I took my time returning to the monitoring area after lunch, stopping off at my palace apartments along the way to pick up a few things.
I really shouldn't be this upset that my experiments were being cut short. I mean, they didn't hire me to fill tomes with knowledge; they needed me to create a devastating weapon to use against their enemies, and they needed it faster than I had anticipated. I simply got lost in my research, and wasn't moving as quick as they'd like.
The king didn't want anything fancy. He wanted something quick and dirty to exploit, something to create an opening for his forces and nothing more.
It seemed that he didn't care for the possible strategic openings that my works could give him. Edar'axa was simply looking to get revenge for his ancestors. Blood for ancient blood.
If he wanted to take the brute force route, then I would give him brute force. I just wish that he wouldn't have waited this long to tell me, wasting my valuable time when I could have been in the depths of Ankhas, searching for--no... No, not down there. Anywhere but there.
Two Alchemists who were on their shifts in the examination room looked up from their work as I violently threw the doors open. Neither of the two dark elves jumped from my sudden outburst, or had any sort of reaction really as I stormed up to them.
"The experiments have been cancelled," I growled, my eyes flickering in anger behind my mythril mask. The two Alerarans looked at each other in confusion. I nearly knocked one of them over as I shoved a handful of scrolls into his arms. "Take these to the Artificers' Guild, and have them start producing what's drawn up to my exact specifications. We need two thousand of them by the month's end. You--" I pointed at my other assistant, "--tell the others you worked with in the lab that we need more of the viruses cultivated. Each of the five we injected into the experimental subjects here. We need enough to fill two thousand cartridges as specified here--" I shoved the other stack of papers into her hands. "How much of each pathogen that is required is listed in the notes."
They looked at each other for a brief moment, confusion plainly written on their faces.
"What about them," the one on the left asked, nodding towards the subjects bound to their beds.
"Go," I snapped at them, pointing towards the open door leading back into the palace. The two guildsmen quickly left the room, leaving me by myself.
Deep breath, exhale, I told myself. Deep breath, exhale. It'll be okay. It doesn't matter what the king wants now, you have access to Ankhas. You will have what is yours, chosen.
The words lingered on the edges of my mind as I screamed. "Leave me alone! I am not your chosen!" My cries echoed off the white walls of the sterilized room. A small metal table flew through the air, crashing against the wall and sending the examination instruments that were previously on it scattering across the floor. The legs of the four beds that still held their subjects shook and rattled against the floor as they struggled to protect themselves from my outburst.
The red anger that clouded my mind quickly faded after a second table hit the opposite wall. My breath was ragged, and my head was pounding. I stood still and silent for several seconds, trying to regain my senses. I could feel four pairs of unfocused eyes staring at me, full of fear.
Slowly, I reached into my pocket and produced a small glass vial with a clear liquid and a syringe. Wordlessly, I approached the first bed. It was the Raiaeran who went into shock. I took a good look at him for the first time since he arrived. His health was failing, but his features still contained a strong light that desperately fought the contagion that wracked his body. His eyes were a deep emerald green, but the whites were clouding over. Two weeks worth of salt and pepper beard circled his full lips. Twin scars lined his right cheek, just above the bone. For a moment, I wondered what kind of life he lived before the Alerarans sacked the outpost he was in. What had he seen in his travels? Who had he met? What did he know? Was he stationed at the outpost when the Alerarans attacked? Or was he at the wrong place at the wrong time, an unfortunate victim of circumstance?
I popped the protective cap off the needle and drew out a small amount of the vial's contents. The elf's eyes locked with mine, and he did not look away as I gently inserted the syringe into his arm and pushed the plunger. His strong eyes fluttered for a brief moment, then unfocused and closed as he let out a soft sigh.
He was dead before I reached the next bed.
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