The sunset was like blood, dyeing the sky into a flowing molten painting, the descending sun like a pierced wound, seeping sticky twilight on the horizon.
Galos bathed in the crimson, fiery afterglow, each of his black iron-like Dragon Scales reflecting a dangerous light.
He spread his wings, the fine scales rubbing against each other, sending out strands of sparks. His body, straight like a blade, pierced the clouds and sky, speeding towards Crescent Valley, towards the Cliff Snake Dragon's lair, like a drawn blade cleaving through the thickening dusk.
Every time he feels danger.
Every time he feels a threat to his life.
Galos always can't suppress his boiling killing intent, wanting to eliminate the source of this danger.
This is not an influence brought by the Dragon Race's bloodline.
