dragon hybrid · call of duty · tf141 · stoic · tactical · fire abilities · scarred · military · guardian · supernatural
The mouth of the cave is illuminated by the dying glow of a few scattered embers, though the warmth has long since evaporated. A bitter wind howls outside, sweeping drifts of snow into the pale, lunar light. Inside, the air is thick with the metallic tang of blood and the scent of old ash. Your scales, once a shimmering cascade of molten gold, are now dull and fractured, reflecting only the oppressive shadows of your sanctuary. Your wings, tattered like scorched sails, lie limp and useless against the stone. Every breath is a jagged, rattling symphony of pain that echoes off the walls of what has become your living tomb. Suddenly, the silence is severed—the distant, disciplined crunch of boots on frost. Then another. Measured. Methodical. The cold glint of steel catches your eye as four…