Not that Tsvetok really cared all that much or anything, but it was fairly certain it wasn't meant to be wandering so far from Draco. It wasn't like Vargas had ever explicitly told it that it couldn't go for walkies, though. And soon enough, it stumbled across a room infested with familiar-looking, perfectly symmetrical fungus. It'd found something similar in Gemini, though it'd largely failed to do any significant damage to the stuff.

It hated the look of them. Sprawling out like little white parasites, somehow staying perfectly even and balanced. It was yucky. It was gross. It had to be wrecked and destroyed and set on glorious fire.

That said...

Vargas had implied there was much more than just fire. Timir could do noises, apparently. That little cat it'd killed could do water. What else could Tsvetok do?

Similarly familiar to Tsvetok was the pull of magic in its chest and the feeling of magical bile lifting in its throat. This one was definitely different, though. It didn't sear or burn while it hacked it up out of its jaws. It almost tingled as it came out of its neck and then spewed out of its mouth, landing in the foliage.

Yellow-white, thick. It didn't look too far-off its other spell, but as soon as this one made contact with the fungus it began shimmering and crackling. The caps of mushrooms beneath it blackened, frying, blistering and boiling. Whatever that was, it was sick as fuck.

Yes, whatever spell it'd just done was great. Its massive head craned forward to get a look, though it too, bit at its snout and Tsvetok drew back.

Dangerous. Destructive.

Good.

What else could it do, it wondered?

Heavy claws stepped through Eridanus's foliage, looking for more. It wasn't long before it found another cropping of them, crawling up a tree in a disgusting, symmetrical triangle formation. Tsvetok cared not for preserving the bark or plants or wildlife-- it just wanted the fungus gone.

It reached for its magic again, but nothing happened.

Not good enough.

It needed these things gone, whatever they were. There was no real thought process behind it. It didn't even think that getting rid of it would be in any way helpful or worthy of respect. It just didn't like their vibes.

It pulled its magic again, and this time there was another deep-rooted, staticky feeling. Electricity leapt from Tsvetok's body and onto the triangle of ordered mushrooms shelfing along the treebark, colliding into them with a deafening crack.

The lightning burned everything in its path-- plant matter, the tree trunk, the fungus. Hot air squealed out of the puffy mushrooms before they shriveled and blackened. Good.

This electricity thing was going great, actually. It left Tsvetok's limbs feeling numb and tingly, which was a stark difference between feeling burned and sore. Tsvetok had yet to decide if it liked this better or worse than the feeling of flames, though. It sort of liked the burn, the pain. It made it feel like it'd done all the more destroying.

Its claws tamped down the foliage into the soil, its crimson face snuffling for more fungus. It found it eventually-- it seemed like it was everywhere. Its claws heated up, searing into the greenery and the white fungus alike.

Tsvetok was leaving quite the path of destruction.

Grey smoke was steaming out of where it'd come from, the scent of burning mushroom thick in the air. It felt pleased with itself, in all honesty. Trudging through the thick foliage towards the Monarch (not symmetrical, so it was fine, in Tsvetok's book), it found some more yawning across the forest floor.

Feet still burning, it reached out with a clawed forelimb and raked its talons through the soft soil. It popped, hissing angrily, as the searing limb drew the mushrooms out of the substrate and into its palm to burn. They were soft, squishy and shrivelling against its scaled palms.

Its tongue lashed against its jowls.