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Piratestuck: The Alchemist

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Piratestuck: The Alchemist

What is this place?

With a thick smell of blood lust

I may be deranged

But I promise I’m honest

Blood on the walls

And the buildings will soon fall

Death roaming free

Now we’re all going crazy

Year 1586

            I have begun my project in the creation of creation itself; the elixir of life, the philosopher’s stone. Many of my fellow comrades have began to question and shun me for I have decided against accepting any help in my endeavors, for I do not know where my journey will take me. Thus I have decided to embark on the discovery alone. My comrades claimed “this discovery should be shared with all of mankind.” I do not cave nor care for such an idiotic idea; humans and people deserve not the glory and reward that the stone shall bring to me. For I seek immortality, and eternal life. In my knowledge I realize that it is only required for one man to accomplish things. Another reason I have rejected assistance is the other alchemists like myself may question me or my methods and insert their own where they see fit: there is no room in my design for such doubt. Thus I work alone, there is no other reason needed, in one month if I do not have a perfect stone in hand I will burn all of my findings along with my own body, for my work and my knowledge belong to me and me alone no one may use what I find for their own filthy purposes. This stone shall be my salvation or my obliteration, and no one else’s.

April 15, Friday:

            Today I came across a most interesting finding. As in most scientific research journals you will find the human body associated with that of gold, and both are associated with the fabled stone. Well as I reacted a mass of chemicals together and created a small mass of gold, out of sheer minute chemicals found within the human genome. It is most intriguing to me that the chemicals used for this creation were some found in the human body, this gave me a grand idea. What if I was to create a human life, but altered the compounds slightly? Given one could never create a human, for we lack the knowledge scientifically to do so, I wonder if maybe the result would instead be a stone. This will be my first experiment.

April 18

            After gathering the materials, I combined them a small melting pot: 35 liters of water, 20 kilograms of carbon, 4 liters of ammonia, 1.5 kilograms of lime, 800 grams of phosphorous, 250 grams of salt, 100 grams of saltpeter, 88 grams of sulfur, 7.5 grams of fluorine, 5 grams of iron, 3 grams of silicon, and 15 other elements in miniscule quantities. These are the compounds found within the average human male. I knew I could not create man, but I swirled the mixture together and fumigated it, and waited patiently for the reaction to take place. I worked and trusted my science. However in the end my experiment was a failure. I didn’t bother to find out what I had created; it was a failure none the less. I did come across a new finding, however. The stone itself was a myth, so how could I believe that it could simply be created by ingredients found and bought from a mere child’s allowance? It was a cheap experiment. Humans may be cheaply made but a stone could never be that simple. I knew I was close when I realized that I was missing an ingredient. When humans die, approximately 21 grams of data are released from the body. If I could bring in a few test subjects I’d like to collect this data; this was my missing ingredient. If I can gather this I will have a far greater chance of success for a price had to be paid to obtain my goal.

April 23

            A lot has happened within the last few days. After my finding I sought out some subjects for my latest experiment; this was a simple task for people are simple minded, the jealous fools who sought out my assistance in the matter I had begun my research practically walked right up to my door for me, without me even having to leave my complex in one day alone I had about 23 scientists standing outside my home pounding in my door begging for me to let them in, one by one I let them in and led them to a room alone in my humble abode, and left them for round about an hour. Each man had his own room so not to frighten or bring concern to one another. I informed them all that I was seeking an accomplice in my endeavors and only one of the lot would be chosen; this was a white lie, for I needed each of their assistance in order for my goal to be achieved.

            Individually I took them into a small hidden chamber within my walls. I expressed that the entry was one way, and then lead them into the room. This room was dark and dank with some odd contraptions scattered about it. The walls and floors were made of tiled cement, with drains scattered throughout the floor. I sat each man down in a chair and fastened them to it by way of the five point restraint system: this was a metallic rotating seat with holes in the chair and the back. The men quickly began to realize what was happening. When they were fastened and could not move I walked over to the corner where I had prepared a tack hammer, very small and light. Ever so slowly I walked up to the victim and gently stroked their faces with the cold metal of the hammer to imbue fear in them, hoping to illuminate their soul so it would be easier to extract. After building a mass of fear in their guts I began beating and pummeling their bodies all over, inflicting as much pain in them as I could, before I viciously smashed their skulls in. As their screams seized to ring out through the sound proof room I felt fulfilled--but not in my original goal, for after 15 or so casualties I still didn’t have a single trace of their souls to work off of. I was quite irate at the notion that I had gotten nowhere. On my 16th test subject, I grabbed a small knife sharp enough to slice a wood table like butter, and gently carved angry lines all over his helpless screaming body. With no anesthetic I imagine the pain was immense. This thought came to mind and passes just as quickly, as I cared not for the pain which I was inflicting. This was about me, not him.

            “Anutim!” he would cry out. “Why, why are you doing this to me? Why do you commit such an atrocity?” I didn’t answer, I just continued my torture. I broke both of his legs and both of his arms. I cut off his right hand and punctured a mass of holes in his right lung. When he breathed his final breath I picked up the battered hammer and broke it over the rim of his forehead. As my work was complete I felt such a fulfilling sense of accomplishment in my deed. I smelt the agonized blood on the floor and sensed that there was another presence in the material; pressed my hands to the puddles on the floor and smelt the palms of my hands. This was what I had been seeking, the 21 grams of data; the human soul could be found in that of a tortured man’s blood.

            I laid the last of my subjects on a metallic bed like that of the chain over a tub so to collect the blood, and I did torture them in more ways than I can remember. Some I circumcised, others I disemboweled, I lobotomized, I attempted home trepanation. I sliced their skin and broke their brittle bones. Their bodies were clay and I was the artist. By the time that I was out of subjects I had approximately 35 liters of blood, all emanating with pain and suffering and fear. It was beautiful. I finally had enough human souls to create my final product.

April 26

            In just two days I would begin my final experiment. I was under quite a deal of pressure, but I did not falter and my mood did not sway; I was ever so calm, as always. I walked down to the supermarket to collect my materials once more from my original experiment, and on my way I walked past two men, about my age, height, and hair color. They looked like me in nearly every way, aside from the masses of dirt clotting all over their bodies. The homeless sickened me. One very quietly clung to my ankle as I walked past; he grunted and groaned as he clung to my leg. The other happily stood from his seat by the first, and very enthusiastically asked my name. I gave him no heed, and attempted to shake the silent one from my foot. He claimed his name to be Mituna, and began to rant and rave about the buildings, and the scents of the street life. I cared not for his ramblings, but I quickly realized that he and his friend both suffered from illness; the talkative one was drooling all over himself as he spoke and had a distinct stutter and slur. He was mentally retarded. The other was noticeably quiet; he must have been dumb. They were an odd couple, and it made me shudder. I grew tired of Mituna and his rambling so I planted my foot in his friend’s face. He let go and the man’s blood sprayed on to the wall behind him.

            “Hey, don’t hurt Tegrim!” the bastard man called from the distance as I walked away, but I disregarded the comment and continued on my shopping spree.

            On my way home it was late in the night. As I passed the alleyway where the two men had sat, I looked carefully at the walls where they had been. There was no blood to show for my deed, nor any trace that the two had been there at all. It concerned me slightly. Possibly the men had cleaned up the mess they had made and left when they sensed the danger of sitting in that spot. It was only logical. So I returned home.



            It was time. I had gathered my materials once again and then put everything in their own separate containers. I mixed and stirred each ingredient in slowly and quietly. I was careful to put everything together in just the right order. It was a masterpiece, a real work of art--but as I did this, voices crawled around the room. I could feel the rage of the gods as I was burning their laws and rights and justifications. I suddenly yearned for companionship as I finally accomplished my goals. Mituna stood by my side and helped me as I carefully combined my materials. Tegrim joined my side as well. Their companionship was less than desirable, but it was good enough for me. Everything was precisely measured and everything was perfectly added. In the end I was almost certain of the final product. In the end my product was nothing like a stone, but more a vastly thick liquid that hardened slightly when exposed to oxygen. I grabbed a large syringe and extracted the liquid. I filled a gem mold for that of a priceless stone such as a ruby; I left the mold on my windowsill with it slightly opened, hoping the liquid would harden and become dense like a diamond. In the time while I waited I mixed a mass of materials once more and made an ore of gold.

            I took the ore to a blacksmith who I instructed to fasten me a necklace to fit around my neck and to fit a gem. I handed him the mold I had made and gave him a few days time to complete the deed. Whilst I waited I cleaned my workspace, but while I did so I heard a soft voice laughing manically in the back of my room. I spun around to see what had made the noise; nothing was there. I continued my work, but at times I felt a light breathing on my neck. The deed had been done; why must the aftershocks of the event come for me now? If the stone is created, why is it that I am now haunted by the shrieks and cries of those who should have suffered? I called Mituna to my side. The retard giggled at the thought of recognition; it infuriated me to no end, so I struck him across the face. The bruise began to show quickly. He cried a bit on the floor, so I beat him more and again he wailed; his screams of agony filled me, his cries rung in the back of my mind. Tegrim came in and placed his hand on my shoulder. I halted my relentless assault, and then walked back to the smith.

            The gem was fitted perfectly with a solid stone which shone blood red in the sun. It was beautiful. Mituna congratulated me on my accomplishment, but it felt no different; the rewards felt no better than average life. Was something wrong? I questioned my methods, and days later, in the confines of my room, I asked Tegrim his opinion. As usual he said nothing, so for his ignorance I beat him across the face.

            Mituna became cross at my violence and hit me once in response to beating his friend. Blood dripped from my lip. I removed my newly fastened necklace and held the gem in my hand, my blood dripping upon the face of the stone. I looked up at Mituna and beat him senselessly; blood poured from his abused form like those whom I had tortured to make my glorious stone. I pummeled his useless body and his bastard mind. He was pathetic so I beat him; he deserved every punch. I grabbed a small knife from my desk and began stabbing and slicing at his skin and he bleed profusely on my carpet, and all the while Tegrim simply watched. After the abusing, I walked to my lavatory and stared at my bleeding and bruised face. It was as if a man had wailed all over and beaten me senseless. My arms were sore and my body was broken. I had stab wounds covering my person, but none lethal; I looked down at my faulty accomplishment and looked deeply, oh so deeply. I placed the necklace back around my neck, and I collapsed on the floor as everything went white…

Part II.

I awoke lying on an orange rusted floor, my head aching and my mind shaking. Mituna stood above me, his face covered in blood, and Tegrim stood by him, his face ashen and scared. I stood and looked out amongst the world around me. I was in a world completely separate from our own. The sky was orange and the clouds were black; the buildings were rusting and falling apart at the seams, and nearly all of them had a massive fissure on one, if not all sides of each skyscraper. It was raining outside; the rain was a distinct dark red... I stuck my hand out through the window, the rain was thick and warm… blood, and it was the blood of those murdered to create this atrocity.

I quickly realized that I was inside of the philosopher’s stone I had created: it was a vast universe in itself, never ending in nature. I spent the next month or so searching the buildings for supplies, all abandoned, and empty: no water, no food. Completely barren and neverending, this plane of land was practically empty with the exception of the massive buildings. Each building was outfitted with electricity but nothing else. It was unsettling to see—no, it was horrifying to see day after day after day. Years went by and I walked the expanse of the world with Mituna and Tegrim: they were horrible companions but better than no companions at all. My mind was becoming mush and I had a growing taste for the blood I would capture in place of water. Given it never rained water I had to make do with what I had, and the pain of dehydration was never-ending, along with that of hunger.

In reality, I had gained immortality and I would forever suffer with these filthy bastard. That was my price to pay for my deeds: the gods must have been laughing at me. It sickened me to have to suffer daily; it was like caring for two children, one with severe mental dementia, and the other mute. It was silly really, years and years had passed that I had been with those two. Mituna was receiving daily beatings for his ignorance and Tegrim had seemed to lose all sense of reality, as he began stumbling around aimlessly, but none of us grew weak or could die. There was no ending to our torment or pain, but it made life more interesting as I could more satisfyingly brutalize and maim Mituna at will. Some days I would cut off his arm or break both of his legs and the next day he would simply grow back the limbs he had lost. I’ve even gone so far as to slit his throat and cut out his spine; the brutality I put him through, his terrifying screams fuelled my rage and bloodlust: oddly enough sometimes in less severe conditions I would notice that injuries placed upon his body were also placed upon mine, as if in some way our bodies were connected. But that was a ridiculous notion, as I could see and feel his body far from my own.

By this point so many years had passed and I had lost count of the days or even the times. There was no sun or moon in the sky, and time didn’t seem to exist. It meant nothing and it had no effect on my body; however one day I found an interesting find in one of the masses of buildings. It was a town centre; there was a paving and everything, junk and chunks of buildings covered the empty space, but that was easily clearable, so it was here we set up and ended our expanse of the infinite plane of what I was now referring to as Doran’s Blade. It was my new home and I had accepted it for the time, but I still yearned for an escape. For now I was pleased by what I had found; we all took chairs and desks and built ourselves a small shelter in the centre of the block, and this is where we stayed for some time.

But Mituna began getting restless and violent in response to his beatings. Why couldn’t he see that I was beating him for his own good? I was healing him of his afflictions, teaching him via burdening. I occasionally would beat Tegrim for his silence, so much so after some time in the night I did tie him down and had sewn his mouth closed. Mituna was not pleased by this action and in the morning he punched me square in the face. So I retaliated back and pulled his right arm out of its socket; this was hardly a punishment for I’d inflicted much worse in the past. It was merely a warning, but after this Mituna got angry and walked out screaming he would never return: “We came to you to be your friends, and you do not treat your friends like this.” This made me angry. I ran after him and called his name, as he left I shed but a single tear of remorse; I felt horrible that I had commit such an atrocity to him.

I walked back to my newly found home. Tegrim was there to comfort me, but I was suddenly outraged, and I slapped him across the face. He fell to the ground. I picked him back up and punched him back down. I was furious. I tied him down and tortured him as I had done to so many others in the past. As blood and terror fell upon him the blood rain raged harder and harder; I tore his flesh and broke his limbs, I gouged out his eyes. In the end I felt incomplete. He couldn’t release a single scream, he just never had it in him--and that’s when I realized that that was why I felt fulfilled in beating Mituna; his screams soothed me. It infuriated me to not hear the glorifying sound of Tegrim’s terror and pain, now it was just empty abuse. Thus I beat him more and more, yelling and raving at him to, “SCREAM, GOD DAMN IT, SCREAM!”

But it was useless. Nothing I did could force a sound out of him. I beat him relentlessly and viciously: when I was done you could hardly tell it was even human to begin with. The next morning Tegrim looked the same as ever; I had never been so angry. I only wished him to stay the silent pile of gore I had left him in, so I tied him down again and dug a hole in the ground beside him. After an hour of digging a hole six feet deep, I rolled Tegrim into the hole and began throwing dirt back upon him. He squirmed and groaned but no matter how much he tried he couldn’t scream.

“Scream for me Tegrim,” I hissed. “If you can release but one sound of fear or recognition of this situation, then I will pull you out of that hole. All you have to do is scream. SCREAM FOR GOD’S SAKE!” He said nothing. Finally the hole was completely filled. I pat the dirt down upon his body and shed a single tear. As the tear hit the dirt, a blood curdling scream one like I had never heard before rang in my ears, filled with more pain and anguish than I could comprehend. The feeling filled me ever more, like I’d never need to hear another ever again. I knew it to be Tegrim. Finally he had released his pain and his fears and his sorrow, into one true scream. It was perfect. But the deed was complete; Tegrim was gone. I never dug him out from the hole.

I turned around to see that Mituna stood beside me. “You have mistreated both of your god given gifts, now you will lose them, along with your life.”

. . . . . . .



. . . . . . . .

Wit anoter flash of lite he I woken on dah flor of a ship wit stares and stuff, no one was on dis boat, jus me, butt I figre tht the owner wil com bak to it, I walkd in too a room and pulld out apiecc of papr and wrote a small pome, I left deh room and I tryd 2 climb thm but I could not, it jus didn t wrk, I ws scard, and I was sad, I lay on the grond crying, sundnly I herd Anutim scream in dah bak of my head yelin “ima get ou out of meh heay I swear to good yew bastared, ill get my head bak.”, and that’s whn Tegrim sewed his mouf shut…

I ws found cryin on tha stares nakd or somthin by a group of prirates or somthin, Kurloz was my favorite and Rose promised to help freee me of Anutim, thay weer what I had hoped Anutim  wood be to me…