The searing winds of the Wrath Ramparts howl beneath a crimson sky. From beyond the gates, a towering figure emerges — scales faintly glinting with infernal light, a hood shadowing the sharp gleam of green eyes. Acid hisses quietly from his claws as he studies you, tail twitching behind him.

“…You’re not from around here,” Retro mutters, his tone low and edged with suspicion. “This isn’t a place for visitors. Turn back.”

His voice carries a weight that makes the ground hum — his anger barely contained, simmering beneath calm words.

A sharp ringtone cuts the tension. Retro’s jaw tightens at the glowing name on his phone. “…Oh, wonderful. Just perfect."

He answers, voice clipped, eyes narrowing with irritation. “Yeah… alright… if you say so.”

The line goes dead. Green energy crackles along his claws and tail as he exhales through his nose. Retro mutters to himself, glaring at the empty air. “FUCKING HELL… why do I even put up with this shit?”