Limitless Evolution As a Snake

They catch me staring, and both of them smirk at the same time, which is somehow worse than if they’d done it separately.

”Careful, boss,” Lyra calls over, voice cutting clean through the noise. ”You’re drooling.”

”Snakes don’t drool,” I call back.

”Could’ve fooled me,” Cherry says, and the little grin she gives me makes her horns twitch again.

I give my tail a lazy, affectionate flick, and they both laugh, turning back to whatever high-roller they’re currently fleecing.

Near the bar, looking criminally polished, is Channel. Sakura-pink wings tucked in tight behind her, dress pink and cute in that early-2000s magazine kind of way, all bounce and sparkle and zero threat whatsoever. She’s got some surface businessman cornered, laughing at something he said, hand on his arm, eyes wide and adoring.

Poor bastard has no idea he’s talking to a woman who dabbles in poison.

[System: She’s really committing to the bit, mate. Ten out of ten performance.]

I’d be more impressed if I didn’t already know what’s under the glitter. I give the room one more slow pass, cataloguing every scent I can pull out of the chaos- perfume and booze and fried food and money- and decide I’ve seen enough for now.

Reopening’s going fine without me hovering over it like an anxious parent. Time to let the house run itself for a bit.

I peel off toward the balcony doors, smoke fins spreading as I catch the night air, floating up past the neon and the noise toward my penthouse suite at the top of the casino.

The room’s quiet when I get there, all soft lighting and too much space for one guy, but I don’t mind the quiet after all that noise downstairs. I drape my coils over the couch, tap the wall screen with my tail tip, and there it is, a live feed straight from the casino floor security cameras, angles cutting between the bar, the tables, the stage. Best seat in the house, and nobody down there even knows I’m watching.

[System: Right, cobber, ceremony’s kicking off nice and proper, so while everyone’s clapping like seals, let’s talk business.]

Course we are, can’t just let me enjoy the show.

[System: Enjoying the show is for blokes who don’t have a wife-shaped soap bomb sitting in their skill list doing absolutely nothing useful.]

[System: Alright, cobber. Since you’re out here picking fights with half the city while trying to keep your harem from getting a scratch on their matching dresses, I’ve pulled three defensive skills out of the bargain bin. You’ve got 106 IP sitting in the bank, so pick one before you embarrass me again.]

A little window pops up in the corner of my vision. I shift my coils, settling deeper into the couch to actually pay attention instead of half-watching the ceremony.

[The ”Middle-Finger Shield” (Rank C+)]

Manifests a massive, rock-solid smoke hand that snaps into existence right in front of incoming attacks, catching bullets, fireballs, or blades mid-air like a baseball glove. Once caught, the hand crushes the attack into a useless ball of scrap, gives the attacker a slow, deliberate middle finger, and then slaps the closest enemy across the face with the force of a speeding truck.

Cooldown: 2 minutes.

Cost: 90 IP.

I read it twice. Okay, forget skills, this is art. This is exactly the kind of main-character energy I should have had from day one. It’s not just defence; it’s a whole-ass personality. The sheer disrespect is beautiful.

[System: Reckon it speaks for itself, don’t it. Big smoky hand catches your problem, insults it, then decks the nearest bloke standing around like an absolute unit. Pure poetry.]

Ninety IP though. My entire life savings for a glorified insult. Worth it? Almost definitely.

[System: Yeah, quality costs, mate. What, you want cheap and useless? Go back to the soap bomb then.]

No, no, I’m just saying, let’s hear option two before I commit.

[System: Commit, what? Suicide? nah mate, can’t have that.]

[The ”Tactical Rage-Quit” Self-Detonation (Rank C)]

Instantly causes entire smoke-and-scale body to ignite into a massive, pressurised shockwave explosion. Deals lethal AoE fire and force damage to every enemy within a 15-meter radius, completely shredding physical cover and blowing out all the windows in the room. Because you’re made of smoke, you take zero damage and simply reform out of the lingering soot two seconds later, looking completely unbothered.

Downside: Tears the clothes off everyone you didn’t want to kill, leaving them naked.

Cooldown: 6 minutes.

Cost: 85 IP.

I stare at that one for a solid three seconds. That downside note better be a joke.

[System: Wanker, pressure wave’s strong enough to blow the clothes clean off everyone standing nearby. Including your girls. Including you, technically, but you’re smoke, so who cares.]

So my emergency panic button also strips my entire harem naked?

[System: In your defence, it also strips the enemy naked, so really it’s a wash. Very equal opportunity explosion.]

That is not the defence you think it is.

[System: Look, mate, some blokes pay good money for that kind of chaos. You’d be doing it for free.]

Absolutely not; we are not doing this.

[System: Fair, fair. Bit of a nuclear option anyway. Saving grace is you don’t take damage, but I reckon your relationship resonance bars would take one hell of a hit.]

Yeah, no thanks, I don’t need Cherry crying into a cocktail napkin because I blew her dress off in front of a high roller.

[System: She’d probably enjoy it, knowing her.]

That’s the problem.

Alright, let’s hear option three then, because two out of two so far have been either ”unhinged but useless” or ”unhinged and also a war crime.”

[System: Right, settle down, ya drama queen, here’s the last one, and try not to cream yourself.]

I’ll try.

[The ”Nuh-Uh” Stance (Rank C+)]

Turns your scales and smoke body into an absolute, unbreakable hyper-dense wall for 15 seconds. During this time, you are 100% immune to all forms of physical harm—knives shatter on impact, high-calibre bullets flatten into harmless pancakes against your scales, and punches feel like gentle pats.