yet?” Or “Alvin, why aren’t you putting in enough effort to finding the dragon?”
No matter what he did, she wasn’t satisfied, always thinking he wasn’t working hard enough. She wouldn’t stop until Alvin the Treacherous was finally the King of the Wilderwest. As a matter of fact, neither would he.
Freedom was at his fingertips. He could taste it on the spray of the waterfall at the cave entrance. It drifted tauntingly in the air. All he needed was to get rid of one tiny, insignificant pest, then he would have glory greater than any other man.
Alvin would forge a legacy so strong, an empire so great, that all would tremble when they saw his visage. His cold command would evoke despair in even the bravest of men and his name would be whispered recently by the youngest child to the oldest elder.
His legacy would be remembered, carved in stone for all of eternity.