"Stay still," he muttered through clenched teeth. "Just a little longer."

The mixture needed three more ingredients, added in precise amounts while maintaining the perfect temperature. He reached for the vial of Blackroot Powder with trembling fingers.

BONG!

The first toll of the church bells crashed through the room like physical force. Fendrel's hand jerked, the vial slipping in his sweat-slick grip. His heart stopped as he lunged to catch it, powder dusting the air.

"Fuck!" The curse echoed off the stone walls as the bells continued their deafening song. He clutched the vial to his chest, breathing hard as the powder settled.

The bells faded, leaving Fendrel's ears ringing. He exhaled slowly, focusing on steadying his hands. The powder had settled perfectly into the mixture, its color shifting to a deep emerald. He made a mental note - a lighter dusting worked better than his previous attempts at mixing in larger amounts.

The door creaked behind him. Fendrel spun around, nearly knocking over his equipment. A woman stood in the doorway, her dark hair disheveled and clothes wrinkled. Despite her appearance, she carried herself with an unmistakable air of confidence. She paused in the doors, her eyes swept over the laboratory setup, lingering on the bubbling cauldron.

A notification flashed in his vision, the glowing text hovering in his peripheral awareness:

[CRAFTING SUCCESS]: Soulrot Infusion brewed successfully.

[CRAFTING STATUS]: Soulrot Infusion, residual amount: 0%.

The woman's lips curled into a knowing smirk as she sauntered toward him, her hips swaying with deliberate emphasis. She leaned against the workbench, close enough that Fendrel caught the heavy scent of wine on her breath mingled with something sweeter - perhaps honey.

"You look nervous." Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper, her fingertips trailing along the edge of the table. "Should I suck you off to calm those nerves?"

Fendrel's hand jerked violently, the glass vial slipping from his sweat-slicked grasp. The precious mixture splashed across the stone floor with a sickening hiss, forming a steaming puddle that sent tendrils of acrid vapor curling around his boots. His face burned hot enough to rival the laboratory's burners as she laughed, the sound sharp and mocking.

"Ah, that looks like a waste." She hopped onto the table with fluid grace, hiking up her skirt to reveal pale flesh. "Do you need me to ride you to the haven now?"

Fendrel's eyes fixed on her exposed thighs, his mouth going dry as he almost saw the hair between her legs. The room suddenly felt several degrees warmer. "Doesn't sound so bad," he managed to croak out, transfixed as the fabric inched higher.

She dropped her skirt abruptly, her face transforming from seductive to sharp in an instant. "What the fuck kind of place do you think this is? Go to the brothel if you're that desperate to get off."

Her mocking laughter echoed off the stone walls as Fendrel stared at the ruined potion spreading across the floor, the liquid eating tiny pockmarks into the stone. With trembling hands and cheeks still burning, he began gathering ingredients for his sixth attempt, trying to ignore the lingering scent of the woman in the air.

Fendrel's hands shook as he gathered the scattered ingredients. The spilled potion had eaten small craters into the stone floor, but he forced himself to ignore the damage. One final attempt - that was all he had left.

The parasite writhed beneath his skin as he measured out the components. His teeth ground together as pain lanced through his abdomen, but his movements remained precise. He'd done this successfully once. He could do it again.

[Remaining Time: 0:19]

The notification pulsed red in his vision as he added the first ingredients to the fresh cauldron. Sweat dripped from his brow, sizzling as it hit the heated surface. His hands moved with mechanical efficiency, muscle memory taking over where conscious thought failed.

Another surge of pain doubled him over. The stirring rod clattered against the copper rim as he gripped the workbench edge.

[ADVANCEMENT]: 8 minutes until host breakdown. Host deterioration accelerating.

Fendrel straightened with effort, forcing air into his burning lungs. The mixture bubbled, shifting from amber to deep purple just as before. His vision blurred, but he blinked away the tears. Focus. Just focus on the next step.

Fendrel's trembling fingers uncorked the vial of Ironthorn Sap. The viscous liquid dripped into the cauldron with agonizing slowness. Each drop sent ripples across the surface, transforming the murky purple into a luminescent blue that cast strange shadows on the stone walls.

The parasite thrashed inside him, its movements growing more violent. His knees buckled, but he caught himself on the workbench edge.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

[ADVANCEMENT]: 2 minutes until host breakdown.

The potion's glow pulsed like a heartbeat, growing brighter with each passing second. Fendrel held his breath as the shifted between different levels before settling into a gentle shimmer. The liquid stilled, perfectly calm despite the roiling heat beneath.

A new notification appeared:

[CRAFTING SUCCESS]: Soulrot Infusion brewed successfully.

His hands shook as he poured the mixture into a clean vial. The glass grew warm against his palm, the potion casting blue light across his scarred fingers.

[CRAFTING STATUS]: Soulrot Infusion, residual amount: 0%.

Fendrel pressed the vial to his lips and tilted his head back. The liquid burned like molten metal as it hit his tongue. He forced himself to swallow, fighting the urge to gag as it seared down his throat.

Fire erupted in his chest. The vial slipped from his nerveless fingers, shattering on the stone floor as his legs gave out. He collapsed, his body convulsing as the potion's effects spread through his system.

[ADVANCEMENT AWAILABLE]

Fendrel's world exploded into chaos. His vision fractured into kaleidoscopic patterns, each shard burning with impossible colors. Fire coursed through his veins, turning his blood to liquid metal. He curled into a ball on the cold stone floor, his muscles spasming beyond his control.

The parasite's frenzied movements ceased, but its presence swelled within him. What had been a subtle whisper became a deafening roar, filling every corner of his consciousness. His skin crawled as if thousands of microscopic needles were threading through his flesh.

Text flashed across his distorted vision:

[ADVANCEMENT SUCCESSFUL] New Class Options Unlocked:

Caustivar

Mirebane

Noxveil

[ADVANCEMENT SUCCESSFUL] Xytril Nematode evolution complete

Fendrel blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the floating words through the haze of pain. The class names meant nothing to him - no descriptions, no explanations of their abilities or requirements. His mind raced with questions as he struggled to understand what each option might entail.

The fire in his blood began to fade, replaced by an intense pressure building beneath his skin. The parasite's presence crystallized within him, no longer the writhing mass he'd grown accustomed to. Instead, it felt like a solid weight pressing against his organs, its power radiating through his body with newfound intensity.

Fendrel pushed himself up from the cold stone floor, his limbs still trembling from the advancement ritual. The floating text remained burned into his vision, the three class options hovering like ghostly sigils in the dim laboratory light.

Caustivar. Mirebane. Noxveil.

He reached out, trying to interact with the interface as he'd done with other notifications, but his attempts yielded no additional information.

Fendrel ran his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, fighting the urge to panic. The timer ticked down with mechanical precision, each second bringing him closer to a random assignment. He'd worked too hard, risked too much to leave this crucial decision to chance.

But without any guidance, any hint of what these classes truly offered, how could he possibly choose? His future hung on three words, each as mysterious as the parasite that had brought him to this point.

"Fuck." He pressed his palms against his temples. Any proper alchemist would have spent years studying under a master, learning the intricacies of each advancement path. They'd have dusty tomes filled with knowledge, carefully documented experiences of those who'd walked these paths before.

But who would document forbidden paths? What master would guide an apprentice down a road twisted by parasitic infection?

[Time Remaining Until Random Assignment: 9:45]

His fingers traced the rough stone floor, finding the grooves where his failed attempts had eaten into the surface.

"Normal apprentices don't brew their advancement potions in secret church laboratories either," he muttered. The words echoed off the walls, mixing with the distant sound of crickets filtering through the high windows.

The parasite shifted, sending a wave of pressure through his chest. It felt different now - more focused, more purposeful. Like it was waiting for his choice as eagerly as the system itself.

Fendrel pulled himself to his feet, using the workbench for support. His legs shook, but held. The floating text followed his movement, the three options hovering at eye level like accusatory spirits.

He knew the process, he had approximately ten minutes.

Ten minutes to make a choice, or the system would choose for him, forcing a random selection for the rest of his existence.

This would determine his main class, setting him on an irreversible path. The remaining two options would become potential subclasses, available only after his next advancement.

The system's cold efficiency offered no comfort or guidance.

He couldn't risk a random assignment, he needed at least some control over his fate. Not after everything he'd sacrificed to reach this point. But how could he choose when each option was nothing more than a name?

Fendrel leaned against the cold stone wall, the floating text still burning in his vision. A soft rustle of fabric caught his attention, and he turned to see the nun who'd been standing in the shadows of the laboratory. Her dark robes seemed to absorb what little light filtered through the high windows.

"You seem lost, mister. Something on your mind?" Her lips curved into a playful smile that only heightened his frustration.

Fendrel's jaw clenched.

He hadn't expected company during his advancement, but he didn't expect to brew poisons in the church laboratory either.

The nun's presence annoyed him, neither helping nor hindering. The weight of her gaze pressed against his back as she waited for his response, her earlier playful tone at odds with the gravity of his situation. He had little choice now but to engage with her.

She stood there, patient and unmoving.

Time slipped away.

He fixed her with a hard stare. "Mirebane, Noxveil, Caustivar."

The nun's brow furrowed, her earlier playfulness replaced by confusion. After a moment, her expression turned serious for the first time since she come. "Never heard of it."

"What comes to mind?" Fendrel asked, his fingers drumming against the rough stone.

She crossed her arms, the fabric of her robes rustling. "Nox, something about noxious substances? Gas perhaps? No idea about the rest."

"Mire, something like swamp?" His voice caught as another wave of pressure rolled through his chest.

The nun nodded, then her lips curled into a smirk. "Mirebane sounds like fun. Swamps are wet. I'm getting wet just thinking about this."

Fendrel swallowed hard, his body responding to her suggestive tone. The stress of the advancement ritual had left him raw and on edge - he could use a quick fuck right about now to help clear his head.

He forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Her breakdown, despite the teasing, had provided some clarity. "Gas or swamp, no fucking idea about Caustivar, so let's ignore that."