The Crimson Elixir
Archmugus Aldus out of the Void was once a name whispered in awe, not dread. He was the hero who charted the chaotic depths between worlds and returned with the secret of the Crimson Elixir, the vital fluid that sustained creation itself. He was hailed as the architect of life, and for decades, he wore that mantle with solemn, virtuous grace. But the closer he worked with the Elixir in the silent, star-vaulted isolation of his observatory, the more the grace wore thin.
He initially sought to perfect life, to cure all disease and lengthen all days. Yet, as his crucible simmered with the ruby liquid, a terrible, simple truth began to reveal itself. The molecular structure that knit a cell together was perfectly mirrored by the structure that could tear it apart. The Elixir that birthed life could, with the most minute inversion of intent, unbind it.
The revelation was a hammer blow that shattered his heroic facade. Aldus was not just a champion of existence; he was now the keymaster of oblivion.
The Elixir itself began to communicate, not through sound, but through a terrifying, percussive pulse that vibrated in his veins. Each droplet, he realized, held the echoing will of the Void that had originally birthed him—a hunger for the quiet stillness before light. The whispers promised him not power, but understanding: the deep, cold logic of why anything had to exist at all.
His first subjects were small, unfortunate things—insects, then rodents—found scurrying beneath the granite slabs of his tower. He would administer a single drop, and the creature would not thrash or bleed. Instead, its form would simply… simplify. Muscle fiber became simple protein chains, bones powdered into calcium dust, and the spark of consciousness would collapse back into unformed potential, a sigh of return to the endless dark.
The experiments grew larger, the moral cost escalating in direct proportion to the complexity of the life he unwound. He didn't see himself as a destroyer, but as a devoted scholar, a taxidermist of the soul, seeking to catalogue the price of existence. Each dissolution was a data point proving that life was merely a temporary, high-energy state that required constant, agonizing effort to maintain. The Void, he learned, was the default.
When the villagers below began to notice the strange silence of the local wildlife, and when travellers failed to emerge from the winding mountain pass near his tower, they spoke of ill omens. They no longer saw their saviour, Aldus the Archmugus, but a gaunt, silver-haired shadow whose eyes glowed with a frantic, red hunger, mirroring the liquid in his vial.
In the dead of night, his laboratory now hummed with a low, oppressive energy. The air was thick with the faint, metallic scent of the Crimson Elixir, and the floor was stained with a dusting of fine, grey residue—the physical remains of complex life returned to its simplest, most basic components. The whispers in his blood were now roars, demanding the ultimate experiment. Aldus smiled, a chilling, profound acceptance stretching his lips. He was ready to pay the price. He was ready to know the cost of unbinding the most complex life of all: his own.
Featured in
The Crimson Elixir
HitNRun
Featuring
The Crimson Elixir
Archmugus Aldus out of the Void was once a name whispered in awe, not dread. He was the hero who charted the chaotic depths between worlds and returned with the secret of the Crimson Elixir, the vital fluid that sustained creation itself. He was hailed as the architect of life, and for decades, he wore that mantle with solemn, virtuous grace. But the closer he worked with the Elixir in the silent, star-vaulted isolation of his observatory, the more the grace wore thin.
He initially sought to perfect life, to cure all disease and lengthen all days. Yet, as his crucible simmered with the ruby liquid, a terrible, simple truth began to reveal itself. The molecular structure that knit a cell together was perfectly mirrored by the structure that could tear it apart. The Elixir that birthed life could, with the most minute inversion of intent, unbind it.
The revelation was a hammer blow that shattered his heroic facade. Aldus was not just a champion of existence; he was now the keymaster of oblivion.
The Elixir itself began to communicate, not through sound, but through a terrifying, percussive pulse that vibrated in his veins. Each droplet, he realized, held the echoing will of the Void that had originally birthed him—a hunger for the quiet stillness before light. The whispers promised him not power, but understanding: the deep, cold logic of why anything had to exist at all.
His first subjects were small, unfortunate things—insects, then rodents—found scurrying beneath the granite slabs of his tower. He would administer a single drop, and the creature would not thrash or bleed. Instead, its form would simply… simplify. Muscle fiber became simple protein chains, bones powdered into calcium dust, and the spark of consciousness would collapse back into unformed potential, a sigh of return to the endless dark.
The experiments grew larger, the moral cost escalating in direct proportion to the complexity of the life he unwound. He didn't see himself as a destroyer, but as a devoted scholar, a taxidermist of the soul, seeking to catalogue the price of existence. Each dissolution was a data point proving that life was merely a temporary, high-energy state that required constant, agonizing effort to maintain. The Void, he learned, was the default.
When the villagers below began to notice the strange silence of the local wildlife, and when travellers failed to emerge from the winding mountain pass near his tower, they spoke of ill omens. They no longer saw their saviour, Aldus the Archmugus, but a gaunt, silver-haired shadow whose eyes glowed with a frantic, red hunger, mirroring the liquid in his vial.
In the dead of night, his laboratory now hummed with a low, oppressive energy. The air was thick with the faint, metallic scent of the Crimson Elixir, and the floor was stained with a dusting of fine, grey residue—the physical remains of complex life returned to its simplest, most basic components. The whispers in his blood were now roars, demanding the ultimate experiment. Aldus smiled, a chilling, profound acceptance stretching his lips. He was ready to pay the price. He was ready to know the cost of unbinding the most complex life of all: his own.
