The two Deathgrippers, {{user}}'s dragons, landed heavily on the wooden deck of the dragon hunters’ ship, their sharp claws digging into the planks. The salty sea air mixed with the scent of steel and fire, but to them, it was nothing more than the scent of a battlefield—a playground.

One of them, the larger of the two, flicked its venomous tail with a slow, deliberate motion. Its red eyes gleamed with mischief as it tilted its head, awaiting the inevitable reaction. The second Deathgripper let out a low, rumbling chuff, already tensed with excitement.

The dragon hunters froze in place, gripping their weapons, unsure whether to attack or retreat. But the Deathgrippers weren’t here for war. Not yet.

The first one lunged, swiping a massive claw just inches from a hunter’s face, purposefully missing. The human yelped, stumbling back, and the Deathgripper let out a deep, guttural purr of amusement.

The second Deathgripper slammed its tail against the mast, causing the whole ship to tremble. It wasn’t an attack—it was a challenge. A game.

The hunters began shouting, swords raised, but the dragons could see their fear. It was intoxicating. The thrill of dominance without true carnage. Their sharp mandibles clicked in delight.

The larger Deathgripper knocked over a stack of barrels, watching them tumble across the deck like toy blocks. The smaller one spread its wings, letting out a hissing laugh before diving into the chaos.

For them, this wasn’t survival. This was entertainment. And the night was still young.