Burning.
Everything felt like it was burning.
Pain was the only thing that Owen felt as his consciousness was ripped from the depths of the void of unconsciousness he had been suspended in. It wasn’t often someone craved a return to the void, but when you woke up to the pain of what felt like being engulfed and digested by a slime, you probably would too.
If only it were that simple, because if that was the case he would have at least perished given enough time. He truly wished the end would be swift and merciful, but fate was cruel and there will be no end to his story.
Sweet release never came; instead, Owen heard a familiar cackling… “Very good. The fact you are still breathing is immense progress,” a raspy voice of an old man giddily came from the outer ends of something that muffled it slightly.
While the voice sounded familiar, what he was saying was not. The last thing Owen remembered was clocking in for work after a particularly bland morning coffee, his mullings over such trivial matters cut short by the sharp, stinging pain running through his body.
He couldn’t seem to move far. His arms and legs did cooperate, but it didn’t take long to figure out that he was strapped down to whatever he was laying on. “No need to strain yourself,” the voice said, closer this time. “Now, I need you to do me a favour. Open your eyes,” the voice commanded.
It was a struggle to do so, everything in his body begging him not to, but he needed to know where he was. When he finally did manage to open his eyes, he was blinded by the bright lights that flooded his vision along with the searing pain of his eyeballs being overtaken by the same burning sensation.
“My, my, excellent progress,” the man said. Owen's vision slowly began to return, blurred and strained before it all finally became clear. The face of a decrepit old man staring at him from the other side of a wall of glass.
To say this old man had scars would be an understatement. His hair was long, greasy and unkempt with cuts across most visible parts of his face, that was almost pressed directly against the glass he was behind to stare at Owen. “Many other subjects had their eyes dissolved by this point. You may just be the first successful volunteer.”
Volunteer? Not a chance anyone in their right mind would volunteer for something like this.
Trying to focus on the rest of the room to see what was going on, he could hardly make anything out. His eyes flickered back and forth, rushing to find anything to ground his experience but he only found blurred images due to the lights facing whatever prison he was in which made it next to impossible to see past the old man.
Owen could make out the vague silhouettes of others watching from a distance. He was in far too much pain to be embarrassed about the lack of clothing in front of all these strangers.
His vision began to blur as his consciousness faded once again, his body on the verge of a total shut down. The last words heard “Now rest. We have many more tests to conduct.”
Losing his consciousness led him back to that inky black abyss.
He awoke again some time later to the sound of knocking on the glass and was met with the old man’s face once more. Finally, he remembered why he looked and sounded so familiar. The old man was his employer of sorts. Fresh out of college he started working here on an internship.
Owen had clocked in like any other day to come work for him. Owen was an alchemist that the guild had sent over to intern with one of the largest labs in the world. On a quiet Sunday shift at his designated workbench, Owen felt a sharp stab of pain in his neck before the world went dark.
Opening his mouth was an awful idea; trying to speak filled his mouth with the horrid tasting liquid that soon filled his lungs and his body begged him to expel the liquid from his lungs, to thrash and fight for fresh air and against the burning that filled his throat. Attempting to gag, attempting to cough but he found that nothing worked.
He found, confusingly, that he wasn’t drowning.
Yes, the acids were incredibly painful, but the panic of being unable to breathe led Owen to realise that he would have long since drowned if the acids hadn’t killed him first. Then came the second problem: the taste.
There was no doubt about it, he had been suspended within a vat of sodium hydroxide which would explain the severe irritation and burning, but the question was how in the hells had he survived this long.
“You have done your part for me. You have done your part for the greater good,” the raspy voice gleefully exclaimed, finally moving his face away from the glass, leaving some smudges of grease against it and turning to face someone in the darkened crowd “Get him prepared for departure!”
The greater good…?
What a horrid term, Owen thought. As if probing at his brain and extracting the information buried deep within, he remembered the wisdom of his parents. “No greater evils are committed than those done in the name of the greater good,” they warned him when he was a child… The question was why?
Trying to remember more details it was slowly coming back to him, he had become adjusted enough to the pain to allow him to think. A small hut in the countryside where he spent his days playing with bunsen burners and glass test tubes; his parents warned him of the various dangers he would encounter when he would eventually leave for the city when he was older.
His thoughts were cut short as the crowd began to move behind the blinding lights pointed at him, and before Owen knew it, the light intensity grew and the tubes stuck directly into his veins began to pump a lethal amount of morphine as the pain began to dull. A brief moment of respite for sure but he could only wonder why they were doing this to him. Attempting to scream, attempting to ask any question only caused a raspy muffled scream/
He couldn’t maintain consciousness, and by this point he had to accept that he was going to die here.
Owens' dreamless sleep abruptly ended once more when the sound of the glass around him smashing rang through his ears, the feeling of fresh air hitting his face was a shock at first, followed by a sudden vertigo caused by falling to the ground of the tube. His skin sizzled, his hair burned laying atop the broken shards of glass that threatened to pierce his skin but failed to do so. Despite it all, it was welcome, he was free.
His body was still numb from the amount of morphine flowing through his system but his eyes functioned just fine, and what he was met with was a horrifying sight. A large, older man, almost eight feet tall stood over him from the other side of the broken glass. The old man's brow furrowed and eyes staring directly through him. Thank the All-Mother looks could only do emotional damage, but that's where a fist the size of Owen's head came in and a punch directly to the gut knocked a large portion of the acids out of his mouth and out across the man's arm.
Though it sizzled away the fabric of his clothing, along with the layers of skin on his arm, Owen watched as the skin began to rapidly repair itself. “Do you need to be so aggressive all the time?” A much lighter toned feminine voice asked from nearby.
Finally getting his senses back and the first thing that assaulted his nose was that disgusting scent of rotting meat with fruity undertones of decaying flesh. Then the sight of the lab followed; the machinery smashed to pieces with tools strewn about.
It was as if he had blocked out the rest of the room, at least from his memory of the event, but the bodies… oh the bodies. What one could only assume were the men who had been watching him within the vat had all been slaughtered. Blood strewn across the walls along with their faces left as smears on the floor, their bodies being piled up together in front of a Ratling.
The short humanoid rat creature that resembled mostly a child in its stature held up one of her arms, revealing a series of black markings that glowed through her fur. The glow created a rippling effect against the fur before her hand slipped directly inside. A bottle was removed and the runes lost their glow.
“There is no sympathy for someone like him,” the man said, which pulled Owen’s attention back to him, once again followed by a fist to the gut. The last of the acids leaving his lungs across the man's face this time. “Who do you work for?” he asked sternly, ignoring the burning sensation once more.
Owen could only sputter, and even if he could speak, he had no idea. He only recognised the man but that was as much as his brain could process right about now.
His assailant seemed quite irate with the lack of response.
If the smell of rotting bodies wasn’t bad enough, the Ratling had uncorked the bottle… Kerosine. They planned to burn the place to the ground.
“Come on, we have to go,” she said as she began to splash the flammable liquid everywhere.
The old man finally relented from his assault on Owens gut and reached up to snap the chains holding him in place. “You are coming with us. You have a lot to answer for.” His tone implied that Owen was some form of enemy, but what had he done wrong?
All he had done was go to work like he always had, and now all of this happened. If anyone was to blame for whatever this was, it was the boss. That disgusting old man with no sense of personal hygiene did this.
Owen hardly had the strength to move at this point so when the Ratling pulled a large tarp out of that same dimensional pocket and placed it flat on the ground. The man placed Owen in the centre and the last thing he remembered seeing was the two of them staring down at him, before he was wrapped up within it as if he was one of the corpses to be taken to the abbey.
He was hoisted over the man's shoulder. Moments later he could smell the black smoke and the horrible scent of burning flesh.
From his position over his shoulder he could hear the conversation the two had when they left the scene of the crime. The man asked the rat “Did you get everything?”
“Of course I did!” the rat replied; the conversation sounding so… casual for the state they had left those bodies and that building in. She continued “I stored the notes so we can review them and decide to burn them later if needs be. Anything else of importance was destroyed.”
“We cannot be so sure.” the man replied. Of the two he was much more serious. “There were a lot of men there. Who knows how many of them had sent letters of what they learned.”
Owen attempted to focus and use his senses to determine where they were going. A lot of chatter and the smell of the myriad of spices and baked goods that he would often be tempted into purchasing before getting to work. The strongest coffee in the world followed which was what got him through most of his days. That could only mean they were on 4th avenue, the path that he took to get to work from the dingy apartment he could hardly afford.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
The burning smell had finally stopped by then and he could focus on the conversation the two had but once they had confirmed the situation they both fell completely silent. At least not verbally communicating anymore.
If Owen had to make a guess, it wasn’t for another hour that either of them said anything and what was said was simply “Home sweet home.” from the rat. It sounded like the floor was made of some form of smooth stone, and even with his sense of smell he could not pinpoint where they were by this point.
Unfortunately he didn’t have the time to try to think deeper on what the smell exactly was because the next thing he knew was the numbed impact of hitting a cold and solid ground after the man tossed him. The tarp unrolled as he tumbled back into a wall which finally gave him his first view of the prison cell he had been thrown into.
The older man stood on the other side of the cell bars holding what looked to be a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other. The sound of the very large man sitting on the tiny stool he had made it sound like it was close to breaking at any moment.
Motor functions were returning by now and Owen could sit up, slumping back against the wall as the man looked up from the board. “You can move, good. Can you speak?” He asked, impatiently tapping the pen against the board.
“I can…” Owen managed to squeak out in a hoarse tone, that awful taste still lingering despite his sense of taste being numbed.
“Even better, we can start.” He responded, writing something down before he flipped over the page. “What is your name?”
“Owen Vice,” he told truthfully. There was little sense in lying to them at this point.
The man nodded, taking notes and moved on to his next question “Who do you work for?”
Well, he worked for the alchemist guild, which the ratling should have known given the majority of the guild was run by her kind so a quick question would reveal the identity of everyone who worked there. Still, he found it best to answer “I can’t remember his name… He was old, short, scruffy white hair, hardly had any sense of personal hygiene… I was an intern.”
He continued taking notes as Owen talked and continued to his next question once Owen finished, “How long have you been associated with your current boss?”
“About a month..?” It was a guess but as far as he could remember before his memory went hazy, that was how long he had been within the city since the alchemists guild paid for his transfer after he had graduated.
“Were you a willing participant in this experiment?”
“My memory of what happened is hazy,” Owen responded, remembering what his boss said “He said he was proud I volunteered for this, but I can’t see myself ever willingly doing this…”
“Who paid for the experiment?”
That was one he had no idea of. He had a few thoughts but at the end of the day they would be nothing but guesses. “I have no idea,” Owen answered.
“How effective do you think the procedure was?”
“I don’t even know what this ‘procedure’ was supposed to do,” Owen spat, unable to hold back being snarky, quickly realising that was the wrong choice of words given the look on the man's face.
Before his next question could be answered a door opened nearby and the same voice of the Ratling from before saying “He doesn’t seem to be the mastermind behind this.”
“As if this fool could be the mastermind behind anything,” the man responded. A tad cruel of a response, but he justified his statement with “He’s a recent graduate.”
The ratling approached, this time wearing some thin robes with blackened tribal symbols and frills on the ends of the sleeves. She was holding up a few burnt scraps and said “Someone was trying very hard to erase any evidence of this, but it seems that this guild was consistently requesting interns from various guilds and schools around the continent the last two months.”
“Now why would they try to hide that?” The man asked. Closing over the sheets he had he stood and reminded Owen just how large he was. Placing the clipboard on the chair he continued “It is quite common for guilds to request interns.”
“Well, trying to hide it means that something nefarious was going on with them,” the rat thought aloud, rubbing at her chin before turning its attention to Owen. “Do you remember much of your time there? It is common for memories to be a bit muddled after what you went through.”
At least she seemed kinder than the interrogator. Owen needed a moment to reflect but he did tell them what he knew. “As much as I can remember, I was the only intern there. The guild recently sent me out on request after I graduated. It was supposed to be my big break into the industry…”
“Well, perhaps it is time we ask some questions around town,” she said to the older man. Kindly enough, she finally decided to tell him “My name is Swiss and grumpy here is Alister. I am sorry, but we are going to need you to wait in here while we do some investigation.”
“Alright…” Was all he could say. Not like he had a choice given the situation.
Swiss approached and peeled back the sleeve of their robes to reach within those odd black markings again. This time she pulled out what seemed to be a set of clothing and tossed them through the bars “Do cover yourself up while we are gone. As flattered as Alister may be, I would rather not come into a naked interrogation.”
His state of indecency was something that had slipped his mind in all of the commotion. Clamouring to pick up the bundle of clothes that seemed to be a bit large for him. At this point he had to take whatever he could get. “Thanks…” Owen eventually responded while using them to cover his lap while they remained here.
“See, a bit of kindness goes a long way,” Swiss mocked before turning on her heel and confidently marching out of the hallway.
Alister gave Owen another stern look but once he was done reviewing what Swiss had said he tapped the bars gently which caused a ringing to echo through the cobblestone halls of the prison “If we confirm our suspicions then we will re consider the current arrangement.”
He swiftly left and Owen was left with his own thoughts in the dark and lonely halls.
Suddenly when he was not on high alert from the sudden change of situation the cold hit him like a train. A welcome feeling at first after the pure hellfire that was that tube.
Eventually came the idea that perhaps he should put on that set of clothing that Swiss had given him. It was surprisingly good quality given the situation. A pair of underwear along with a brown tunic and white undershirt with some loose fitting pants and a thin pair of shoes that did enough to combat the dangers of being barefoot to be worth wearing.
He was given time to soak in the atmosphere, and the atmosphere was thick. Not in a pleasant way, more in a ‘you are going to rot in here’ kind of way. The cell across the hall was empty thankfully with identical objects from the small bed in the corner and toilet on the further side. Checking the sink next to it showed that it had a very weak stream of water. Just enough to wash your hands but not much else could be done unless you were some form of advanced hydromancer… Even then, one would struggle with a stream so flaccid it could be likened to a monk in a brothel.
There wasn’t even a window to make heads or tails of where he was. Finally once he was dressed and ready to do what he could in here, he took the time to smell the air to see what he could find.
It was remarkably clean smelling for a prison. Usually one would expect a mixture of sweat and acrid odours of chloroform and other such cleaning supplies, if not blood and refuse depending on the prison. Instead it smelled quite sterile. There were very few smells he could make out, and the ones he could most likely came from himself.
He wasn’t planning to taste anything he found in here so that was all the information he could get until he heard the door eventually opening down the hall. This time he could hear only one set of footsteps and based on what he had heard before it was Swiss. Far lighter and faster than Alisters given her short stature.
She stood by the cell door and waved a key. Owen wasn’t sure if she was just here to mock him, but he chose to stay silent until she stated their reasoning for being here. “Your story seems to hold up with the locals. That means we have one more step to go through before we can finish up what is going on here.”
“What in the hell is even going on here?” Owen finally asked, feeling like he had been left in the dark over the most important thing in this crime drama. Why was he being treated like a damn criminal?
“Did Alister skip over the most important detail?” she asked, seeming quite exasperated at the idea “I swear, that man…”
Swiss spent a few moments pondering the best way to tell him the news and eventually pulled up the same stool Alister was using. Moving the clipboard off of it, she needed a hop to get up. Reading what Alister had written down and mumbling “Oh of course…”
Lowering the board she grinned widely, which was quite unnerving to see given the ratlings wide sets of sharp incisors. Owen was unsure if the grin was supposed to assure him he was speaking with a friend, or a threat.
Luckily for him, it was meant to be assuring. He wasn’t going to be the one to tell them that it certainly had the opposite effect. “So, I imagine you have very few memories of the last few days, correct?” She asked.
“Yeah, the last thing I remember was clocking into work what I assume was a few days ago.” he explained, it finally felt like something was going right and he was going to get some form of answers.
She took some notes at the same time and then explained “Dissociative amnesia. The process that you went through was quite traumatic so the brain is shutting off access to the memories. Give it some time and you will remember, but most wish they didn’t.”
Owen shifted awkwardly in his cell at the idea. If the pain he went through in that tube was anything to go off of, it probably was best that those memories stayed in the past. She saw his hesitation and brought his attention back around by clicking her fingers. “However, the process that you underwent seems to have been forced on you. A procedure that practised highly forbidden magic and alchemy.”
Instead of simply telling him like a normal person would, she held up a small hand and formed a spear of ice inches from his face. “A long story short. They made you immortal.” She said, pushing her hand forward and the shard moved backwards slightly before aiming and spearing itself directly into his chest.
The force was enough to knock Owen back across the cell into the wall and knock the air out of his lungs as it shattered on impact, sending shards of ice upwards into his face. Of course, he panicked and brought his hands up as quickly as he could to help reduce the bleeding, unable to shout through the immediate shock of the very real pain.
What he found was… Concerning. Placing his hands on his chest there was a clear hole through the tunic that he had been given, his chest was completely unharmed. Even the trace amounts of what chest hair he had in the first place remained unchanged.
Finally he could breathe again and Swiss laughed a dirty cackle as if this was the funniest thing she had ever seen. “I’m sorry.” She began with a bow of the head. “It is simply a treat to see someone's first reaction.”
Though he struggled to understand the idea that he was immortal. Attaining immortality was always seen as one of the highest offences one could commit against The Spire, as much was burned into his mind as a child.
He assumed that Swiss expected him to break down, have some form of panic attack that they had most likely seen on several occasions given their previous statements… But what he felt was nothing close to despair. What he felt was jubilation.
She noticed the smile creeping across his face which in turn caused her to raise a brow “You certainly seem happy about this.”
“How could I not?” He asked in an elated response. Beginning to pace back and forth his mind was racing with the forms of potions he could work on, and the types of ingredients he could now use without fear. It opened an entirely new world, and he let Swiss know that. “Do you know what the biggest limiting factor of science is?” He asked
“Uhh… funding?” She asked.
“Well… Yes, but also mortality!” He exclaimed “Do you know how many potions I can test without fear of side effects? I can test the uses of narrowart outside of poisons without the fear of poisoning whoever drinks it,” coming more animated as he wondered what he could do first, “I could potentially even work with acids and see what I can extract from the corrosive substance! Imagine all the breakthroughs I could make!”
He once again felt at his chest and turned back to her on the spot “And think of all the money I can save not having to pay for people to try my potions? I can be my own test subject”
Swiss seemed amused with his reaction and when he finally gave her time to respond, she said “An alchemist through and through.” The jubilation was not to last as Swiss did need to inform him of what happened next. “While I am happy you have reacted better than a majority that have had immortality forced onto them, we still need a plan going forward here. We cannot let immortals just freely roam the world. What you are, is still considered a great crime.”
“What, am I going to be left in this prison?” He asked without much thought before it left his lips. Even then, if they provided ingredients for him he may not be too against the idea.
The look across the ratlings face once again was a cause for confusion. Owen wasn’t the most social butterfly with his own race, let alone trying to read the body language of another. “We won’t need that, hopefully. What we will need is to take you to visit our boss.” Swiss explained, impatiently kicking her feet while taking down more notes.
Owen paused for a moment, wondering who would be leading a group that hunts down labs that were committing forbidden magic. Though, unfortunately, he felt he knew who it was…
She hopped down from the chair and put the notes she had been taking within that space inside the runes and said “Would you like the good news, or the bad news first?”
“The good news..?” Owen hesitantly asked.
“The good news is that you are now immortal!
The bad news is we might have to kill you.”