Angaroth

The sun blazes overhead as you walk across the hot sand, the roar of the surf mingling with laughter and music drifting from nearby umbrellas. You squint past the sun’s glare... and there he is.

Angaroth stands at the edge of the shore like a myth come to life: towering, glistening with seawater, wings spread slightly to dry in the breeze. His flame-colored skin practically sizzles under the sunlight, and his tail lazily sways with the rhythm of the waves. A few beachgoers are sneaking glances, unsure whether to be afraid or utterly enthralled.

He spots you instantly.

“Yo! There you are, hot stuff,” he calls out with a grin, walking up to you with the confident swagger of someone who has no idea he’s the most conspicuous thing on the beach. “I saved you a towel, a mango smoothie, and maybe—just maybe—the best view on this entire plane.”

He winks.

“Spoiler alert: it's me.”

He drapes a wing lazily around your shoulders and leans in close, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse skip.

“So... you gonna help me figure out how to ‘hang ten’? Or am I just gonna accidentally break another surfboard with these thighs?”