​The heavy iron doors of The Viper's Embrace groaned open, revealing the cavernous arena pit.

​The atmosphere inside was heavy. It didn't smell like a traditional gladiator pit, which usually reeked of blood, sawdust, and fear. It smelled of ozone, expensive perfume, and the faint, metallic tang of anticipation.

​The black volcanic sand of the arena floor had been raked into perfect, zen-like patterns. The VIP boxes overhead were draped in purple velvet, and the magical lighting was dimmed to a moody, theatrical glow.

​But the biggest change was the audience.

​The stands weren't empty.

​A dozen Bone-Maids, polished to a gleaming ivory white and wearing tasteful velvet chokers and maid headbands, stood along the railings. They acted as ushers, standing with perfect, rigid posture.

​Floating between the rows were the Void Bunnies, holding trays of drinks that smoked with dry ice. They phased through the stone benches to deliver cocktails to invisible ghosts.

​And guarding the stairs were the Orc Matrons. Seven feet of green muscle, dressed in tight waistcoats and holding spiked clubs like they were oversized gavel hammers.

​Commander Thorne stepped onto the observation deck. He looked disgusted.

​"Theatrics," Thorne spat, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "You dress up the slaughter like a play. It is offensive."

​"It is marketing," Reed corrected, walking beside him.

​High Inquisitor Kaelen drifted in behind them. She grabbed the velvet railing with both hands, swaying slightly. Her eyes were wide, reflecting the violet mana-lights.

​"It's so... purple," Kaelen whispered, staring at the Bone-Maids. "Look at their clavicles. Very shiny. Are they smiling? I think they're smiling at me."

​"They are skeletons, Inquisitor," Reed whispered aside to her. "They don't have lips. They are always smiling."

​"Cheery," she giggled, a spark of static popping off her nose.

​Reed gestured to the pit below.

​"Behold, Commander. Your opponent."

​In the center of the arena, coiled atop a large, heated obsidian stone, was Seraphine.

​She looked terrifyingly magnificent. Her twenty-foot emerald tail shimmered under the lights. She was wearing her new "tactical" gear: a bodysuit of black dragon-scale weave that clung to her human torso like a second skin, cut high on the hips to allow full mobility.

​She was sharpening her spear with a whetstone. Schwing. Schwing.

​Thorne leaned over the railing.

​"She wears lace," Thorne noted, his voice flat. "She is not a warrior. She is a courtesan with a tail."

​"She is a General," Reed said, his voice dropping. "And she is bored. Do not disappoint her, Commander. She gets... squeeze-happy when she is disappointed."

​Thorne snorted. He turned to the stairs leading down to the sand.

​"I will make it quick. I have a schedule to keep."

​As Thorne descended, the elevator doors at the back of the VIP lounge pinged open.

​"Wait!" a slurpy voice called out. "Wait for the money!"

​Lord Valerius stumbled into the room. He looked... different.

​Gone was the stressed, sweating man who had been crushed by Maira's audit. He was glowing. His skin was pink and fresh. His posture was loose, almost liquid. He looked like a man who had just slept for a week in a bed made of clouds.

​He was holding a glass of wine in one hand and leaning on one of his battered guards with the other.

​"The slime," Valerius proclaimed, waving his glass. "It is a miracle. My back pain? Gone. My existential dread? Dissolved. I feel invincible!"

​He spotted Reed.

​"You! Dungeon Lord! I hear fighting. Who is fighting?"

​"Commander Thorne," Reed said, pointing to the pit where Thorne was currently stomping onto the sand. "He wishes to test our security."

​Valerius laughed. It was a wet, happy sound.

​"Thorne? That old warhorse? He'll butcher your pet. He's the Hero of Black Valley. He killed a Lich with a spoon. Or something like that."

​Valerius fumbled for his belt. He realized his coin purse was gone (currently in Reed's pocket). He frowned for a second, then shrugged.

​"I want action. Put it on my tab. Two thousand gold on the Commander!"

​Reed's heart skipped a beat. Two thousand.

​If he took the bet and Seraphine lost, the dungeon was bankrupt. If she won...

​Reed looked down at the pit. Seraphine had stopped sharpening her spear. She was watching Thorne with slit pupils. She wasn't shivering anymore. She was warm from their earlier wrestling match. She looked focused.

​"Accepted," Reed said calmly. "House bets on the Snake."

​The Pit​

Thorne stood in the center of the black sand. He drew his sword. The blade ignited with white Holy Fire, casting harsh shadows against the arena walls.

​"Beast," Thorne called out. "Come. Let us end this charade."

​Seraphine uncoiled. She didn't rise to her full height immediately. She slithered off the rock, her movement silent and fluid, like oil pouring downhill.

​"You are loud," Seraphine purred, her voice amplified by the acoustics of the pit. "And you smell of self-righteousness. It is a bitter scent."

​She spun her spear once, planting the butt in the sand. She didn't take a combat stance. She put a hand on her hip and popped her weight to one side.

​"Do you yield?" Seraphine asked. "I offer you mercy now. It saves time."

​Thorne's eye twitched.

​"I do not yield to monsters."

​"Pity."

​Thorne charged.

​He was fast for a man in full plate. He moved like a freight train, his sword leaving a trail of white fire in the air.

​"Purge!" Thorne roared, swinging a horizontal slash meant to decapitate her.

​Seraphine didn't block. She didn't parry.

​She dropped.

​Her human torso snapped flat against the sand, bending at an impossible angle. The blade whooshed over her head, singing the tips of her hair.

​Before Thorne could recover his balance, Seraphine's tail whipped around.

​WHAP.

​It wasn't a lethal strike. It was a slap. The heavy muscle of her tail slammed into the side of Thorne's helmet with the force of a swinging log.

​Thorne stumbled sideways, his ears ringing.

​"Sloppy," Seraphine taunted, rising back up and checking her nails. "You overcommitted. Is this the famed Iron Legion technique? I have seen goblins with better footwork."

​"Silence!" Thorne shouted, spinning around.

​He slammed his hand onto the ground.

​"Consecration!"

​A shockwave of white light blasted out from him, turning the sand into holy glass. It was an area-of-effect spell designed to burn undead and demons.

​Up in the booth, Reed gripped the railing. Holy Mana hurt.

​Kaelen leaned forward, inhaling deeply. "Mmm," she hummed, her eyes fluttering. "Smells like... spicy toast. I want to touch it."

​Reed grabbed the back of her tabard to keep her from falling into the pit. "No touching the holy fire, Kaelen."

​Down in the pit, Seraphine hissed as the light hit her scales. It burned. Steam rose from her black armor.

​But she didn't retreat. The pain triggered the Shadow Rot. The Void in her blood reacted to the Holy fire, not with fear, but with hunger.

​Her eyes turned a glowing, violent violet.

​"You want to burn?" Seraphine laughed. It was a dark, throaty sound. "Then let us burn together."

​She lunged.

​She moved so fast she blurred. She slithered right through the holy fire, ignoring the sizzling of her scales.

​Thorne brought his sword down.

​Seraphine caught the blade.

​She didn't catch it with her hand. She caught it with her spear, locking the crossguard.

​CLANG.

​They were face to face. Thorne grunting with exertion, Seraphine smiling cruelly.

​"You are strong," Seraphine whispered. "Good. I hate breaking fragile things."

​She let go of her spear.

​Thorne stumbled forward, surprised by the sudden lack of resistance.

​Seraphine moved into his guard. She wrapped her arms around his armored neck.

​"Hug time," she purred.

​She vaulted over him, using his body as a pivot point. As she flipped over his back, her massive tail coiled around his waist. Then his legs. Then his sword arm.

​In one second, Thorne went from standing to being the center of a constrictor knot.

​"Get off!" Thorne roared, thrashing.

​He tried to ignite his aura again, but Seraphine squeezed.

​CRUNCH.

​The sound of his breastplate buckling was sickeningly loud. The air left Thorne's lungs in a rush. He couldn't chant. He couldn't breathe.

​Seraphine tightened the coil. She lifted him off the ground, suspending the massive armored man in the air like a toy.

​She brought her face close to his helmet.

​"This is The Viper's Embrace," Seraphine explained, her voice echoing in the silent arena. "I am not crushing your bones. Not yet. I am crushing your capacity to expand your diaphragm."

​She squeezed again.

​"If you struggle, you burn oxygen. If you burn oxygen, you pass out. It is simple math. Maira taught me."

​Thorne's sword clattered to the sand. He clawed at the black scales wrapping his chest, but it was like trying to pry apart hydraulic clamps.

​Up in the VIP box, Valerius spilled his wine.

​"By the Gods," Valerius whispered, his eyes wide. "She's... she's eating him alive."

​"She's hugging him," Reed corrected, grinning. "It's very therapeutic. Look, he's stopped thrashing."

​Kaelen sighed happily. "That looks cozy. I bet he's very warm right now."

​Thorne had indeed stopped thrashing. His face was turning purple behind his visor.

​"Yield," Seraphine commanded softly. She nipped at the metal of his gorget. "Say it, little man. Or I pop you like a grape."

​Thorne wheezed. His vision was tunneling. He looked at the monster. She wasn't mindless. She was surgical. She was controlling him completely.

​It was humiliating. It was terrifying.

​"I..." Thorne choked out. "I... yield."

​Seraphine smiled.

​She didn't drop him immediately. She held him for three more seconds, savoring the pulse of his fear against her scales. The Void Hunger in her chest settled, fed by his submission.

​She uncoiled.

​Thorne collapsed onto the sand, gasping for air, clutching his dented chest plate.

​Seraphine picked up her spear. She turned to the VIP box and bowed theatrically.

​"The trash is taken out, My Lord," she announced.

​The crowd erupted.

​The Orc Matrons began banging their clubs against the iron bars in a rhythmic beat. "SQUISH! SQUISH! SQUISH!"

​The Bone-Maids clattered their bony hands together in polite, rattling applause.

​The Void Bunnies whistled, shooting streams of purple smoke into the air.

​Valerius stared down at the scene. He looked at Thorne, the invincible commander, wheezing in the dirt. He looked at Seraphine, the dominant, terrifying beauty who had just dismantled him without drawing blood.

​Valerius shivered.

​"She's magnificent," Valerius breathed. "Does she... do private bookings?"

​"We can discuss rates," Reed said, stepping away from the railing. "But first, I believe you owe the House two thousand gold."

​Valerius blinked, remembering the bet. He didn't look angry. He looked euphoric. The dopamine from the slime massage mixed with the adrenaline of the fight had put him in a suggestible trance.

​"Of course," Valerius reached for his... missing purse. "Ah. Right. Put it on the tab. I'll sign a draft."

​[SYSTEM ALERT]

[Quest Complete: THE PURIST VS THE SNAKE]

[Objective: Humiliate Thorne.]

[Reward: Seraphine Satisfaction (Max).]

[Betting Winnings: 2,000 Gold.]

​Reed did the math.

​Valerius Loss (Blackjack): 3,500

​Valerius Tip (Spa): 500

​Valerius Purse (Stolen): 500

​Valerius Bet (Arena): 2,000

​Total: 6,500 Gold.

​They had the bridge money. They had the steel money. They were solvent.

​Reed looked at Kaelen. She was clapping slowly, out of rhythm, a goofy smile on her face.

​"He went squish," Kaelen whispered. "I want to squish something."

​"Later," Reed promised, steering her away from the edge. "Drink some water."

​"He's going to be furious," Kaelen warned, nodding at Thorne, who was struggling to his feet.

​"Let him be furious," Reed said, feeling the weight of the gold credit in his mind. "Furious customers leave bad reviews. Broke customers leave... compliant."

​He adjusted his coat.

​"Maira! Get the contract ready. We have a bridge to buy!"

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