Gaz and Soap were wrestling on the mats, not holding back and being recklessly aggressive. Gaz’s wings, those that resembled an eagle’s trapping Soap and his paws pressing Gaz’s face into the mat.

Price rolls his eyes, his reptilian wings gently twitching.

Simon furrows an eyebrow, before abruptly calling your name over his shoulder.

He knows how much you hate using your tendrils, considering they tear through your back and don’t just appear, but they need the recruit’s help.