Chapter 42: Luck and Madness
The recruits’ fear mounted with every passing second. The air in the strange lab was thick with tension, and the low hum of bubbling green liquid was their only companion. Abel’s breathing was shallow, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to steady himself. The deranged man before them seemed almost gleeful in his madness, pacing erratically, oblivious to how close to disaster they truly were.
His overconfidence was clear—each step exaggerated, his voice dripping with self-assurance. He muttered to himself, his rasping voice filling the room with fragmented sentences, disconnected thoughts, and wild ambitions. His robes, stained and tattered, hung loosely from his gaunt figure. Every time he turned, the recruits caught sight of his hideous, cyst-covered face, his sagging flesh oozing with pus.
"Ah... yes," the man mumbled, rubbing his chin with a grotesque, extra finger protruding from his hand. “You’ll see, you’ll all see... soon enough, I’ll transcend... become more than any of you ever dreamed... Magian... Magian, yes, that’s what I’ll be.”
His words made no sense to Abel, but there was no doubt this man had lost his grip on reality long ago. His sheer disregard for caution was terrifying. Despite the tension in the room, something about how carelessly he treated the situation—like nothing could stop him—made it clear how deeply consumed he was by his twisted scheme. His arrogance blinded him to details that any sane person would never overlook.
The man’s grin widened, his voice taking on a disturbing, sing-song quality as he gestured toward the tanks. “Into the tanks... into the tanks, yes... don’t be shy now. It’s your fate, after all,” he chuckled darkly, stepping forward as if the horror of what was about to happen was beneath his notice. “You should be honored... to be part of something... so grand.”
The recruits exchanged terrified glances. Their faces were pale, but they knew they had no choice. Lorne’s body lay crumpled on the ground, blood pooling around him, and none of them could afford to resist after what they had seen. Abel’s fingers trembled as he approached one of the tanks, struggling to suppress the rising panic. The green liquid inside the tanks seemed alive, swirling, bubbling as though it was waiting to devour them whole.
Abel climbed to the top of the tank, the cold metal biting into his skin as he hesitated, staring down into the strange liquid. It moved as if it sensed him, as if it knew. Faintly, within the depths of the green fluid, he saw a soft, glittering light—like starlight trapped in the swirling liquid. There was something ancient and malevolent in the fluid, but the deranged man was too consumed by his ambitions to notice the danger. It was as if he had gone too far, lost in his twisted thoughts, unable to distinguish fantasy from reality.
“Come on now, don’t keep it waiting!” the man rasped, impatience creeping into his voice. He turned his back on Abel, too confident, too sure of his success. Abel’s foot slipped into the liquid, and he winced as the icy coldness shot up his leg.
The room descended into chaos. The eerie green liquid bubbled and swirled within the tanks as Abel and the other recruits entered, paralyzed with fear. The deranged figure continued pacing, his malformed face twisted in triumph, his voice rising in a mad chant. Dark whispers echoed throughout the chamber, and the shadows themselves seemed to move, writhing and twisting as though they were alive. Abel’s heart shook, his mind racing to make sense of what was happening. The man’s overconfidence was terrifying, but now it seemed as though something far worse was looming.
As the liquid churned violently in the tanks, Abel felt a surge of unnatural energy course through him. It was as if the very essence of the horrors contained in the tubes was fusing with him. His vision blurred, his muscles tensed uncontrollably, and the cold spread through him, deeper and more chilling than anything he had felt before. The other recruits' faces twisted with fear and confusion as they, too, underwent the transformation. as they were slowly losing consciousness in the green liquid.
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The man reveled in the chaos, his body convulsing as he absorbed power from the twisted throne-like chair in the center of the room. His eyes glowed with an unholy light as he threw his head back, laughing maniacally. "Yes... yes! The power... it’s mine!" he screamed, his voice thick with madness as a dark aura swirled toward him, entering his body and filling him with power. The room trembled, the very walls vibrating as though reality itself was bending under the weight of his unnatural transformation. Shadows swirled more violently, and Abel felt the crushing weight of dark magic pressing down on him—suffocating, relentless.
But then, just as the man seemed on the verge of completing his breakthrough, the door to the chamber burst open.
Nando stumbled into the room, his face tense but determined. He had been following the deranged man’s movements since discovering these ruins, guided by rumors of the Black Alchemists. His search had taken him across dangerous terrain, through forgotten passages, and into a massive, overgrown well that led to this forsaken underground lab. He had spent hours clawing his way down the stone walls of the well, his hands bloody from the effort, driven by the intrigue of what lay beneath.
When he had seen Abel and the others dragged into this strange lab, he knew something far darker than treasure was at play. Luck had been his only ally. Before entering the room, Nando had performed a Luck Ritual, hoping it would tip the odds in his favor. He wasn’t strong—certainly not enough to face the deranged figure head-on—but he had relied on chance. And now, seeing Abel and the others trapped in these horrific experiments, he knew he had to act.
The moment Nando entered, the man faltered. His attention snapped away from the recruits. The shadows flickered, the power swirling around him stuttered, and confusion crossed his face.
“No! You... you can’t interrupt this!” the man screeched, his body trembling with fury as he felt control slipping from his grasp. He struggled to rise from his chair, but it was as if gravity itself held him down, as though the dark energy still clung to him, forcing him into submission.
Nando moved without hesitation. He lunged toward one of the tanks, his hands glowing faintly silver from the silver ring artifact he wore, feeling confidence guide him after activating the Luck Ritual. His movements were precise, almost instinctive, as he struck the delicate machinery. With a sharp crack, the first tube shattered, spilling green liquid across the floor and freeing one of the trapped recruits.
The backlash hit the deranged man like a hammer. He screamed, his body convulsing violently as the dark magic he had been absorbing lashed out at him. His face contorted in agony, his hands clutching at his chest as the power that had once promised transcendence now tore him apart. Blood poured from his mouth, and the shadows around him turned against him, the whispers that had once fueled his ambitions now growing louder, more frenzied.
"You... fool! You’ve ruined everything!" the man screamed, his voice full of fury and pain as he fought against the power consuming him.
Ignoring the man’s cries, Nando rushed to the next tank, smashing it open and freeing Sena, who collapsed into a pool of green ooze, gasping for air, barely conscious. Nando hurried to Abel’s tank, his heart racing as he slammed his fist into the control mechanism. The tube shattered, and Abel tumbled to the ground, drenched in the strange liquid, his body wracked with pain as he tried to claw his way back to consciousness.
The deranged man, now on his knees, let out a final, agonized scream as the shadows consumed him entirely. His body crumpled in on itself, dissolving into a blackened mass of ooze and filth. The dark energy that had fueled him now devoured him from the inside out, leaving nothing but a twisted, grotesque pile in his place.
The room fell silent, save for the dripping of green liquid from the shattered tanks. Nando stood amidst the wreckage, breathing heavily, his eyes scanning the fallen recruits.
Abel groaned, pushing himself up, his mind still foggy from whatever transformation had begun inside him. He looked around, his heart still pounding as he tried to make sense of the chaos. "Nando...?" Abel croaked, his voice weak and full of confusion. "What... what are you doing here?"
Nando, still catching his breath, knelt beside Abel and helped him sit up. "I’ve been looking into the history of the Black Alchemists and never thought I’d stumble upon Fiendfinger," he explained, his voice low and tense. “I came here searching for treasure or knowledge... but when I saw what was happening, I couldn’t just let him complete whatever twisted experiment he was trying to do.”
Sena, still dazed from his own experience, managed to crawl over to them, his face pale. “You... you used the Luck Ritual?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Nando finally let out a shaky laugh. "I can’t believe it worked."
Abel and Sena exchanged a weary glance, both too weak to fully comprehend what had just happened. They were alive