The slime stirred faintly from within his sleeve.
It slid out slowly, curious, moving between the scattered items.
It touched surfaces.
Tested them.
Curled briefly near his hand.
—
Draven did not acknowledge it.
He simply took another slow drink.
No interruption.
No distraction.
—
His gaze remained fixed on the layout before him.
Not searching.
Not learning.
Remembering.
—
Because none of this was new.
The knowledge was already there.
Not borrowed.
Not observed.
His.
—
The tools.
The vials.
The constructs etched into metal and glass.
Every function.
Every limitation.
Every interaction.
Clear.
Instinctive.
—
As though he had always known.
As though he had always used them.
—
He set the bottle down beside him.
His hand returned to one of the vials.
Turning it slightly once more.
The liquid inside shimmered faintly under the light.
—
This time, he did not pause.
Did not hesitate.
There was no need.
He already knew exactly what it would do.
And exactly what it would cost.
—
The slime drifted closer again, drawn by the faint energy.
Draven ignored it completely.
—
His other hand reached for the engraved plate.
He brought it into alignment with the vial and the remaining components.
Precise positioning.
Intentional spacing.
Perfect control.
—
Then he exhaled quietly.
Not fatigue.
Not strain.
Just readiness.
—
Because with the mage's knowledge, this was no longer experimentation.
It was execution.
—
Clean.
Intentional.
Absolute.
—
And whatever he was about to do next, he already understood the outcome completely.
The room remained sealed in silence.
—
Draven set the vial down again.
Carefully.
Exactly where it needed to be.
—
His fingers hovered over the engraved plate for a moment.
Then pressed lightly against it.
—
Mana responded instantly.
Not summoned.
Not forced.
Recognized.
—
The plate lit up with faint lines, patterns unfolding beneath his touch as though it had been waiting for him specifically.
—
The slime shifted closer, circling the edge of the arrangement with quiet curiosity, but it did not interfere.
—
Draven did not look at it.
His attention stayed forward.
Focused.
—
Because now, the structure was forming.
Layer by layer.
—
The memory he had inherited was not merely knowledge.
It was muscle.
Instinct.
—
He did not need to think through the sequence.
He already knew it.
—
His hand moved again.
A second plate.
Then a thin strip of etched metal.
Placed.
Aligned.
Connected.
—
The arrangement began to shift from scattered components into something coherent.
Not tools anymore.
A system.
A function waiting to be completed.
—
Draven paused briefly.
His eyes moved across the setup.
—
Everything matched what he expected.
Everything responded exactly as it should.
No deviation.
No surprise.
—
He reached for the vial again, holding it between two fingers.
This time, he did not open it.
He simply studied it.
—
Because now the question was no longer what it was.
It was what he wanted it to become.
—
Draven turned the vial slowly.
The liquid inside moved thickly, unnaturally dense.
—
His gaze remained fixed on it.
Unreadable.
—
Then he spoke.
"…That bastard."
—
Quiet.
Flat.
Not anger.
Just fact.
—
"…A dark mage pretending to be an alchemist."
—
A brief pause.
"…Most of his work wasn't refinement."
—
His thumb traced lightly across the glass.
"…It was experimentation."
—
The slime coiled loosely beside his arm, still and attentive, though it understood nothing of the words.
—
Draven continued.
"…He wasn't interested in recreating what already existed."
—
A beat.
"…He wanted to make something new."
—
His eyes narrowed slightly at the vial.
"…Even if it failed."
—
The room remained still.
—
He lifted the vial slightly.
"…Like this."
—
The dark liquid shifted inside.
Heavy.
Wrong.
—
"…Supposed to transform the body."
—
A pause.
"…Into something closer to a demon."
"…Or a monster."
—
No emotion in his voice.
Only observation.
—
The slime rippled faintly.
—
Draven's gaze did not move.
"…It didn't work."
—
Simple.
Final.
—
"…Everyone who drank it died."
—
Silence followed.
Not tense.
Not dramatic.
Just absolute stillness.
—
For Draven, it was not surprising.
Failure was expected.
Especially from someone like that.
—
He rotated the vial once more, watching the liquid catch the faint light.
Then he added quietly:
"…Still."
—
A pause.
"…The idea wasn't completely wrong."
—
And that was where the danger lay.
—
Draven set the vial down carefully, separating it from the others.
"…He was a dark mage."
"…So something like this isn't surprising."
—
A slight shift of his hand.
"…Not to anyone who understood what he was."
—
The engraved plates before him continued to glow faintly, steady and responsive.
—
Draven reached for another vial.
Smaller.
Clearer.
—
He lifted it to the light.
The liquid inside shimmered softly, almost harmless compared to the previous one.
Almost.
—
"…This one…"
—
A pause.
"…Is different."
—
His gaze stayed locked on it.
"…Not transformation."
"…Adaptation."
—
The slime shifted closer again, drawn faintly by the energy in the glass.
Draven ignored it.
—
"…Instead of forcing the body to change—"
—
A beat.
"…it tries to make the body survive the change first."
—
Another pause.
"…A stabilizer."
—
He rotated the vial slowly.
"…Incomplete."
"…But smarter."
—
The faint glow reflected in his crimson eyes.
—
"…Whoever made this realized the original process killed the subject too quickly."
—
His voice remained calm, measured.
"…So they tried to slow the rejection."
—
Silence.
—
His fingers tightened slightly around the vial.
"…It still failed."
—
Flat.
No disappointment.
Only result.
—
Because in the end, every corpse had proven the same thing:
the body resisted becoming something it was never meant to be.