Chapter 82 - Necessary Sacrifices (Patreon)

Tucker rifled through the cabinet containing his collection of valuable alchemical ingredients, but as he did so, his mind invariably wandered to the girl strapped to the table in his laboratory. He knew who she was, and he knew that because of her identity, his life was over. Not yet, but he wasn’t so optimistic or naïve as to think that Lady Constance would restrain herself when avenging her last remaining daughter. The barely sane woman had gone literal scorched earth when her husband had died, so it wasn’t a stretch to think she’d do the same if her daughter was injured or killed, much less if that insane necromancer had his way. Of course, there was more to the whole situation than appeared at first glance, so much he didn’t really know. But he had plenty of suspicions, and the implications of those suspicions were enough for him to realize that his days were numbered, regardless of whether he escaped Micayne’s clutches.

As he selected the appropriate vials, he sighed, saying, “The things I do for my path…”

His goal wasn’t complicated. He only wanted to progress his craft. But alchemy was prohibitively expensive, especially when it came to breaking new ground. Intact frost giant toes, flame-infused mana water, and lifecap mushrooms were all rare, difficult to find, and incredibly dangerous to acquire.  And those were some of the easier materials to obtain. The others were much, much worse.

That was why he’d ventured into the Farindale Forest in the first place. He’d heard that because of all the undead essence floating around, it was a perfect breeding ground for a host of death-infused ingredients. The only reason it hadn’t already been picked clean was because of the undead horde infesting the area. But Tucker hadn’t been afraid; he was level twenty, and he was confident in his ability to protect himself from a few zombies.

At first, his foray into the forest had been incredibly lucrative. Everywhere he looked, he saw mushrooms and mosses he knew he couldn’t find anywhere else, and that wasn’t even considering the bits and pieces he could harvest from the zombies. It was a veritable smorgasbord of alchemical ingredients, and it had only taken him a few days to fill his pair of enchanted satchels.

But that was fine. The first trip had only ever been exploratory in nature. Now that he had established the forest’s value, he could enact the other part of his plan – farming, both in a literal and a figurative sense. So, after he’d gone back to Beacon and purchased the highest-quality spatial storage items he could afford – which was a lot; alchemy wasn’t just expensive to practice, but the resulting potions and other items he could make would sell for quite a lot of gold. Armed thus, he had set back out for the forest, intending to go even deeper than before.

It had been slow going, and not just because he’d been forced to use a magically motivated cart that had been loaded up with enchanted boxes, which were common amongst traders and caravanners. From the outside, the crates seemed absolutely normal. A couple of feet cubed, they were made of wood, and even looked worn to the point that any outside observer might overlook them. However, each was the size of a mid-sized room, and with twenty of them in his cart, Tucker had had all the storage potential he needed. He only needed to reach his destination, construct his lab, and then he could get down to his life’s work.

However, the deeper he got into the Farindale Forest, the more alarmed he became. The undead horde seemed endless, and peppered amongst their number were stronger creatures, the likes of which Tucker had never seen before. Some were called reapers – tall, thin, cloaked figures armed with scythes. Worse were the flesh golems, which were enormous monsters that looked as if they’d been stitched together from a host of disparate parts. Tucker had been forced to use some of his most potent anti-undead concoctions to deal with them. He could make more, but the recipe was well-known, and he’d practiced it enough that creating it held no insight for someone like him. Like so many other potions he could concoct, they did nothing to progress his path.

The trip took far longer than he’d anticipated, but it hadn’t been for naught. Not only had he gathered ingredients as he went along, but he’d also managed to gain a level – something that hadn’t happened in more than a decade. Eventually, after more than three months’ worth of travel through the forest, Tucker had managed to reach his destination. Using a tuning fork-shaped device that detected the concentration of death essence, he’d followed the ever-increasing essence to its epicenter.

There, he’d set about constructing his new laboratory. It was little more than a hovel, with stone walls and a tightly thatched roof, but he had been satisfied that it would serve his purposes as a base of operations for however long he chose to stay in the forest. In addition, he’d laboriously set out his protective barrier. The formation flags had cost him almost as much as the spatial storage boxes, but they were well worth the gold he’d spent on them. In the wilds, protection was absolutely paramount, and the formation created by the flags would dissuade anything less than a monarch-level monster from approaching. Anything below an elite wouldn’t even know he was there.

And if a monarch took notice? Well, any sort of advancement required risk, and he’d been willing to accept such if it meant he could finally progress.

For months, he’d established a pattern. At night, he would work on his potions, and during the day, he would gather ingredients. And he made plenty of progress, too, discovering potion recipes that he’d never have considered if he wasn’t surrounded by so much death essence. He had even created an offensive option that he was confident could at least harm a monarch.

Tucker shook his head at the memory. It was sheer hubris to think that someone like him could do anything against such a force of nature. And he’d learned that the hard way when Abraham Micayne himself strode past his formation flags as if they were nothing. They hadn’t even slowed the man – no, the monster – down!

He remembered that first inspection like it was still floating before his eyes.

Abraham Micayne, Lord of the Dead – 25 (M)

It still gave Tucker the shivers, and he’d worked with the man for almost a year since that fateful day. But that wasn’t the extent of his horror. Infected with that hateful hubris, Tucker had confronted the man with one of his mana-infused globes in hand. It was filled with his still-unnamed concoction designed to hurt a monarch-level undead, which had been further enhanced by his skill [Infuse Mana]. The skill injected his undiluted mana into his alchemical concoctions to increase its effect by up to two-hundred percent. As he had thrown that globe, he’d been confident. As it broke upon Micayne’s chest, he had been hopeful. And as the man strode forward, completely unimpeded, he had been horrified.

“I have been watching your progress, Mr. Tucker,” said the man-turned-monster as he drew closer. Micayne looked skeletally thin human man, save for his waxy pallor and the aura of death he wore like a heavy cloak. “You are quite talented.”

“What the hell do you want?” Tucker had demanded, thankfully keeping the quiver of fear from his voice.

The man-turned-monster cocked his head before saying, “To offer you a job, of course. I have need of your skills. Regrettably, this is not the sort of job you may refuse. To that end…”

Tucker blinked, and Micayne was upon him. An instant later, far too quickly for Tucker to react, a collar was around his neck. And thus, his enslavement had begun. Since then, Tucker had been working on a project that was both abhorrent and exciting in equal measure. Now, he found himself in a moral quandary. Never was that more apparent than when he had stepped into his new, far better equipped laboratory and saw the young woman struggling upon the table at its center.

Talia Nightingale was bound to the steel table by thick, leather straps that had been enchanted for durability; the girl hadn’t invested heavily in strength, but neither Tucker nor Micayne were keen on leaving anything to chance. She also wore a collar identical to the one around Tucker’s neck. It didn’t precisely force obedience, but it made resistance far more difficult than it was worth. For Tucker’s part, he’d long since chosen to simply give in and do as he was told – a decision that had earned him some measure of freedom that he’d used to advance his abilities as an alchemist.

Tucker glanced at the corner of the room, seeing one half of his most horrifying, yet exciting, collaborative creation. The twins were monsters, a new breed of undead called revenants; they were faster, stronger, and far more durable than any other creature within Micayne’s army of abominations. More, their claws were coated in a poison which would nullify all but the most powerful of healing effects, including a body’s natural, vitality-induced regeneration.

But their power had come at a price. The transformation had been difficult, and it had necessitated that the twins – Micayne’s own children, no less – spend months with their bodies being inundated by various alchemical concoctions. And that had only been the first step. The second step was a unique ritual created by Micayne himself and designed to implant a seed of his power within the two teenagers. They had accepted it willingly, and it had all but erased everything that made them human. Memories. Personalities. Emotions. All gone in the space of a single night, replaced by sheer subservience to their master.

They were horrifyingly powerful, but they were little more than undead automatons. And they terrified Tucker more than just about anything else he’d ever encountered. There was so much untapped power there. So much potential. And it was all under the complete control of a madman.

“It’ll go a lot easier if you don’t fight it,” he said, looking down on Talia. She spat at him. As he wiped the spittle from his face, he sighed. “It’s not like either of us can stop what’s coming. Not with these collars on. You don’t know how to get them off, do you? Some trick your mother taught you, maybe? A skill we don’t know about?”

She growled at him.

“Suppose not,” he said, pouring his freshly made potions into the reservoir that would eventually feed the concoction into her veins. Micayne had raved about making Lady Constance feel the pain he’d felt, about getting her not getting her hands dirty, but Tucker hadn’t been able to make much sense of that. The man had doomed his own children to their monstrous fate; the loss of his wife had been terrible, but after having known the monster for a few years, Tucker felt confident in saying that Micayne had probably had it coming.

Once the reservoir was filled, Tucker looked around the laboratory. It was top of the line, covered in white tile, and sporting a host of steel instruments and surfaces. If he was honest with himself, it looked a bit like it belonged in a horror movie from the old world, especially when the transformation began and things got messy. But he pushed that from his mind as he watched the potions slowly drain into the tubes that led to Talia’s body. When they finally invaded her veins, she let out a pained whimper. Then, a few seconds later, she started screaming.

Tucker hated it. He hated what he was forced to do. But he’d spoken the truth; there wasn’t much he could do about it. Even without the collar, if he tried to escape, he’d have to get away from the twin revenants he’d created. And if he somehow evaded them, he’d still have to deal with Micayne. And the horde of undead monsters that surrounded the estate. No – he was trapped without possibility of escape.

It was ironic, then, that he’d gotten precisely what he desired. Since he’d been captured and enslaved, Tucker had progressed more than he had in the previous decade. Alchemy was a strange discipline in that rote repetition didn’t really do much. Instead, the profession – and his artisan’s path – rewarded risk and novelty. He inspected his path:

Artisan’s Path: Alchemy – Novice (Peak) – The study of potions, poisons, and transformation, the sky is the limit for a master of alchemy. The road is long and nearly impossible to traverse, but it comes with great rewards.

Ignoring the girl’s screams, Tucker couldn’t help but wonder what the next step might be. If he reached it, would he discover something that might aid him in his escape? Did he even want to get away? So long as he stayed, he would progress. He knew that. But was it worth the cost?

Morality aside, Micayne was insane and his obsession with resurrecting his wife had led him down the path of a monster. Whatever his intentions when he began, he wouldn’t stop until he’d turned the entire world. What good would becoming the most accomplished alchemist in the world be if there wasn’t much of a world left?

It was a moot thought, considering that he didn’t have the means for escape. Not yet. He could only bide his time until an opportunity for escape presented itself. Until then, he would have no choice but to do what he was told and try to use the resources at his disposal to grow strong enough to flee.

And then there were the rumors he’d heard to consider. The whispers from some of the men and women who’d lived the longest in their new world. That there was a way out of their current existence. A way forward. It was little more than gossip, but it was a hint that there was more to the new world than most thought. Each of those rumors agreed on one thing, though – only those who’d reached the peak could move on. So, until he reached level twenty-five and was satisfied with his progress along his paths, Tucker wouldn’t seek it out.

The girl let out a blood-curdling scream that cut right through Tucker’s thoughts. He looked at the girl, saying, “I’m sorry. I tried to make it less painful this time, but I can only do so much.”

“F-fuck…you,” she spat through gritted teeth, hatred mingling with her pained expression.

Again, he sighed, shaking his head as he said, “Fair enough. Sometimes, I hate myself, too. I wonder what Connie would’ve thought, if she could see what I’ve become.”

He hadn’t thought about his wife in days, but the moment her name left his mouth, existential pain gripped his soul. Had she been reborn, just like him? If so, where was she? What about the kids? He’d lived in the Radiant Isles for decades, now – a good portion of which had been spent searching for his family. But he had yet to find even the smallest hint that they even existed.

It wasn’t confirmation. He’d discovered that the Radiant Isles were only a tiny part of the new world, and according to the rumors, even that was an even smaller part of the larger picture. As the girl continued to scream, Tucker sank into his memories, hoping against hope that he would one day be reunited with his family.