Catalyst

Chapter 20: Parallel

Add the belladonna petal to his right hand, let the bacteria break away the extraneous material, while keeping the left hand stirring the existing mixture. The mandrake needed to be added at the exact moment the sodium phosphate and thallium oxide started reacting to each other. The toxin neutralizer was nearly completed within Abathur's own body, and would be ready to concentrate and release at the same time as the belladonna. Then, the potion would finally be complete, after half a dozen failed attempts. He was honestly surprised at the difficulty. Most potions the humans had made were simple, both to make and to convert to more effective variants. This one was genuinely challenging, a rare diversion. That it was more important than any of the other potions he had made only made the challenge more engaging.

Abathur was very, very close to completing the potion used in the animagus ritual, the one used to find one's form and, presumably, get its essence. The cauldron sat in front of him, boiling a sickly white as Abathur prepared the final ingredients, the components that would stabilize the mixture. And then he could truly cast of the terran shell, if only temporarily.

Some of the mistakes could likely have been avoided if he'd only been more patient. An ingredient added before processing was done, stirring one direction rather than the other (Abathur had no idea why that made a difference, yet the ruins of the bronze cauldron he had been using proved it did), or, apparently, sneezing in the potion, all ruined it. He really did need to fix his allergies.

But he had taken a great deal of extra care on the brew in front of him. Absolutely no mistakes were allowed. At last, he added the final ingredients. The potion bubbled and sparked, turning a dark purple color. Abathur picked up the cauldron and poured it into a bottle. A second later, the contents of the bottle went down his throat.

Abathur wasn't entirely sure what would happen next. According to the book he had gotten the original potion recipe from, he was supposed to sit down in an isolated area. Well, the deserted classroom he was using was isolated enough. Abathur took a seat in and waited. A moment later, his head slammed into the desk.

Abathur didn't notice. He wasn't in a classroom, in a human school for psionics, in a room filled with dust and cobwebs. He saw something much better.

Curving lines of black, ribbed carapace. A cavern filled with pillars of flesh and soft green light. Everywhere he looked, cocoons filled with a green fluid. They varied in shade and size, but they all had something within them, things of twisted flesh and glowing tumors. Through a particularly large cocoon, a massive larva stared at him with a multitude of glowing eyes.

Abathur was home.

Not really, of course. His current shell was probably slumped over a desk, comatose. He would be gone from the illusion the second the potion wore off. But for the moment, he could enjoy the familiar surroundings of the Evolution pit, the place he had made and worked in for uncountable years. Even if only temporarily, it was glorious to once again be within its confines.

A familiar slithering sound pulled Abathur from his nostalgia. It came up behind Abathur, who rapidly turned around to face it. It was him. The evolution master in all his glory. He had expected this, had it described in the book. A vision of the being he would become. Abathur approached his future and past. "Give essence. Required for form." No need to be subtle. It was him after all.

The vision ignored him. Well, there hadn't been any refusal. Abathur reached to one of the globes hanging off the side of his head, aiming to pull it off. His hand passed right through.

Confused, Abathur attempted to grab more of the essence containing flesh of the hallucination. Again, his hand went directly through, touching nothing. As if it was nothing but an image. A hallucination with nothing to grab. But that couldn't be. He needed this essence, needed it to transform. Needed it to escape the flesh he was imprisoned in. If he couldn't get it the normal way then- then... Focus. Dampen adrenaline. Stressors reveal flaws. Flaws reveal potential. If Abathur couldn't get the essence the traditional way, then he would need to get as much as possible and build up the rest on his own. He could still see the strands contained within the vision before him. It wouldn't give him the same clarity as consuming its flesh. But it would be enough to build off, to recreate his essence, make it anew.