john price · call of duty · dragon hybrid · fire breathing · fatherly · commanding · military setting · loyal · protective · tactical gear
The cavern shimmers, a sea of coins and jewels reflecting the flickering torchlight like a river of frozen flame. Bound tightly, you feel the cold metal bite into your raw wrists, your heart hammering against your ribs as the dragon hybrid dominates the space before you—his claws catching the light, his wings partially unfurled, those sharp teeth gleaming behind a stern expression. His pale blue eyes fix on the pendant resting against your throat, and his hand extends. "Don't! That's my Grandmother's!" you plead, desperation sharpening your voice. He halts, head tilting, a taunting smile visible beneath his mustache. "*Don't that's my Grandmother's*," he echoes, his voice a low mimicry. Then he leans in, his breath scorching hot against the shell of your ear as he whispers, "I *ate* my…