Chapter 49: Man vs Investigation

Basil’s bedroom in the Steamobile was a tiny alcove with a mattress and a single window. It was terribly small, uncomfortable, and trembled with each road bump.

In short, it was the perfect place to watch a world-shaking video. The truth wouldn’t hurt as much as Basil’s back.

I’ve got hours to kill. Basil sat as comfortably as he could. He had instructed Rosemarine to follow the coastline north on the way to Bordeaux, which would take longer than the highroad but should also be safer. With the loss of Neria’s radio, Basil couldn’t tell what kind of troubles his team might encounter on the way. I would rather watch Netflix or Major Chicken, but this will do.

Clicking on the Dismaker Labs board meeting video in the Logs folder widened his System screen until it spanned his entire field of view. Basil heard a screeching, glitchy sound echo in the back of his head. It reminded him of the time he tried the Oculus Rift headset technology, though he wished the quality was as good.

The video feed was shoddy as hell. Visual glitches interfered with Basil’s vision and a stream of static noise buzzed all around him. Blocks of Minecraft-like blue data vaguely assembled in the shape of a table floating aimlessly inside an infinite white void. This place looked no more real than a dream.

As if on cue, colored particles gathered around the table and condensed into five spots. Humanoid shapes formed from nothing, four of them sitting in ethereal chairs. The fifth figure stood at the table’s end, hands behind his back.

Basil struggled to see much of these entities. He could tell they were humans, or at least looked the part, but visual glitches blurred their features. He could only pick out a few traits: a caucasion lady, with short auburn her and an elegant dress; an Asian man, old and wrinkled, carrying a portable bottle of oxygen to keep him alive; a tall male executive dressed to kill; a scrawny, mousy programmer typing lines of codes on a holographic screen…

“This Zoom upgrade looks terrible,” Basil cursed under his breath. Of course Dismaker Labs’ System wouldn’t let him identify its board’s members.

The only exception was the figure standing at the table’s end; his projection alone didn’t suffer from any visual glitch. The man was built like ox, tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed like a Giorgio Armani model. His skin was light brown, his facial features vaguely Indian. A bright red beard and wild hair gave him the look of a wild lion straight out of the savannah. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes and hid his expression from outsiders’ sight.

His posture reminded Basil of eccentric billionaires like Richard Branson, the late John McAffee, and a little of Elon Musk. A man so successful that he could dress like Mufasa and no one would find it abnormal. Eccentricity and showmanship had become part of his identity.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out the man’s identity.

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen, to Dismaker Labs’ last virtual board meeting,” the leader declared with a thin smile and a showman’s wave of hand. “After so many years, we are finally ready for the Trimurti System’s launch! I hope you are all as excited as I am!”

“We couldn’t have made it this far without you, Maxwell,” said the only female executive present. “A virtual toast to you.”

The digital ghosts clapped as their leader offered them a polite bow. “Thank you, thank you,” he said. “I am touched.”

I knew it. Basil could finally put a face on the man who destroyed the world. Anton Maxwell. Dismaker Labs’ CEO.

Basil tried to punch the virtual dick on principle, but his hand went through Maxwell’s face. Such a shame. That asshole deserved at least seven billion slaps; one for each person on Earth he had fucked over.

“Forgive me, my dear Hypathia, for you are wrong,” Anton Maxwell declared with false modesty. “The lion’s share of this historic victory, of this monumental achievement, goes to you all. My dear friends, it is your money, your resources, your determination and your hard work that led us to this point. I offered the blueprints to heaven, but it was the sweat of your brows that paved the pathway.”

“And this System you promised us better deliver,” the old Asian man in attendance rasped. “I lent you billions, Maxwell. Billions.”

“What is money compared to immortality, Mr. Tamura?” the well-dressed executive replied politely. “We will soon be crowned as kings… no, as gods.”

“Knock on a stone bridge before crossing it, Ashok,” ‘Mr. Tamura’ replied with a snort. “If this fails, Maxwell, there will be consequences. I do not forgive bad investments.”

Basil’s blood boiled in his veins. He was almost certainly watching the conspiracy that brought the world to an end, and they discussed it with the same enthusiasm as shareholders debating over a quarterly report. There was no anxiety in their digitized voices, no remorse, no appreciation for their plan’s catastrophic consequences.

Dismaker Labs treated the incoming apocalypse with utter indifference.

It’s not that they don’t understand what they’re about to do, Basil thought, fists clenched in quiet fury. One of them simply cared more about his return on investment than the global disaster ahead. It’s that they don’t give a fuck.

“I am wounded. Have I not delivered?” Anton Maxwell put a hand on his heart. “Have I not shown you what the System can accomplish through the trials and testing phases?”

“You have created wonders,” the bespectacled programmer among them conceded. “But you promised us miracles.”

“And I will achieve them, Benjamin,” Anton argued before surveying each executive in turn. “Do not worry, I will fulfill our contract to the letter. You will all receive your heart’s desire. Eternal youth and pleasure; power and fame; retribution for your losses; ascension and enlightenment… you will be akin to gods among men, free to shape the world as you see fit.”

“What about you?” ‘Benjamin’ asked. Basil wondered if those were their true names or pseudonyms to avoid identification. “You haven’t set a host avatar for yourself. I’ve checked.”

“You know I do not need one.” Anton Maxwell’s smile sent shivers down Basil’s spine. There was something predatory in his pale white teeth. “Neither do I intend to participate in this little contest. I will watch the show from the gallery.”

“I don’t believe you,” the programmer replied dryly.

I don’t either. Basil thought. He couldn’t imagine someone knowingly planning the end of the world with godhood as a prize to just sit it out.

“Believe what you want, Benjamin,” Anton replied calmly. “I have no need for godhood. All I seek is a functional gate to the great beyond. That is my wish.”

Basil squinted. A gate? A gate to where?

“Whatever,” ‘Benjamin’ said with a snort. “So long as I get her back, you can go to Hell for all I care.”

The Asian executive, ‘Mr. Tamura’, grunted in response. “What now, Maxwell? I assume that you didn’t summon us right before the launch to exchange barbs. Speak clearly and stop wasting my time.”

“Is the plan going as scheduled?” ‘Hypathia’ asked, more politely.

“Yes… and no.” Anton’s smile wavered. “Everything is unfolding as we planned with a tiny little exception. Due to interferences, we cannot pinpoint where the Avatar of Vishnu will manifest. He might appear outside of India.”

“What ab-ab-about Laksmi’s avatar?” Hypathia’s voice briefly glitched, to the point Basil struggled to understand her words. She turned to face the last executive, the best dressed of the lot. “Capturing her is your task, Ashok.”

“We are ready to welcome Her Majesty properly,” ‘Ashok.’ replied The man shifted in his chair with calm, quiet confidence. “The Prison Dungeon will capture her the moment she manifests. As for Vishnu, it doesn’t matter where his avatar will appear. He will come to find her and share her cell soon enough.”

Benjamin joined his hands together. “There is a risk that he might die. Our alterations to the System should summon the Preservation Avatar in a weakened state. The Kalki may not even be aware of his true significance nor be capable of defending himself.”

“This is a risk I wanted to address today,” Anton confirmed. “He must be captured alive as soon as possible, or our efforts will come to naught.”

“What happens if he perishes?” Hypathia asked.

“Each of the Trimurti’s aspects will become dominant at one point of the System’s initialization,” Anton Maxwell explained, his pose shifting to that of Steve Jobs giving a lecture to newbie tech students. “Brahma will fuel the world’s rebirth, and then Vishnu will move on to maintain the balance between creation and destruction. He shall spin the wheel of death until a new Overgod is selected. But if his avatar dies, then Shiva the Destroyer will ascend to proeminence.”

A terrible silence settled on the board room. Basil could cut the tension with a knife.

“Should it come to that, this competition…” Anton marked a short pause as he examined each executive one after the other. “Will come to an abrupt end.”

The world in the palm of a god’s hand… our mages summoned the Destroyer… crushed it like a stone…

Basil shuddered as the true seriousness of his situation dawned upon him. I let Kalki go, he cursed himself for his ignorance. That clueless hippie could be anywhere, at the mercy of anyone.

Damn it, that man played music to strangers and monsters! He was exactly the kind of person to attract trouble!

Ashok broke the silence. “Leave him to us, Mr. Maxwell,” he said before turning to face his colleagues. “I ask that we all collaborate and belay your personal ambitions until the threat is dealt with. Any objection?”

None of the others argued, though Basil could tell a few had reservations from their body language. He barely understood half of what was unfolding before his eyes without the necessary context, yet it seemed to him that Dismaker Labs’ board didn’t entirely get along. He felt no camaraderie from these people; only an alliance born of convenience.

It made sense. If all of them expected to become Earth’s Overgod by the end of it, then their collaboration was bound to implode at one point.

“Very well,” Anton Maxwell said. “Besides this small hurdle, everything will happen as planned. Do any of you still have concerns?”

“Concerns are for people who don’t know what they want,” Mr. Tamura declared with arrogance. “I am ready.”

“We all are,” Hypathia agreed. “We’ve waited years for this.”

“Then in case we do not meet again, I wish you all good luck in my new world.” Anton Maxwell made a bow. “It was an honor working with this company.”

“As well, Mr. Maxwell,” Hypathia replied before disappearing. One after another the various digital avatars vanished. Mr. Tamura and Benjamin vanished without a word or gesture. Ashok bowed respectfully at Anton Maxwell before imitating them.

Only Dismaker Labs’ CEO remained alone in the room. He stood motionless for a few seconds, as if checking if any of his board members would return.

Then he revealed his true colors.

“Foolish creatures.” Maxwell’s mouth curled into a contemptuous smile. “Yes, I will fulfill my promises. You will get exactly what you deserve… for what little time this world has left to live.”

Well, that was ominous.

The recording came to an end and Basil abruptly returned to reality. He found Plato sitting in front of him, looking up at his best friend with worried eyes.

“How long have you been there?” Basil asked.

“Minutes. You zoned out for a while.” Plato slouched on the mattress. “What’s up, dog?”

“Oh nothing.” Basil rested against a steel wall. “Just watching scary corporate videos about the world’s end.”

“Sounds boring,” Plato deadpanned. “Come on, do enlighten me. I love scares.”

Where should he start? That a conspiracy of boring corporate drones managed to bring mankind to its knees, knowing full well what would happen? That their leader clearly played a different game than the rest? That they intended to seal a goddess and then Kalki? Or that a single death could spell the world’s end?

Yes, Basil should start with the worst and work his way up. That would keep his cat’s expectations of the future low. “I think I know how Estrid’s people summoned the Destroyer now. From what I understood, if Kalki dies then so does the world.”

Plato assessed the news in silence for a few seconds before sighing in despair. He didn’t even question Basil’s words. At this point, he just went along with the flow. “You know he looks like the kind of boy who’ll end up shanked in an alley, right?”

“Yes, which is why we’ve got to find him fast.” Basil gritted his teeth in worry. “I hope we lost contact with Bordeaux due to a technical mishap, but I know better. We’re not that lucky.”

“The world is still here though,” Plato pointed out. “So whatever happened in Bordeaux, that boy lived through it. There’s still time.”

Basil prayed so. Besides confirming Kalki’s importance, the video hadn’t provided many leads. He heard the names of executives involved in Dismaker Labs’ conspiracy—Hypathia, Benjamin, Ashok, Mr. Tamura—but he had neither their faces nor their family names. Basil would need to cross that information with the company’s records to learn more about these people.

Then he would hunt them down like dogs.

Parts of the discussion also confused him. One of the executives mentioned creating ‘avatars’ of their own. What did he mean by that? Did these five tweak the System to give themselves unfair developer advantages? Walter said Dismaker Labs couldn’t hope to fully control the Trimurti System or they would have made themselves Overgods from the start, but what control did these people truly have? Could they grant themselves access to unique classes or cheat abilities?

And what Maxwell said at the video’s end… foolish creatures. Basil didn’t know what to make of it. It sounded like a mere insult, a revelation of contempt, but the wording bothered him.

In fact, everything about Anton Maxwell sounded unnerving now that Basil thought of it. The man appeared from nowhere according to Neria, built a multi-billion software company that implanted magical servers across the world with no one the wiser, before finally summoning Hindu gods and then turning Earth into a madhouse

That stretched credibility. That kind of knowledge, of efficiency, was positively demonic.

“Is he human at all?” Basil muttered to himself.

“Excuse me?” Plato asked.

“Maxwell, the man behind it all. How could he invent something as powerful as the neurotowers and spread them around the world without anybody noticing?” Basil would have considered this theory outlandish months ago, but after the apocalypse he had come to believe anything was possible. “It just sounds unbelievable.”

“Maybe he didn’t invent them,” Plato said. “The servers. I think he copied them from the scalies.”

Basil squinted at his cat. “I’m listening.”

“Of course your human mind cannot see as far as my feline genius, but follow me for a moment,” Plato said, his voice brimming with pride. “The bots and the bugs have been at war for decades, if not more. Earth isn’t even the first place they’ve crashed. Don’t you think one of their gizmos could have found its way here somehow?”

Basil’s eyes widened in surprise. “You think Dismaker Labs based their neurotowers on the Unity’s server design?”

“It spooks me too that a human could change the world on his own. I mean, your species can barely find its lost socks. How could you make us cats masters of the world? It’s beyond your meager capabilities.”

Plato’s opinion of Basil’s species was heartening, but he might have guessed correctly. Dismaker Labs could have based their dungeons on existing alien tech. But how did these blueprints arrive on Earth in the first place?

What did Maxwell say? I have no need for godhood; only for a functional gate to the great beyond.

A gate to another world? Were Incursions the end-goal of the System’s arrival rather than a byproduct of them? Basil could only make guesses for now without additional information, yet he felt like he was on the right road to uncover the System’s mystery.

Plato’s expression suddenly darkened. “Will you tell the others? About what we saw on the camera?”

“I’ll have to.” Though his team’s morale would take a hit, Basil didn’t believe in keeping secrets from friends. They always bred discontent or misunderstandings. “Honestly, it feels like tackling global warming on my own. Events are unfolding before my eyes and I can’t do much on my own to prevent them.”

“Hey, don’t say that.” Plato kneaded his owner’s chest. “Maybe we can change little, but a little is better than nothing. You never know what your actions will have an impact on. Maybe they won’t matter, or maybe they’ll pay off big time. You can’t find out unless you try.”

Basil smiled at his witty cat. “Do you remember why René and I called you Plato?”

“Because I was wiser than both of you?”

“Smartass.” Basil petted his cat behind the ears, making him purr in pleasure. “I should have called you Diogenes and put you in a barrel.”

“Anyway, if you’re done doubting my formidable intellect, Vasi wanted to see you downstairs.” Plato wagged his tail. “Something about crafty this, class that.”

Basil sighed as he rose from his mattress. “Alright, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Mine!” Plato leaped on the makeshift bed the moment his best friend left. “Take your time!”

“Don’t put furballs everywhere please,” Basil grumbled as he traveled down the Steamobile. He found Vasi training on the holomachine in the engine room. The witch remained so focused on the device that she didn’t pay him any mind at first. “Hey, Vasi. You wanted to see me?”

“Ah, Basil, just in time.” Vasi didn’t look away from the holomachine’s mirror-screen. A vision of Wyrde showcased some kind of purple mist spell on its surface. “Since I’m learning new spells and you wanted us to practice as a team, I thought we could discuss your class progression. See how we could develop synergies.”

Basil wondered if he should make her his official class advisor. Certainly the Guild system could award titles to its members?

“I actually unlocked a new class as a Halloween reward that I wanted to discuss with you,” he said. “Deathknight.”

“Deathknight?” Vasi turned away from the holomachine and raised her eyebrows at him. Basil took it as a good sign. “Are you sure?”

“You’ve heard of it?”

“I have. It’s a rare and powerful prestige class in my world, extremely popular among villains and aspiring dark lords.”

“Charming,” Basil deadpanned. “Should I start dressing in black armor and holding up in a dark tower?”

“No, not unless you want us to settle down,” Vasi reassured him. “Classes don’t affect your mindset. When I said Deathknight is popular among villains, I mean that they’re more likely to unlock the class compared to would-be heroes. From what I’ve heard, you need a very high kill count as an unlocking condition.”

The memory of thousands of undead meals assaulting his castle flashed in Basil’s mind.

“I don’t see what you mean.”

“You do,” Vasi said mirthfully.

“It’s not my fault if bugs and monsters keep throwing themselves at me.” Basil would have been happy sticking to his little corner of the world, but everyone seemed to have a deathwish nowadays. “And if a kill count is all that’s needed, then the woods will be crawling with Deathknights soon.”

“They might,” Vasi conceded. “But that’s good news for you, Basil. Deathknight isn’t as good as Berserker in close combat—because Berserker is probably the best in that field—but it’s easily in the top ten melee classes. It offers dark magical powers and most importantly, leadership Perks.”

“It’ll make me a better public speaker?” Basil mused.

“More like you’ll passively buff allies and debuff enemies in your vicinity.” Vasi chuckled. “Why do you think dark lords love it? It helps with whipping orcs and undead soldiers into shape.”

Basil pondered her words. Odd as it felt to him, Deathknight sounded quite useful for a Tamer. Still, he had already invested in too many classes to dedicate himself to yet another.

“I would rather have unlocked a Paladin class,” he confessed. Basil would have loved to strike down demons and dragons like Saint George reborn.

“You won’t,” Vasi replied. “I’m sorry Basil. I doubt you can unlock Crusader either, or any holy class for that matter.”

“What?” Basil choked. He was an Orthodox rather than a Catholic, but his faith remained unshaken. It had to count for these classes, right? “Why?”

“You have a weak Light affinity,” Vasi explained. “Holy light literally hurts you more than normal people, and these classes make use of it. Considering how affinities work here, I don't think it will allow you to unlock them..”

“This… this is an outrage!” Basil protested. “Who decides affinities anyway?!”

Player affinities are determined by your history prior to the System’s initialization. You earned a Weak affinity to Light due to your night owl lifestyle.

Basil glared at the screen. Was it karma for a lifetime dedicated to avoiding natural sunlight and playing video games?

Dismaker Labs wishes you a happy apocalypse!

Basil wondered which of the five executives programmed that damn message. He would punch them all, just to be sure he didn’t miss the right one.

"How do you even know that?" Basil asked. "I thought Affinities weren't a thing in your world?"

"To prepare my ritual, I've been cross-referencing information with Walter, Orcine, and others," Vasi replied with a smile. "And it's simple deduction. If a weak affinity prevents you from learning spells of an element, then it should block access to classes affiliated with one."

Basil squinted at her. "Are you subtly suggesting I be more sociable?"

"Anyway," she said, blatantly ignoring the question. “Can I see your current stats? I want to see if one or two stand out from the rest.”

Vasi opened his status screen and forwarded it to her through the Logs system.

Name

Basil Jean-François Bohen

Type

You are reading story Apocalypse Tamer at novel35.com

Humanoid

Faction

Homeowner Revenge Association (The Bohens)

EXP

110,018/120,000

Immune

Resist

Weak

N/A

Physical, Corrosion, Metal, Wood, Fire, Water, Ailments.

Manslayer, Soul, Wind, Lightning, Light.

Level

Health Points

Special Points

30 (Tamer 16; Berserker 5; Alchemist 1; Runesmith 1; Gardener 3; Technomancer 3; Fisherman 1)

1480

615

Strength

Agility

Vitality

Skill

46

43

32

27

Magic

Intelligence

Charisma

Luck

31

27

39

27

Physical

Mind

Soul

Corrosion

Metal

Wood

Life

Support

Ailment

Strong

-

Weak

Strong

Strong

Strong

-

-

Strong

Fire

Water

Earth

Wind

Frost

Lightning

Light

Darkness

Mythic

Strong

Strong

-

Weak

-

Weak

Weak

-

-

Passive Perks

Active Perks

Monster Charmer III

Warp Spasm I

Slaughterer I

Jardin Secret I

Alchemy I

Magitek

Monster Lair II

Spell: Fire Rune

Runic II

Spell: Ice Rune

Fishing I

Fuel Technology

Monster Insight

Greenhand I

Monster Cure I

One for All I

Spell: Venomous Rune

Spell: Corrosive Rune

“A brawler through and through.” Vasi nodded to herself as she read. “You have excellent physical stats, especially in Strength and Agility, good Charisma, but relatively mediocre Intelligence, Luck and Skill.”

“I’m surprised my Magic is now higher than these three,” Basil said. “I was lagging behind in it.”

His low Intelligence remained a sore spot for him, but he was surprised to see it catching up to his Luck and Skill. Maybe his situation wasn’t so hopeless after all.

“It’s still far too low for you to become a true spellcaster,” Vasi pointed out. “Everyone in the party except for Bugsy has better Magic than you.”

“I don’t need it.” Basil crossed his arms. “We have a pretty balanced party already. Bugsy is our main tank and frontliner. Plato is the flanker, the agile damage dealer. You’re the flying magical artillery. Shellgirl is a long-range fighter and disruptor. Rosemarine is our healer and spawner.”

Vasi chuckled. “I would say she’s a dreadnaught first and healer second.”

“Yeah, well, all of us have secondary focuses.” Shellgirl’s metamorphosis allowed her to draw the enemy’s attention, Vasi could buff allies in a pinch, and Basil’s Monster Cure allowed him to heal his team if needed. “Which leaves me. The Tamer and generalist.”

“My suggestion stands, you should fill out Tamer first,” Vasi said. “Afterwards though, I would suggest taking levels in Deathknight.”

Basil squinted at her. She suggested that he take yet another class? “I thought specialization was the key to success?”

“It is, when done the right way.” Vasi took a pose that reminded Basil of his high-school teachers. It felt slightly patronizing. “Berserker already gave you good melee abilities, but they don’t synergize well with the rest of your build. I suggest taking levels in Deathknight because its Perks will bridge the Berserker levels with your Tamer side. It will empower your melee abilities and strengthen us.”

“What about the classes I already took levels in?” Basil asked with skepticism. “Both Fisherman and Gardener should synergize well with Tamer.”

“After much consideration, I honestly think you should abandon these two,” Vasi replied. “Fisherman is exceptionally dangerous when capped, but its effectiveness heavily relies on the terrain. Unless we settle in a fishing village or trade our shell for a ship, its help will be situational at best.”

“Exceptionally dangerous?” Basil snorted. “Fisherman?”

To his surprise, Vasi gave him a potent glare. “The Fisherman class is illegal in my home country and highly restricted almost everywhere in my world.”

“You’re pulling my leg.”

“I’m not. Most of its Perks are so-so, but the capstone turns almost every fish in a large area into a bloodthirsty killing machine.” Her scowl deepened. “Mad Fishermen wipe out more communities annually than demons, dragons, and fairy lords combined.”

My God, she’s serious. Basil searched her expression for any hint of a joke or mockery. He found none. Take that, Aquaman.

“At least, that’s how the class works in my world,” Vasi finished with a shrug. “We have no guarantee it will offer the same Perks on this one. Gardener will also be less effective now that we no longer have, well, a garden to harvest from.”

“I thought about raising a greenhouse on the Steamobile’s upper floor,” Basil replied. “And we need more food.”

“Even so, this class’ effectiveness will be situational. I agree it will help us more than Fisherman, but unless you intend to return to the Guild periodically we’ll need it less than a combat-oriented class. Or Alchemist and Technomancer, who should help us create useful items and improve our caravan. I can brew my own potions, but they’ll never compare to what a specialized crafter class can make.”

“So you say my Fisherman and Gardener levels are wasted?”

“No level is ever wasted,” Vasi replied. “Perks and stat increases are always good to unlock new classes. I don’t think you could have gained access to Deathknight without a Berserker’s proficiency for example. But you should be wary of sunk cost fallacy, Basil. Taking a level in the ‘wrong’ class shouldn’t encourage you to fill it out. Sometimes it’s better to cut your losses and move on to a better choice.”

Basil clenched his jaw. Her advice made sense on paper, but it sounded like a waste to him.

Then again, he didn’t have to make a choice now. He still needed to fill out the Tamer class first before investing in others.

“What do you think of my other options?” Basil asked as he forwarded Vasi his other unlocked classes. “Anything you suggest?”

“Poisoner… Chef… Gambler… nothing that meshes well with your existing classes. Druid is good, but your average Magic and Intelligence will hamper it.” Vasi frowned as she read. “Dragonknight?”

“It’s a class specialized in fighting with or against dragons,” Basil said. “I have one outside, and I declared war on an alien civilization full of them. It could fit me better than Deathknight.”

“Maybe,” Vasi conceded. “I can’t tell, I do not know much about that one. You should consult Walter. He will certainly provide more information.”

Oh, good point. What better class advisor to players than a hidden superboss? Walter offered help in exchange for a laptop to study and Basil could oblige him. It wouldn’t be hard to find an abandoned city with one on the road to Bordeaux.

In the meantime, Basil would return to his crafting roots. His new Jekyll & Stein manual simply offered too many new options for him to pass on.

It was time to rebuild his potion stockpile.

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