Growls and roars filled the air around them, and the righteous anger and bloodlust were radiating off of the dragons in waves. They flew steadily toward the dragons' nest, intent on their uprising.
"Down with the Red Death," one growled viciously.
"Death to the bloody tyrant."
...
In one determined mass, the dragons flew over the pebbled shore, now mere wingstrokes away from the volcano they had once called home. Their rebelliousness and sinister intentions were clear in their postures, in their menacing growls, and in their threatening words. The desire for violence permeated the very air. It seemed as if the world itself was stirring, rumbling, writhing. Gray storm clouds appeared overhead, and the sound of distant thunder began to beat the drums of war.
Slowly at first, and then with increasing fervor, dragons began to trickle and then pour out of the nest, flying to station themselves with the rebelling dragons. Choosing their side. Joining the war that waited impatiently, mere minutes from igniting in a blood-red blaze of dragon fire. Soon, all of the dragons had either sided with the rebellion or flown away to seek shelter, and the only living thing remaining within the scorching depths of their former home was the very one they sought to fight - the Red Death. The rebelling dragons waited, their masses swirling like the clouds above. A low rumbling filled the air, shook the ground beneath them. This was it. She was coming...
But suddenly, someone else came first.
Yells and shouts and cheers began to emerge from below - ones that were decidedly not dragon. Looking down, the dragons watched as viking ships began to melt one by one out of the fog, their keels cutting easily into the rough pebbled shore. They piled out onto the land, and hurriedly gathered together, readying weapons and making battle plans, eyes glaring over at the already-amassed dragons, and tracking their movements with suspicion and unrestrained hatred. The dragons stared back - in utter astonishment. How had these vikings found their nest? Why had they attacked now, of all times? Did their arrival change the rebellion at all? A flurry of uncertain conversation traveled among the dragons, and as they struggled to come to terms with the changed situation, the night fury exchanged meaningful glances with the blue Nadder on his left. This rebellion was not their war. They had a different mission entirely.
Sneaking away from the rest of the dragons, the night fury and the Nadder flew off to hide behind some boulders not far from the scheming humans. Soundlessly, they peeked around the edges of their hiding place, and scanned the viking crowd with urgent scrutiny. The arrival of the humans had not been quite so shocking to the night fury or the Nadder, as they had flown there with the specific purpose of finding a human - a specific human. The little viking elder.
"I don't see her," the night fury announced, after a minute of careful searching. "But she has to be here. Hiccup gave me the clue about the pebbled shore for a reason. It was no coincidence," he said strongly. "I know it."
"Then, we'll have to get closer," the Nadder reasoned. "If we're going to stop the end of the world, we need to find her. We can't give up." The night fury nodded at this, and the two of them looked over at the humans once more, searching for another viable hiding place that would get them as close as possible to the vikings.
"There," the night fury decided, gesturing to another fairly-large outcrop of rocks. It was perfect. So close to the humans, they could almost touch them. And the night fury saw an added bonus - the viking leader was right there, too. Perhaps they would overhear something important, like the location of the elder, or maybe (part of him hoped) something about the illusive Hiccup. Anxiously, the night fury watched for a safe opening, and then gestured to the Nadder, who followed him swiftly and silently to their new hiding spot.
"...absolutely brilliant idea, Stoick," one viking was saying heartily, clapping the viking leader on the shoulder. "Waiting in the direction we knew their nest was, and then following the group of dragons that came back from the raid on Berk. By the gods," he marveled, "that was a perfect plan!" The night fury and the Nadder exchanged glances; at least now they knew how the vikings had found the nest.
"Thank you, Spitelout," Stoick replied, nodding appreciatively. "Actually," he admitted conversationally, "it was Hiccup who gave me the idea."
"Hiccup?!" the other viking wondered, shocked. And the night fury was just as surprised. Hiccup had lead the vikings to the nest? But how-
And then he remembered. Hiccup had given Stoick the idea, but not on purpose. And moreover, the night fury had been there when it happened...
"I'm sure only a dragon can find the dragons' nest," the viking boy said unhelpfully, a note of finality entrenched in his tone. And at that moment, the night fury knew exactly which house it was. There, the house on the hill. With mounting excitement, the dragon swooped over to the tall wooden structure, and carefully peered through the window.
The wooden interior was alit with a soft, warm flickering glow that radiated from a large fireplace against the opposite wall. There was a sturdy wooden table just a short distance from it, and there sat a formidable-looking viking indeed. Seeming as strong and sturdy as the house itself, the viking turned slightly, staring at nothing, lost in thought. But his head was turned at just the right angle so that the night fury could see the viking's face clearly. The man's expression, oddly, was lit - but not by the fire. The dragon recognized the glow of understanding that comes with the beginnings of an idea.
That was the moment right there, the night fury realized with a shudder. That had been the very moment Hiccup's words had been the inspiration for a daring new plan - a plan that would surely get all the vikings killed. The night fury let the sounds of the vikings' conversation roll over him without really listening. He watched the hurried movements of the other vikings on the ground. Saw the crafting of large, wooden spikes. Heard the scraping of stone on steel. He looked to the dragons in the sky, locked in frenzied debate. And he felt the low rumbling in the ground - the stirring of the monster below.
"...might not be the worst viking in history after all, eh, Stoick?" the night fury heard. Attention back on the conversation, the black dragon watched as the viking leader nodded, eyes full of determination, and the spark of ill-contained hope.
"Maybe not," he agreed. "He may yet become great." He was quiet for a moment, the smallest of sighs escaping his lips, and then he spoke up again. "But," he began firmly, "until then, he is no fighter. I ordered him to remain in Berk. I don't want him mixed up in this fight. It will get ugly." The other viking nodded, and the two of them looked to the sky, eyeing the many dragons and the storm clouds still darkening above. The night fury, though, felt only relief. The viking chief was right; this night would get ugly, and the dragon was very glad that Hiccup, at least, was out of harm's way. But that still left one person unaccounted for.
"There!" the Nadder whispered suddenly, and the night fury started. "Is that her? I see an old viking woman with a staff." Eagerly, the night fury looked in the indicated direction.
"Yes!" he cheered, relief rushing through him yet again. It was her. They had found her. But then there was the problem of getting to her without being seen. She was surrounded by a few other vikings, who were erecting a tent above her, and setting various jars, herbs, and jugs around her. For healing, the night fury reasoned. She must have come in order to heal those injured in battle. The vikings had probably figured that this was a battle whose wounds would be more serious than usual; they would need a viking healer, not just a few warriors with rudimentary healing knowledge. The night fury feared they were right. This war would be a bloody one indeed.
"How can we get to her?" the Nadder asked, bringing the night fury out of his grim musings. "We'd be spotted." The black dragon nodded in agreement.
"We'll have to wait," he said. "Once this war starts, the other vikings will be fighting, and she will be alone then."
"Okay," the Nadder nodded. And then the ground rumbled beneath them all, stronger this time. "Looks like we won't have to wait long," she murmured. They looked up together at the dragons in the sky, and wondered what decision, if any, they had made. And in an unspoken agreement, the Nadder and the night fury flew up to join the teeming mass of hovering dragons. It sounded like a decision had already been reached.
"But this changes things!" one Gronckle burst out desperately, looking extremely nervous. "The vikings are here!" But the other dragons looked resolute.
"This changes nothing," a Nightmare declared solemnly. "The Red Death dies tonight."
As soon as the words were spoken, the ground shook with tremendous force, knocking many of the vikings off their feet. The dragons turned towards the volcano, and as they watched, the opening split with a gigantic crack.
The sound reverberated through the air, many times louder than the approaching thunder. And then there was a moment of calm. A second of silence as time seemed to slow. A slice of infinity in which nobody moved and everyone watched. The world was still.
And then - crack. The volcano splintered open with incredible force, enormous chunks of rock flying out from all sides, crashing onto the hard earth and exploding like a rain of bombs. Bits of rock and thick, gray dust rose up into existence. The world was washed in gray, filled with the sound of the dragons' former home crumbling down into nothingness.
And out of the dust, out of the ashes, a hulking figure rose. Easily the size of all the opposing dragons put together, the Red Death stepped out of the roiling lava beneath and slammed herself onto the defeated earth outside. The vikings watched in disbelief and terror. The dragons watched in hatred and fear. And the Red Death looked on with murderous intent. Her many eyes rolled around in her head, taking in each and every one of her challengers, human and dragon. And then she smiled a terrible smile, made out of malice and death and all things unholy. A roar like no other sound on earth exploded from her horrible jaws, and the sickly-sweet stench of decay was thrown at all of her challengers in a powerful gush.
The vikings clenched their weapons. The dragons readied their fire. The Red Death laughed humorlessly, and then charged.
"I WILL DESTROY YOU ALL."