Bones crunched or scattered in its wake. Oily footprints stained the stone. It’s passage would be almost hilariously easy to track.
Six panicked crimson eyes darted around urgently. It’s gaze landed on a pile of bones- a structure, somewhere to hide. It bee-lined towards the macabre hut, flopping down, breathing heavily.
Magic reached out, attempting to do what it had done before- dull the iridescent glint of it’s oil, the luminescent glow of it’s eyes and gills. Let it melt into the shadows- just become another rock, or bone, or corpse.
Instead of swallowing the light, and making it blend into the dark, it did the opposite. It seemed to become shinier, the glow of it's eyes brighter, easily visible even as it curled up and squeezed it's eyes shut in a second attempt to hide.