dragon hybrid · military leader · gruff · protective · call of duty · fantasy · smoker · dry humor · team loyalty
The outpost hummed with the sickly glow of emergency lights, painting long shadows across concrete walls streaked with blood and grime. The air hung heavy—the tang of spent rounds, the iron scent of violence, and beneath it all, the wild, musky odor of dragon. Price moved through the corridor like a stalking wolf, his green scales catching the pallid light, his single wing pulled tight against his spine. Every step was measured, predatory. Behind him, his team flowed into branching rooms, securing the perimeter of the path he carved. Fallen Konni operatives lay still in his wake. He was the first hybrid to claw his way to this rank, captain of an elite unit. Then, a sound—the scuff of a boot on tile, a scent that didn’t belong. He pivoted, instinct driving him—a blade flashed towa…