I delved deeper into my experiments, each more grotesque than the last. The corpse of a slave was the perfect starting point, lifeless yet malleable in the art of transmutation. I focused on combining human remains with animals, choosing a dog this time. The idea was simple: combine the best qualities of both creatures into something new, more resilient, more powerful.
I drew an alchemical circle on the ground, carefully placing the corpse and the dog in the center. My fingers tingled with anticipation as I began the transmutation. Light shimmered around the circle, energy flowing over the bodies in front of me. The air became heavy with unnatural tension, and then.... the transformation began.
Flesh twisted, bones changed shape, and tendons connected in ways that defied nature. The creature that appeared was hideous, a grotesque mixture of man and beast. Its form was crooked, one side resembling the curled remains of a dog, the other a distorted version of human features. The creature made a pitiful, anguished sound, a grotesque echo of life, but far from living.
He breathed for only a couple minutes, fighting the inevitability of his unnatural birth. And then he collapsed, the light in his eyes going out. Another failure, but this time something important was revealed. The path of the chimerologist - the fusion of human and animal through alchemy - was not impossible. It was simply incomplete. The creature didn't survive, but it had potential.
The experiments continued. I used a larger animal, a goat, as my next research subject. I repeated the same process, changing the alchemical circle slightly, hoping to stabilize the result. This time the creature lasted longer, its grotesque form squirming for nearly ten minutes before it too died. The reactions of animals fused with corpses or corpse parts suggested that the blending of two souls-or even just body parts-was far more complicated than I'd initially realized.
But I wasn't discouraged. In fact, I felt that I was on the cusp of something incredible. I realized that I lacked the resources to conduct larger, more controlled experiments, especially with humans. But animals...
They would be sufficient for the time being. I began to focus on smaller chimeras - rats, birds, cats. Their lifespans were short, but during their brief existence I discerned something - a glimmer of stability. Each experiment brought me closer to the truth, to the ability to control life and death.
Through trial and error, I came to the conclusion that the problem was not the alchemical process per se, but the balance of the souls of beings. Even when using the red stone, the power of the stone seemed to repel weaker beings or incompatible souls. It was as if the stone demanded a higher price - a greater sacrifice.
"Chimeras..." I whispered to myself, and the name formed in my mind as if it had always existed. A mixture of beings, a fusion of souls. A grotesque reflection of my research, but it might hold the key to the ultimate transmutation. The survival of these hybrids was to be the next step in my research. I needed to find the perfect balance between man and beast, between soul and stone. The red stone pulsed in my hand as if it possessed a will of its own. What would it take to achieve true fusion? What sacrifices would have to be made?
I felt the stone pulling me deeper and deeper into the abyss of forbidden knowledge. But I wasn't ready to stop. I couldn't stop.
Under the cover of darkness, I began digging up corpses from the city cemeteries. The cold night air helped me in my grim work, shielding me from prying eyes. It was clear that experimenting on the living would arouse suspicion, so I turned to the dead. After death, they could serve a specific purpose - to become the building blocks of my alchemical research. I had a week while the caravan remained in town, and that would be enough time to push the boundaries of alchemy further than ever before.
Each night I would move the bodies back to my hidden workspace where I could conduct my research in peace. I began with simpler experiments - corpse to corpse. My goal was to combine human remains to see if it was possible to create a functioning body from two lifeless ones.
The first experiment was simple: two human corpses. I placed them side by side inside an alchemical circle, carefully drawing out the transmutation symbols. When the circle lit up, the bodies began to fuse, but the result was disgusting. The flesh of the two corpses fused together to form a twisted mixture of limbs and torsos, but it lacked any structure or cohesion of life structures. The result was a grotesque mass of human parts in which one could barely recognize the once living creatures. It didn't move, didn't breathe, and quickly disintegrated once the process was complete. Failure.
Not the least bit frustrated, I moved on to the next stage of my experiments: a human corpse joined with an animal. The idea was to see if the animal's life force could somehow breathe life into the dead human form. This time I placed a stolen horse from some farm, next to a human corpse.
The transmutation circle erupted, and as the alchemical energies swirled in a vortex, the bodies began to merge. The results were frightening. The merged creature had a human head, but the body was half horse, with fur and limbs that were deformed and incomplete.
Another failure, but I was getting closer to my goal. I learned that while human-animal hybrids are possible, they are inherently unstable. The soul or life force of the animal is too weak to withstand such a fusion. Or perhaps because of the lack of life in one of the objects of experience, the creature itself does not survive.
Finally, I turned to animal experiments. I took two dogs off the street, one larger and one smaller. This time the process went more smoothly. The transformation produced a grotesque but strangely functional creature - its body was larger than either of the original dogs, with extra limbs and two heads that grasped at each other in confusion. It moved, albeit clumsily, and lasted for several minutes before collapsing. The experiment was a partial success. The fusion worked longer with animals than with human remains, though long-term stability was still not achieved.
The lessons learned from these transformations were obvious: the power of the original beings, whether human or animal, influenced the outcome. The closer the two entities were in nature, the longer the result lasted. Fusing human to human or animal to animal produced more consistent results than mixing them.
By the fourth night, I had learned to be more precise. Using smaller animals - rats, cats - I achieved a grotesque form of equilibrium. These smaller creatures adapted to each other more easily, their life forces combined into single functioning chimeras. One of my latest experiments this week was the successful creation of a rat-cat hybrid. it moved smoothly on its various limbs, its rat tail swaying as it reappeared in the shadows. It retained vital functions for several hours, a significant improvement over previous experiments.
But even that success seemed hollow. I wasn't just creating abominations for the sake of it. I was looking for something more-a way to control life itself, to bend the natural order to my will. I needed to find a way to stabilize these fusions, to create creatures that would live longer and serve a purpose.
By the end of the week, the graves I plundered were filled with misfits and monsters. The experiments had given me knowledge, but I still didn't have the key to making the transformations continue. There had to be something I was missing - some element, some power that could stabilize the creatures I was creating. I left the city with more questions than answers. But one thing was clear: the path of the chimerologist is not just about fusion, it's about control.
Traveling from city to city, settlement to settlement became a routine, blurry landscapes whizzed by, while I continued to hide in the shadows, conducting my secret research on chimeras. Each night I conducted new experiments, each pushing the boundaries of alchemy further and further. But the more I delved into these dark arts, the more I noticed something disturbing - each use of the red stone was draining its power. Slowly but surely, the stone grew weaker, its bright glow fading with each transmutation.
The turning point was my last experiment, in which a grotesque chimera fused human remains with the body of a wild boar. The fusion was partially successful - the creature survived for a short time, its monstrous form swaying before collapsing. But when the transmutation was complete, the red stone crumbled into dust, disintegrating in my hand. I stared at the remnants, feeling the weight of loss. The stone was gone.
The stone's depletion sparked an idea that had been lurking in the depths of my mind since the day I had first picked up the red stone. I must create my own.
The thought echoed, growing louder and more insistent. If these stones were made of souls, as I concluded, then surely the process of creating them could be replicated. The challenge was to create an alchemical circle. I knew nothing about the specific circle of transformation required to create the red stone - there was no mention of it in the texts I had studied, and no alchemist I had encountered knew the answer.
But what if... I could create my own method? What if I could create an original alchemical circle based on my experiments, my understanding of the red stone, and my own insatiable thirst for knowledge?
I spent the next few days in deep thought, pondering this idea as I traveled with the caravan. The people around me, oblivious to my inner struggle, went on with their lives, but I was consumed with the idea of creation.
The Red Stone," I whispered to myself one night as the caravan camped in the desert, "is not just an object of power. It is a culmination - a fusion of life, energy, souls.
I began sketching in my notebook, the pages filled with symbols, calculations, theories. I needed to understand not only the mechanics of the stone, but its very essence. If it was made up of souls, what was the process of turning those souls into stone? How many souls would it take? And, more importantly, could I manipulate the process to create a stone more powerful and stable than the one I had destroyed?
"It needs to be refined," I muttered, thinking feverishly. "A stone that doesn't shatter, a stone that can be endlessly replenished with new souls. Is that possible?"
The idea seemed impossible, but that only made it all the more appealing. I envisioned a circle that would allow me to channel the energy of living beings to create the stone. But it wouldn't just be a circle-it would be a circle of my own design, a creation that would make me master of life and death.
But how to proceed? I wondered. I need more objects - the living, the dead, humans, animals - they all need to be tested. I must collect souls, but not recklessly. Each soul must be transformed purposefully, with precision in calculation. The circle must be clear... precise in its design.
As I pondered the obstacles - the lack of materials, resources, and more importantly, living souls - one undeniable fact surfaced: war.
It was the perfect solution, a source of endless "materials." There, in the chaos of battle, the wounded, the dying, the desperate-they were all ripe for my experiments. I carefully considered all the options. Buying slaves, while convenient, would empty my wallet, which was already empty. Kidnapping would only allow for a few test subjects to be selected, and each would carry the added risk of being discovered. No, those paths were too narrow, too limited. What I needed was a constant, renewable source of human life.
War provides that in abundance.
I paced back and forth, thinking of more and more ideas. Entire armies would be drawn into a bloody conflict, and every soldier, every loss would be another potential experiment. But I had to be savvy. I couldn't just join the ranks as a regular soldier. That would limit my ability to reach out to those on the brink of death. I needed a position where I could not only have access to the dying, but also hide my true purpose.
Yes, I had considered medicine. A doctor on the front lines. A healer.
It was a twisted irony, but at the same time a brilliant cover. I could look like a savior while in reality I was harvesting lives for my experiments. With each soldier that came under my care, I would have the opportunity to push my research further, getting closer to creating the perfect red stone.
The more I pondered over it, the more perfect it seemed. In this world, war was always on the horizon. Whether it was between neighboring states, warlords feuding, or even nations like Kreta and Aerugo, there was no shortage of conflict.
"How did I not think of this before?" I whispered to myself, a grim smile appearing on my face.
Excitement flared up in me like a flame. If I could become a field medic, I would be close to death without arousing suspicion. With each fallen soldier, I had a new opportunity to experience alchemical transformations, unlock the secrets of soul manipulation, and eventually create my own red stone. The way forward became clearer. I would need to gather the necessary materials - medical tools, books on anatomy and herbalism, anything that would add verisimilitude to my appearance. I would need to learn the basics of healing and medicine, but not too much. After all, the real art I was practicing was manipulating life itself.
"War will be my laboratory," I muttered, gripping the ring tighter in my hand. "And from it I will obtain the souls I will need to forge the perfect stone."
I felt a sense of purpose reawaken in me.
I left the city with renewed determination. My next destination would be where the drums of war beat loudest. There, amidst the chaos, I would perfect my skills. I would play the role of a healer, but in truth, I would be something far more sinister - a reaper of souls.