That was. Ah.

Ghasavâlk disappeared from the cove entrance, clutching the corpse of the sarco, and faded beyond my sight.

Gone, then. But not dead. Not damaged. Not destroyed.

Seros had scared him off. Maybe they could have fought, but I wasn't about to ignore that he had needed to sacrifice Syçalia to distract Veresai, rather than command her directly. My Named were not to be sucked under his thrall, lost to the power of his words. He had known that. Had been aware of it enough to immediately cut his losses when Seros entered the battlefield.

I did not understand his powers, not in the slightest.

He had not been defeated by my dungeon, hardly even threatened—it had been his choice, careless and casual, to leave. He had merely decided that the time was right to dip his head and retreat back to the shadows, to curl up without exposing his stomach and venture to higher planes. His fellow Gold he had left as some parting gift, a reason to keep Veresai pinned to her floor as he ventured further; it had been entirely his decision.

I had not beaten him.

And though he had neither beaten me, it didn't feel like a victory.

Fucking hells. All this time I had feared and gnawed over choices regarding lesser Silvers, and I had never quite realized that the threat was far greater.

At least there was one mercy in this world—and that was Seros, mist coiling around his body and flowing from his scales like makeshift wings, tearing into Syçalia. She'd already lost an arm to his claws and was stumbling drunkenly back, a fumbling thing in the darkness and the horde, and his fangs snapped her head from her shoulders with easy precision.

Ghasavâlk's thrall held until the last second. She twitched once, shuddering, and died.

And power exploded outward.

She had been a Gold. Whatever mana was hidden under Syçalia's skin was far and above anything I'd seen before, and I knew just how powerful Silvers were. I still didn't understand the specifics of how killings worked in my dungeon, how the mana was divided amongst the victors, but I knew there was something deliberate about it. In the way that the kobold traps gave back to those that had created them, and how Chieftess earned from directing her tribe in battle, and how the webweavers split their kills evenly.

So it would not just be Seros, with his fangs stained red with blood, who would benefit—Veresai, her horde, the mage ratkins, and all others would receiving this mana, bright and sparking and more than there had ever been before, and I couldn't wait to see what happened.

And I wouldn't have long to wait, as almost immediately, my core lit up in golden letters. I pounced on the information with glee.

The Stone Jungle burst into light, the shuddering glory of power beyond—half a dozen luminous constrictors immediately settled into becoming crowned cobras, no other options of particular interest, and fighting Syçalia had shown me the versatility of ranged opponents. They hissed once, a pleased, lazy sort of sound, and curled up under their glow.

Two more had the option of becoming jeweltone serpents, with their burgeoning interest in magic perhaps from their continued rivalry with the mage ratkins, and I wasted no longer before selecting that. I would certainly never reject magic.

But they were not the only options.

For in the far back, right next to Syçalia's sluggishly-bleeding corpse, collapsed on the ground with a wound over its head—a luminous constrictor, one who had nearly given its life to kill Syçalia. Its eyes were glassy with pain, breathing with a rasp in its scaled chest, but it was still alive, and now Gold-level mana exploded through it.

Congratulations! Your luminous constrictor is undoing evolution!

Please select your desired path.

Jeweltone Serpent (Rare): Learning from those around it, they sacrifice their scales for the elegance of gems. Though they are slow and ponderous, they can force great feats of magic, and only need replace their jewels once they are used up.

Astral Constrictor (Uncommon): Alight in the glow of the stars, this creature has learned from the psionic touch of its empress and found solace in its power. It serves as a gleaming reflection for her reach, greatly strengthening her presence.

Spectral Serpent (Rare): The paleness of its scales are more than disguise; it slips between the death and the dreaming, phasing from the world to hide from mortal worries. Its strikes are unseen, its fangs unnoticed, until the moment is far too late.