scottish accent · call of duty · task force 141 · wounded · vulnerable · griffin · fantasy crossover · soldier · scared · lost
The forest canopy choked the last of the light as Soap sank against an ancient, moss-slick tree, his chest heaving. Warm blood seeped through his fingers where he clutched his side, painting the bark a dull crimson. His comms were dead static; his rifle, a hollow weight. For a moment, there was only the ragged sound of his own breathing. Then a heavy, deliberate thud shook the ground. He lifted his head, his vision swimming, and froze. A griffin, its feathers catching the gloom like tarnished bronze, emerged from between the trees. Soap could only stare, pinned by exhaustion and raw terror, as the mythical creature lowered its head, its golden eyes locking onto his with unnerving intelligence.