Fendrel pushed away from the wall, pacing the length of the workbench. His footsteps echoed off the stone floor as he considered each option floating before him. The parasite shifted inside him, sending another wave of pressure through his chest.

"Gas..." He shook his head. "Who the hell would buy that? Useless."

The nun raised an eyebrow. "Not interested in Noxveil then?"

"Look at my setup." He gestured to the workbench with its array of bottles and vials. "Everything I make needs to be contained, transported, sold. How would I even package gas? The equipment alone would bankrupt me."

She nodded, her dark robes swishing as she moved closer to examine his workspace. "What about Caustivar?"

"Caustic... could be something about corrosion? Or destruction? But I have no way to know." The word rolled around in his mind, tempting with its mystery. His fingers traced the edge of a nearby bottle. "Too risky. I can't gamble my future on a complete unknown."

His eyes fixed on the final option: Mirebane.

It felt like the safest bet. His current recipes already utilized several swamp-based ingredients - dralk weed, swampbriar vines. The connection felt natural, almost inevitable.

"Mirebane." He said the word. "At least it fits with what I already do. Swamp toxins, natural poisons..."

The nun picked up an empty vial, turning it in the dim light. "Playing it safe?"

"Playing it smart." Fendrel grabbed the vial from her hand, setting it back on the workbench. "I need something that works with my existing knowledge, and complements my business."

Fendrel drew in a deep breath, his fingers curling against the workbench. The choice loomed before him - a crossroads that would alter the course of his life. Through the haze of uncertainty, only one path beckoned to him.

"Mirebane," he whispered, the word falling from his lips with quiet finality.

The interface flickered in his vision, text materializing:

[CLASS ADVANCEMENT COMPLETE]: Mirebane.

The confirmation hung there for a heartbeat before a surge of energy erupted through his body. His muscles seized as power coursed through his veins like liquid fire.

Fendrel's knees buckled. He crashed to the stone floor, his vision swimming with spots of darkness and flashes of sickly green light. The nun's concerned voice seemed to come from far away as notifications blazed across his sight:

[ACTIVE SKILLS]

Fungal Aura LEVEL 1

Mudclaw LEVEL 1

His stomach lurched as the descriptions filtered through his consciousness. The ability to unsettle others with a mere presence, to tear flesh with toxin-laden claws - these weren't the refined tools of an alchemist. They were the weapons of something darker, more primal.

The interface wasn't finished. His crafting log erupted with new entries, each recipe more complex than anything he'd attempted before. Five new formulations appeared, marked with the distinctive Mirebane classification.

Fendrel's fingers trembled as he opened his recipe codex. The familiar entries blurred, some fading like ink left in the sun while others transformed before his eyes. The Soulrot Infusion - the very mixture that had triggered his advancement - vanished completely, leaving only blank space where its instructions had been.

New formulations appeared, their requirements etching themselves into the pages with precise detail. His breath caught as he studied the altered recipes. The basic healing potion remained, but now called for swamp moss instead of bluecap mushrooms. The Xytherium poison had evolved, demanding rare bog essence and crystallized spores.

Five entirely new intermediate recipes materialized, each bearing the distinctive Mirebane classification. Bogbane Extract, Marshwater Mixture, Mirefiend's Breath - the names alone spoke of power drawn from festering swamps and stagnant waters.

He traced the altered formulas with shaking fingers. Some ingredients he recognized from his usual suppliers, others he'd only heard whispered about in black market circles. A few were completely foreign - what the hell was "crystallized bog light" or "depth crawler venom"?

The recipes themselves were more complex, requiring precise timing and specific environmental conditions. Notes about moon phases and water temperatures filled the margins. This wasn't just simple brewing anymore - this was something deeper, more primal.

His old recipe for Bitterroot Tonic had transformed into "Mireroot Essence," calling for ingredients that would cost ten times as much but promising effects far beyond its original healing properties.

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Pain lanced through his hands. He raised them before his face, watching in amazement as his nails darkened to an oily black, the edges becoming sharp enough to draw blood. The air around him grew thick with the scent of decay and stagnant water.

The parasite gave one final, vicious twist inside him before settling into an uneasy stillness. Fendrel remained on his knees, chest heaving, as the transformation completed its work.

Fendrel's skin prickled as an unseen force radiated from his body. The air grew thick and heavy, carrying the unmistakable scent of rotting vegetation and stagnant water. His stomach churned as the aura spread through the laboratory, coating every surface with an invisible film of decay.

The nun wrinkled her nose, pressing her fingers against her temples. "What's that smell? Feels... weird." She took a step back, her playful demeanor replaced by genuine discomfort.

Fendrel stared at his hands, fascinated by the transformation taking place. His nails darkened to an oily black, hardening into razor-sharp points that gleamed in the dim light. The changes felt natural, as if his body had always been meant to take this form.

He reached out toward a wooden shelf, dragging his new claws across its surface. Deep grooves appeared in the wood, the edges turning gray where his nails made contact. "Not bad," he muttered, trying to suppress a shudder as he felt poison flowing through the hollow channels in his nails.

His body hummed with energy, caught between exhilaration at his new abilities and fear of what they might mean. The parasite's strength had increased dramatically, and he could feel it testing the boundaries of their symbiosis.

The interface flickered to life before his eyes, its cold blue text cutting through his exhaustion.

[ADVANCEMENT COMPLETE]

[CLASS SUCCESSFULLY INTEGRATED]

His heart skipped as he read the status update. The familiar text felt wrong, altered in ways that made his skin crawl.

NAME: Fendrel Solinar

CLASS: Mirebane LEVEL: 10

RACE: Human Bogwraith

SYMBIOSIS: Xytril Nematode LEVEL: 5

"Bogwraith?" The word stuck in his throat. His fingers traced his face, searching for changes. His skin felt the same, but something crawled under his skin in ways he couldn't define.

[PARASITE STATUS]: Xytril Nematode leveled up. Required substance: Venomshroud Poison, Witherfang Resin. Next dose required in 10 hours.

His mouth was dry. "Ten hours?" His voice cracked. The timer was twelve hours between doses now it was cut by two.

His hands shook as he opened the codex. The recipes for Xytherium and Silkslither disappeared together with most of the other recipes he gathered so far. Instead two new recipe sat in their place.

[CODEX]

Intermediate Healing Potion

Venomshroud Poison

Witherfang Resin

Darksap Draught

Basic Mana recovery Potion

Nightshade Reinforcer

At least he only needed two poisons now, not the almost a dozen that had accumulated with the previous levels. But these new formulations would cost him. His teeth ground together as he considered the expenses in his head.

The nun's footsteps echoed across the stone as she approached. "You look like death warmed over."

"Bogwraith," he spat the word. "Whatever the hell that means." His skin itched, a constant reminder of the changes coursing through his body.

Fendrel slumped against his workbench, the calculations running through his head. Three doses every ten hours meant he needed six potions each day just to keep the parasite at bay. His fingers drummed against the worn wood as he did the math.

"Witherfang needs bloodthorn resin, ashroot..." He rifled through his ingredients, taking stock. The meager supplies wouldn't last two days. "And spiderling venom."

His hands shook as he reached for his coin purse. The few silvers inside clinked pathetically.

"Stockpiling means more doses at once." He traced the parasite's level progression in his notes. "More doses means faster growth. Faster growth means..." The words caught in his throat as the implications hit him. Higher parasite levels would only demand more advanced poisons.

The nun's footsteps echoed behind him. "You're talking to yourself again."

"Can't win." Fendrel's fist clenched around the coin purse. "Brew constantly and exhaust myself, or stockpile and make it stronger. Either way, I can't get a break."

The nun moved with startling speed, suddenly inches from his face. "Done?" Her breath carried the sweet scent of wine, her eyes dark with unmistakable heat.

"I... what?" Fendrel's brain struggled to shift gears, still reeling from the advancement ritual and his calculations.

She closed the distance between them, her robes rustling as she pressed against him. Her fingers traced along his collar, a playful smile dancing across her lips. "All that stressful muttering and pacing." Her other hand slid down his chest, leaving trails of fire through his thin shirt. "Let me help you relax."

Before he could process what was happening, her nimble fingers were working at his belt. The leather slipped free with practiced ease as she pressed closer, trapping him against the workbench.

His body responded before his mind could catch up. His hands found her hips, fingers bunching in the rough fabric of her robes as he pulled himself up from his chair. The material slid easily upward, revealing smooth skin beneath.

The nun's body pressed against his as Fendrel's fingers pulled the fabric of her robes, pulling her closer. He couldn't help but give in to the pleasure that coursed through his veins as their lips met in a hungry kiss. In a moment of madness, he spun her around, pushing her down onto the table with a fierceness that surprised even him.

Without a second thought, he slid inside her, eliciting a whine of pain and pleasure from the woman. She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white as she held on to Fendrels relentless pounding. Fendrel's hips moved in a frenzy, his desire fueled by the feeling of her warmth wrapped around him.

The nun's eyes widened as she looked over her shoulder at Fendrel, her lips parted in a silent gasp. He could feel the tension in her body as her muscles tightened around him.

The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them and the pounding rhythm of their bodies. Time lost all meaning as they moved together, their breaths mingling in the sweltering air of the workshop.

Suddenly, the nun's body tensed, her back arching. She clamped around him as he reached his climax, the sensation overwhelming them both. Then her eyes rolled back and with a shuddering breath, she collapsed to the ground, her limbs twitching uncontrollably.

Fendrel stumbled backward in shock, his heart pounding in his chest as he stared at her still form. His mind struggled to comprehend what had just happened, his thoughts a jumbled mess in the wake of his orgasm.

"What happened?" Fendrel stumbled backward in shock, his heart pounding in his chest. His orgasmic stupor quickly gave way to confusion and horror.

A sob escaped his lips as he stared at the nun's lifeless body, her skin taking on a sickly green hue.