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CYOTF

Green and Gold

Curtis' words echo in your mind, sharp and biting, filled with accusations that cut deep—yet it’s his stance, his growling, his claws extending in readiness to strike, that dominate your train of thought.

He looms like a predator, his snarls reverberating through the corridor, claws glinting in the dim light. His aggression speaks volumes—too much for you to ignore. It doesn’t look like righteous anger; it looks like unchecked malice.

You take a firm step forward even as you feel your heart pound, shielding Damian with your body. Your green slitted eyes meet Curtis’ with a warning glare, and your voice hisses low, clear, and unyielding — communicating clearly what it is you mean to speak.

Stay back.

He stiffens, his snarl faltering into a look of disbelief, but you don’t waver.

The tension snaps like a taut wire, and the green lizardman lunges first, claws flashing in the dim light. His movements are feral but precise, a terrifying blend of beast and intellect. You barely manage to twist out of the way as his claws rake through the air, the sharp screech of metal splitting your ears as he tears through a nearby pipe. Steam hisses and billows around you, obscuring your vision.

You counter with a whip of your tail, aiming to disorient him, but he ducks low and slashes at your side. His claws scrape against your gleaming rubbery scales, leaving shallow marks that burn with the promise of deeper wounds if you falter. He’s relentless, using the narrow walkways and machinery around you to corner and press the attack.

As you aim to retaliate, he leaps to higher ground, clawed hands gripping a steel beam as he perches above you like a stalking predator. With a guttural growl, he rips a loose pipe from the structure and hurls it toward you. You sidestep just in time, the pipe clattering against the railing with a deafening clang.

“You are blind!” Curtis snarls, his voice cutting through the chaos. “You can’t see him for what he truly is! A fool as all the rest!”

You don’t respond, focusing instead on the next strike. He drops from the beam, claws outstretched, and you twist to meet him—tail lashing upward, catching him mid-air and slamming him into a nearby wall. The impact shakes the walkway, and Curtis crumples briefly before surging back with a hiss, unfazed—reptilian eyes blazing, all the more pissed off.

The fight grows more brutal. Your strikes become heavier, your tail coiling and snapping like a whip as Curtis darts and claws with unnerving agility. Pipes burst around you, spraying scalding steam that neither of you seems to feel. The air is thick with heat, metal groans under the strain of your combat, and sparks rain from ruptured wires above.

Flicking your tongue with a quiet hiss, you brace yourself, fixed firm to anticipate your opponent’s next attack.


What do you do now?


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