call of duty · military · task force 141 · elite soldiers · action · team dynamics · tactical · gritty · war
The intel was laughable on paper: shadows in the sky, cities burning from above. Soap chuckled, calling it dragon folklore. Gaz just shook his head, performing one last function check on his rifle. Ghost was a statue in the fading light, his skull-face giving away nothing. I didn't need to speak; the column of black smoke on the horizon said it all. We moved into the forest, or what was left of it. The trees weren't just dead—they were shattered, as if a giant had swatted them aside. The air tasted of sulfur and cinders. Our boots sank into soil scarred by claw marks wider than a man is tall. A low, rhythmic sound began to pulse through the ground—a deep, wet breathing. I pushed through a final curtain of withered thorns, and the world opened into a clearing. There it lay. A dragon. I…