Chapter 217 Prologue
— A Week Later - New York - Alchemont Estate —
Deep within the hidden depths of the Alchemont Clan's underground laboratory, an aura of mysticism and scientific mastery intermingled. This sacred chamber was the Homunculus storage, a repository of life and souls, where the boundary between life and death was blurred, and the promise of immortality became a tangible reality.
Rows of crystalline vats stood sentinel in this chamber, each one containing a precious Homunculus, a lifelike duplicate crafted with utmost precision. The vats emitted a soft, ethereal glow, casting an otherworldly radiance upon the polished stone floor.
The room was kept at a constant temperature, a testament to the meticulous care given to its contents. The faint hum of hidden machinery reverberated through the air, underscoring the complex alchemical processes at work.
Each Homunculus was unique, a mirror image of the mage who had commissioned it. Their forms varied widely, a reflection of the diverse clientele that sought the Alchemont Clan's services. Some bore the features of distinguished mages, while others were reminiscent of ordinary individuals.
Here, the boundary between science and magic was thin, as ancient alchemical knowledge and arcane sorcery combined to offer a profound service. The mages who had chosen to entrust their existence to the Alchemont Clan knew that their life essence would be preserved in these vessels.
Upon the death of a mage, their soul would seamlessly transition to their Homunculus, breathing new life into their crafted duplicate. It was a process that defied the conventional cycle of mortality, a promise of continued existence that came at a price commensurate with the quality of the Homunculus, akin to a life insurance policy.
The Alchemont Clan, renowned for their mastery of alchemy and Homunculus creation, upheld this ancient tradition with utmost dedication. As the caretakers moved among the vats, their faces bore the weight of their solemn duty, knowing that within these crystalline containers resided the essence of those who had sought refuge from death.
The caretaker strode purposefully toward a particular vat, his gaze fixed on the screen displaying the parameter labeled 'Soul Synchronization Percentage.' He examined it closely and noted with approval that it had already reached an impressive 90%.
"Hm... One week, and the synchronization rate reaches 90%... not bad," the caretaker remarked, nodding in satisfaction at the vat's progress.
Soul synchronization was a crucial process for mages who had passed away, enabling them to seamlessly integrate their souls into their Homunculus bodies. This transformation allowed them to utilize their new form just as they had their original bodies. However, the time required for this integration varied from person to person. Some mages achieved it in a matter of days, while others required months to reach the coveted 100% synchronization rate.
"Let's examine his insurance program," the caretaker muttered, his fingers deftly navigating the touch screen on the vat's interface.
"Ah, interesting. A member of the Hightower High Council, and he holds a 1st class insurance policy," the caretaker exclaimed, nodding in acknowledgement. He then retrieved a small, blood-red stone from his pocket and inserted it into the socket at the base of the vat.
This crimson stone, known as the Philosopher's Stone, bore a sinister reputation. It was created through the refinement of blood and souls extracted from countless innocent individuals from the mundane world. The quality of the Philosopher's Stone directly correlated with the number of souls sacrificed in its creation.
In an instant, the synchronization percentage rapidly increased from 90% to 100% within a matter of minutes. This was one of the true applications of such a miraculous substance as the Philosopher's Stone—to utilize the imprisoned souls within it as sacrificial material, facilitating the swift integration of a deceased mage's soul into their Homunculus body.
Once the synchronization rate reached 100%, the water within the vats rapidly drained, and the glass lid opened. The Homunculus's naked body slipped from the base of the vat and began to descend to the ground. However, before it could make contact with the floor, the body adeptly balanced itself as the consciousness of the soul swiftly took control.
The caretaker approached the Homunculus body, offering a robe to conceal its nakedness. The Homunculus accepted it and quickly dressed.
"Lord Eisenhart, how do you find your new body?" the caretaker inquired politely.
Eisenhart stood, then moved to a nearby sofa, taking a seat. He methodically assessed his body's condition by channeling his mana throughout, discovering that he could only muster 70% of his usual strength during his prime.
"Not bad... but still not as potent as my original body. However, I suppose it can't be helped," Eisenhart commented after checking his magic veins and bodily functions.
He was confident that through rigorous training and by creating new magical insignia for this body, he could potentially restore his power to 90% of its peak. This Homunculus body was of the highest grade, but regardless of its quality, its magical power would never match that of a mage's human body.
However, this assessment applied to the standard Homunculus bodies commonly found in the mage society's market. It did not account for the Homunculus bodies created by Daniel. If other mages were to learn that Daniel's Homunculus bodies could integrate a soul in mere minutes and possessed even greater magical capabilities than a regular human, they might become obsessed and potentially conspire to seize Daniel's method of production.
"Lord Eisenhart," the caretaker called out, redirecting Eisenhart's attention.
"The Hightower Council requires you to report on what transpired on the ship the moment your soul integrated into the Homunculus body," the caretaker explained.
"Understood. Give me half an hour to acclimate to this body," Eisenhart replied with a nod.
"Of course, sir. I'll prepare the conference room and accommodations for you," the caretaker affirmed, proceeding to make the necessary arrangements.
— Half an hour later —
Eisenhart stepped into the conference room, a meticulously designed space tailored for crucial discussions, and brimming with state-of-the-art communication technology. He knew solitude would be his companion in this room, yet he remained keenly aware that his every word would traverse continents, reaching the Hightower HQ in London. This chamber was a sanctuary against magical surveillance and eavesdropping spells.
The room's ambience was subdued, bathed in dim lighting that accentuated the somber atmosphere. Dominating its center was a grand, polished wooden table, encircled by sumptuous, high-backed leather chairs. At one end, a crystal-clear holographic projection system awaited activation, poised to establish the vital video link with the Hightower Council.
Taking his place at the head of the table, Eisenhart wore a composed yet grave expression. He understood the council's anticipation, and he was prepared to deliver his comprehensive report. Moments later, the holographic projection sprang to life, revealing the faces of the Hightower Council members on the opposite end.
"Lord Eisenhart," began one of the council members, "we have awaited your report with bated breath. Please, enlighten us about the events aboard the prisoner ship."
Eisenhart cleared his throat, embarking on a detailed account of the ship's events. He left no stone unturned, disclosing all he knew, from the presence of Michaela and James to the revelation of the ancient hero from the era of gods, such as Penthesilea. The council listened intently, absorbing the gravity of each revelation.
Eisenhart's words hung heavy in the air as he finished his account. A stunned silence followed, broken only by the soft hum of the holographic projection system. The council members exchanged bewildered glances, their expressions shifting from anticipation to sheer astonishment.
"An archangel, a werewolf, and an ancient hero?" one council member exclaimed, their voice trembling with disbelief. "This is beyond anything we could have imagined."
Chaos erupted within the council as members passionately debated the implications of Eisenhart's revelations. Some saw it as an opportunity—a lifeline to recover the long-lost knowledge of the era of gods, buried beneath centuries of secrecy and oblivion. Others voiced concerns about the unpredictability of these newfound variables, questioning the potential threats they posed.
As the heated debate continued, one council member raised a critical question, their voice cutting through the tumultuous discussion. "Lord Eisenhart," they began, "what about the Kraken? Is it real?"
Eisenhart leaned forward, his gaze steady. He knew the significance of this question, and his response carried great weight. "Yes," he affirmed, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "The Kraken is real, and it's unlike any Kraken we've ever encountered. Its sheer size alone dwarfs any of its kind in recorded history. I faced it personally before my soul was transferred to this homunculus body. There's no mistaking it; this Kraken hails from the era of gods."
The council fell into a hushed silence, absorbing this revelation. The existence of such a creature from the era of gods was a chilling confirmation of the shifting dynamics in the magical realm. It raised questions about what other ancient beings might still exist, hidden away in the shadows of history.
Eisenhart's testimony sent ripples of uncertainty through the council, leaving them to grapple with the profound implications of these newfound revelations. The world of magic was undergoing a seismic transformation, and the council now faced the daunting task of navigating uncharted waters.
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