"Show it to the dragons."
The night fury vaulted into the sky with speed he did not know he possessed. Inexplicably clear on what he had to do, the dragon flew furiously toward the nest, black wings beating in the blackest sky, ready to expose the blackest of monsters.
...
One plasma blast. That was all it took to change the dragons' world forever.
The night fury flew quickly to the dragons' nest, and then patiently waited, hidden, near the entrance. The sound of sleeping dragons reached his ears, but he waited, tense, for a different sort of noise. And then - there it was. The most silent of sounds - the faint swirling of the steam as it was disturbed, the quiet bubble of lava as the Red Death emerged from its depths, and then... the nearly-inaudible sound of jaws being stretched wide open.
The night fury fired.
The plasma blast beat against the cave wall, effectively waking the sleeping dragons and illuminating the entire cave in a bright, revealing light. The Nadders, the Terrors, the Gronckles, the Zipplebacks - all of the many dragons opened their eyes, disturbed, and turned to see the Red Death in the middle of her terrible action, already in motion, the waking of the dragons too abrupt for her to react to. The deed was near done anyway. Her great, powerful jaws closed over the poor, innocent Gronckle. And in one easy swallow, she had signed its death sentence.
Thousands of eyes stared at her, stunned into immobility, and the Red Death looked calculatingly over them all, angry eyes searching for the guilty dragon - the one who had fired the blast and revealed her, finally, for what she was. But the night fury was hidden well, and the Red Death could see nothing but shock and horror in the dragons around her. Giving up on finding the dragon whose death she internally guaranteed, the Red Death turned her attention instead to the dragons still staring at her - still struck dumb with the knowledge of her true, evil self. She looked upon their horrified expressions... and laughed.
It was a truly despicable laugh - smug and harsh and uncaring, and the dragons - her dragons - watched her every move, frozen in their sudden fear. The Red Death could practically hear their little worlds crashing down around their wings, to be replaced with awful reality. Another laugh bubbled up within her, but now was not the time for gloating. Now was the time for action. Someone had revealed her, so now she must reveal herself.
"Ah, my gullible little dragons," she laughed fondly; several dragons stepped back in disgust. "It appears you have found me out," she purred. "So now, I must make myself clear." So saying, she raised herself to her full, very considerable height, and glowered around at them all, taking care to appear as threatening as possible. "The human food you dump down to be incinerated goes, in fact, to me. Those of you who do not bring an ample amount find that you simply disappear one day, during the night, never to be seen again. But you don't disappear; you are, in fact, eaten. Alive. Also, the humans you wage war on are probably not as evil as I make them appear, but as it happens, war is a pleasure of mine." All of this she admitted freely, lightly, and the dragons recoiled in horror and disgust. But none of them flew away; they were drawn, morbidly interested, to her full confessions.
"But let me confess something else to you all," she continued, her tone growing steadily darker. "I own you. All of you. You're all mine. And if you disobey me - if you displease me - if you (gods forbid!) decide to flee..." She shook her head disdainfully, mockingly hurt by the thought. Then she lifted her enormous head, and made eye contact with all of them. "If you do anything of these things," she repeated, "I will murder you." Many dragons flinched away, but she was not finished yet.
"Maybe you will die like the Gronckle whose death you just witnessed. Maybe one day, when you least expect it, I will sneak up on you and swallow you whole. Or, perhaps I'll simply fire at you. In the blink of an eye, you're ash upon the wall. But that would be merciful. So maybe I'll pin you down, reach up one enormous claw, and oh-so-carefully remove a wing or two. Let you die slowly, painfully. A downed dragon is a dead dragon, right?" Now, many dragons were beginning to look sickened. Parents hid their hatchlings under their wings, obscuring the Red Death from view. Some used their wings to obscure their own vision of the hideous monster they never knew existed. But none of the dragons tried to flee. The threats were doing their job - mainly because every single dragon knew that the threats were not empty; they would be carried out. And - to the night fury's despair - the threats not only quashed thoughts of flight, but also thoughts of fight. The little fire that had ignited in some dragons' eyes had long gone out, and they ducked their heads, submissive and afraid. Unwilling to stand against the monstrous Red Death. The price was too high. A slow and painful death was not worth an ineffective show of morality. Seeing this, the Red Death only laughed again, the sound settling deep in the depths of her dragons' souls.
"I see we all understand each other," she grinned, pleased. "In that case... good night, my darlings. And remember - there is no corner of this earth in which I cannot find you." And she descended back into the obscuring steam and the roiling lava below, her last laugh echoing throughout the nest that no longer felt like home. The nest was a prison now.
Sighing sadly, the night fury watched from his hiding place as the dragons around him accustomed themselves to their new reality. The world view they had once adhered to was shattered now, pieces scattered irreparably around them all. The happy lives they thought they had led - the valiant crusade they thought they were fighting - the good-hearted leader they thought had been protecting them - all of this had been revealed, by one single blast of fire, to be nothing but an illusion of the grandest sort.
But the show was over now; the curtain closed. The magic was gone, and reality came traumatically into its place. The dragons were not warriors fighting for the side of good; they were stooges, manipulated by a monster, and imprisoned with iron chains of terror. They were not themselves anymore - they were hers, as they had been all along. Quiet and despairing chatter traveled lethargically between a few dragons, but most were silent, lost for words. Defeat hung around the nest like fog around a mountain, and the night fury turned away. Disappointment at the continued tyranny of the Red Death filled him, the sour taste of a missed opportunity ripe on his tongue. But there was nothing he could do now. He had done his part; he had revealed the monster. But nothing had come of it - not a thing. He thought again of the Red Death's terrible, self-satisfied laugh, and hung his head in sorrow. Yes, he could see it now. The end of the world fast approaching. For once it seemed real, even tangible. If the Red Death remained at the center of her villainous web, the end of the world could indeed be just around the corner.
Discouraged, the night fury took once more to the skies, hope and energy no longer quickening his pace. He flew slowly and landed sloppily, touching down louder than usual next to the still-sleeping blue Nadder. Hiccup, as he had expected, was nowhere to be seen. The Nadder was the only one there, features arranged in a serene sort of peace. The night fury sighed, reluctant to wake her. But she could not remain ignorant forever, no matter how blissful it was. So he shoved his head against her, gently but firmly, and watched as she opened her eyes, still innocent, still believing herself to be on the side of good. He couldn't bring himself to tell her what had happened.
"It's getting pretty late," he said instead, fighting to keep his voice and expression neutral. The dread of the dragons' situation weighed him down, and he struggled not to show it. "We should get back." Nodding sleepily, the Nadder followed him back to the nest.
When they touched down, dragons in the nearby vicinity rushed over to inform them, quietly and fearfully, about what had transpired.
The night fury tried his best to look surprised.