Fendrel crushed another batch of bluecap mushrooms, his movements mechanical after days of repetition. The new laboratory exceeded his wildest expectations - clean equipment and ingredients he'd only dreamed of working with before.

The guards changed shifts outside his door with clockwork precision. They brought his meals three times a day - real food, not the moldy bread and watery soup he'd subsisted on in the slums. This morning's breakfast included fresh eggs and actual meat, still warm from the kitchen.

He poured the finished healing potion into a crystal vial, adding it to the neat rows of completed brews. Widowvine Antioxidants glowed with a soft amber light beside the dark red of Intermediate healing potions.

His private stash of Venomshroud Poison and Witherfang Resin sat hidden beneath a false bottom in one of the drawers. He managed to brew them around midnight the previous night.

However, with all the intensive brewing, issues arose rather quickly. For one, he had already leveled again - mere days after his previous advancement. That included the parasite as well.

The advancement unlocked an unsettling new set of recipes in his codex, sending cold shivers down his spine as he read through the exotic and deadly herbs involved.

He glanced anxiously at the shelf where the Venomlily essence used to be, now just an empty space collecting dust. The widowvine sap container had nearly run dry, barely a few drops clinging to the crystal walls, and he'd used the last strands of the silkslither cocoon fibers that very morning. The churches stockpile was vanishing at an alarming rate.

Who would stock up on this specific stuff anyway. I will need to go into the city.

As he picked listlessly at his dinner - some kind of herb-crusted roasted fowl with seasonal vegetables that he barely tasted - his stomach churned with worry. He closed his eyes, before opening his status window.

[STATUS]

NAME: Fendrel Solinar

CLASS: Mirebane LEVEL: 11

RACE: Human Bogwraith

SYMBIOSIS: Xytril Nematode LEVEL: 6

[PARASITE STATUS]: Xytril Nematode required substance: 2x Venomshroud Poison, Witherfang Resin. Next dose required in 10 hours.

[ACTIVE SKILLS]

Potion Brewing LEVEL: 5

Essence Distillation LEVEL: 3

Catalyst Stabilization LEVEL: 3

Poison Synthesis [Xytril Nematode] LEVEL: 4

Resin Synthesis [Xytril Nematode] LEVEL: 2

[COMBAT SKILLS]

Fungal Aura LEVEL 1

Mudclaw LEVEL 2

[PASSIVE SKILLS]

Herb Identification LEVEL 6

Chemical Resistance LEVEL 2

Poison resistance [Xytril Nematode] LEVEL 7

Toxin resistance [Xytril Nematode] LEVEL 5

Resin resistance [Xytril Nematode] LEVEL 2

His situation followed a familiar pattern - escalating poison requirements with each level.

The implications were clear. The new recipes in the codex would soon be necessary to contain the parasite.

His current production barely met the existing demands, and the thought of additional requirements made his hands tremble as he reviewed his dwindling supplies. The shelves seemed emptier by the day, a stark reminder of his predicament.

[CODEX]

* Intermediate Healing Potion

* Venomshroud Poison

* Witherfang Resin

* Ashrot Infusion

* Darksap Draught

* Basic Mana recovery Potion

* Blackmire Venom

* Drained bloodoak sap, 6 drops

* Shredded swampbriar vines, 8 grams

* Powdered nightshade berries, 2 grams

* Charcoal of duskfern, 1 gram

* Nightshade Reinforcer

Fendrel scanned the new recipes that had appeared in his codex. His fingers traced the ingredient lists, calculating quantities needed. The Blackmire Venom caught his attention - its requirements matched nothing he'd seen in this lab.

I will need to go shopping tomorrow, maybe drop by the old place to see what is left there.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

He went to the door to let the guards outside know of his planned schedule, but a clatter of boots in the hallway interrupted him before he could push the door open.

"Did you hear about the Pale Embers showing up in the merchant district?"

"Yeah. Three shops marked overnight. The Cabal won't take that lying down."

"My cousin says there's already been fights breaking out near the docks. Found two bodies this morning."

Fendrel's stood frozen at the doors.

"They say the Court's bringing in muscle from up north. Going to be blood in the streets soon."

The voices faded as the guards changed. Fendrel glanced at his dwindling supplies.

Tomorrow, he thought. I'll have to risk going into the city tomorrow, with the church guards watching me I should be fine.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the church courtyard as Fendrel stepped out into the crisp air. Two guards fell in behind him, their boots clicking against the cobblestones. Their presence made his skin crawl - a constant reminder of his captivity masked as protection.

The streets grew narrower as they moved away from the main thoroughfare. Fendrel's fingers brushed against the vials in his pocket, counting them by touch. The guards' heavy footsteps echoed off the close-set buildings.

At the border of the slums, Fendrel's pace slowed. The stench of rot and sewage filled his nostrils.

Now or never.

His heart pounded as he activated Fungal Aura. A pale green mist with damp smell swirled around him.

To his chagrin blue light flared from the guards' amulets, pushing back the fog. The closer guard's hand dropped to his sword hilt.

"What are you doing, alchemist?"

Fendrel bolted down a side alley. His lungs burned after just a few steps, legs already trembling from the unaccustomed exercise. The guards' footfalls grew closer with each passing second.

"Stop right there!" Metal scraped against leather as swords cleared their scabbards.

Fendrel's fingers closed around the first vial of Witherfang resin. He spun, hurling it at the nearest guard. The man raised his arm instinctively. Glass shattered against steel bracer. Amber liquid splashed across his leather armor, going right through it.

The guard's scream pierced the morning air. His flesh bubbled and dissolved, sword clattering to the ground as he collapsed.

Without hesitation, Fendrel grabbed the second vial and threw it at the remaining guard before turning to run again.

"You bastard!"

Fendrel's legs gave out as he rounded another corner. His chest heaved, each breath burning in his lungs.

Blood dripped from a cut above his eye where he'd scraped against a wall during his escape. He wiped it away with a trembling hand and forced himself up. The familiar streets of the slums stretched before him, the crooked buildings and narrow alleys a maze he'd walked countless times.

His old laboratory came into view - but something was wrong. The rotting wooden door had been replaced with a solid one. New glass glinted in previously broken windows. Fendrel approached cautiously, expecting someone to burst out at any moment.

His fingers brushed the door handle. It swung open without resistance.

The scent of chemicals and herbs hit him as he stepped inside. Two figures lounged at his workbench, both wearing the dark leather coats favored by the Guttermaw Cabal, they mark gleamed at their sleeves. One had his boots propped on the bench while the other's head rested on crossed arms.

"Took you long enough." The one with his feet up didn't bother opening his eyes. "Oh don't look that surprised, after the shit you pulled in the church everyone was looking for you."

Fendrel's hand tightened on the door handle. His remaining vials pressed against his chest, hidden in an inner pocket. After some deliberation he closed the door behind him.

"Right, seems you managed to lose your friends so let's discuss the current situation." The second figure lifted his head, revealing a face marked with ritual scars - the signature of high-ranking Cabal members.

The scarred man gestured to the workbench. "Have a seat, Fendrel."

Fendrel's legs still shook from the run. He slid onto the familiar stool, noting the fresh scratches in the worn wood surface. His fingers traced the new marks - someone had been busy in here.

"Let's cut through the shit." The man with his feet up swung them down. "Your little stunt at the church caught everyone's attention. But lucky for you, we've smoothed things over with the Ironmire Court."

Fendrel's throat tightened.

"How?" The word came out as a croak.

"Does it matter?" The scarred man leaned forward. "What matters is you're still breathing. And you'll keep breathing as long as you hold up your end."

"Which means?"

"Business as usual. Keep making what you've been making. Fill those outstanding orders. Both for us and the Court." The man's ritual scars twisted as he smiled. "Even that peculiar arrangement you have with the Justiciar - we'll handle it."

Fendrel's hands clenched. He'd thought that particular deal had remained secret.

The other Cabal member stood, stretching. "Speaking of arrangements." He walked to the window, tapping the new glass. "Nice improvements, right? Consider it an investment in your future success."

The scarred man's smile vanished. He grabbed Fendrel's collar, pulling him close. "You're valuable, Fendrel, but only as long as you're producing. Don't make us regret this arrangement."

"The lab is secured now." The man at the window turned back. "Protected. But that protection works both ways. You're being watched - and not just by us." He raised an eyebrow. "So maybe reconsider any more escape attempts like today's little adventure."

Fendrel nodded. The scarred man released his grip.

"Good." The man straightened his leather coat.

Fendrel raised his hand before they reached the door. "There's something else."

The scarred man's shoulders tensed. "Spit it out."

"My work has... evolved." Fendrel's fingers brushed against the hidden vials. "These supplies won't cut it anymore."

The man by the window crossed his arms. "You're telling me we wasted coin on useless ingredients?"

"Not useless. Just..." Fendrel glanced at the shelves stocked with common herbs and reagents. Basic materials for what he used to make, but that wasn't the case anymore. "Insufficient."

The scarred man's ritual marks deepened as he frowned. "Make a list then. We'll have someone collect it."

"That won't work." Fendrel winced at their sharp looks. "I need the materials within twenty hours."

"Twenty hours?" The man by the window stalked forward. "What's the rush?"

The parasite twisted again, sending waves of nausea through Fendrel's gut. He gripped the workbench edge. "A lot has changed. I imagine you are aware of my advancement?."

"What of it?"

Fendrel gripped his shirt. "It's complicated."

"Of course its." The scarred man jerked his head at his companion. "We'll send the usual contact. You better get to writing."

Fendrel's hand shook as he scratched the last ingredient onto the parchment. The list had grown longer than expected.

He grabbed the vial of Venomshroud Poison from his workbench, its soft yellow glow illuminating his trembling fingers. The familiar burn spread through his throat as he downed it.

A floorboard creaked outside.

His stomach clenched. The parasite stirred beneath his skin, sending pinpricks of pain through his arms. His nails lengthened, darkening at the tips.

The door swung open. Three figures entered, their black leather coats emblazoned with silver serpents wrapped around chalices. The leader, a woman with a half-mask covering her left eye, moved with practiced grace as she approached his workbench.

"Fendrel Solinar." She stood near his workbench, examining the empty vials. "Your workspace lacks... refinement. Though I suppose that adds to your particular charm."

The other two spread out, cutting off any exits he might have considered.

Fendrel's nails dug into his palms. "I wasn't expecting visitors this late."

"Clearly." The woman picked up the empty vial, turning it in the lamplight. "You've caused us no small inconvenience, alchemist. But we've decided you're more useful alive—for now."

"The Cabal already-"

She cut him off with a wave. "You seem to fail to understand your situation, while pushing your luck with us. The Cabal serves its purpose. As do you." Her eye fixed on his workbench. "We've heard interesting rumors about your recent... improvements."

Fendrel's chest tightened. Unwilling to question how does she know.

"Your little stunt with the church was impressive." She set down the vial with deliberate care. "But it will only accelerate their downfall. The church's days in this city are numbered."

"I don't understand what-"

"You don't need to understand." She gestured to one of her companions, who produced a leather pouch. "You only need to brew. Your new formulas will prove useful in the coming weeks."

The pouch landed on his workbench with a heavy clink. Gold, by the sound of it.

"We'll return in three days." She moved toward the door, her companions falling in step. "Don't disappoint us, alchemist. The Cabal's protection only extends so far."