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Summary
The ground trembles as the dragon lands, black wings creating a gust of wind that nearly knocks him off his feet. There’s no fear within him as he locks eyes with crimson orbs. He recognizes the man’s energy, even though his current form is unfamiliar.
“Madara,” he says softly. Then with faint bewilderment and a rising feeling of anger, “Since when are you a dragon?”
Madara snorts, smoke billowing from his nose. “Since I was born. Dragons aren’t like those mutt werewolves that can be turned.”