Discredited

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"Fools the lot of 'em. How can they not see the potential?" In a damp and dark cellar, a man worked alone with numerous strange contraptions. Scattered across the many tables and shelves were containers of all kinds. Some were large metal pots that could fit gallons' worth of liquids. Others were smaller, clear, and glasslike. The only thing that could be said to be similar about them all would be that they were filled with strange liquids.

The man that was rushing from pot to pot, container to container, mixing them and stirring them, was wearing clothes that didn't fit the environment he was in. The lab coat draped over his body, along with the high-quality shoes covering his feet, didn't match the wet, dark, and rundown stone walls holding up the ceiling. The man's body, however, was a different story. He had a thin, almost skeletal frame. Calluses covered his hands, and bruises were scattered all over his body.

The man picked up a container with a newly mixed substance inside and placed it onto a prepared fire. Watching the blaze reminded him of his rage, the disgrace he had suffered. His life used to be so great. He worked with his colleagues on their experiments, made new discoveries, and created never before seen potions. Why couldn't things be like they had before? An answer returned to him. "This is all their fault." His fists clenched, eyes narrowed. "They were too short-sighted."

The substance soon came to boil, with green bubbles separating from the boiling liquid and beginning to float out of the pot. Backing off quickly, the man ensured that none of the bubbles touched him.

A few minutes passed, and the bubbles stopped forming. Having spent the last few minutes calming down, he carefully picked up the container and hobbled over to another workstation. Next to the table was a metal pot larger than the others. There were many containers placed across the workstation. All of them were filled with different colored liquids and substances. He gradually poured the still boiling liquid into the giant gray pot. The substance barely concealed the bottom of the enormous pot. This didn't concern the Alchemist, however, as he just grasped the other containers and began pouring them all in. It was a rather haphazard operation with dangerous substances splashing on top of one another with no consideration. Eventually, the pot was filled with what could only be described as an abnormal substance. It was multi-colored, unevenly mixed, an abomination no matter how you looked at it.

The Alchemist, however, had other thoughts. He stared at it as if he had just accomplished his life's work. A maddened grin spread across his face. "It worked," was all he had to say before he clutched one of the smaller containers used earlier and used it to scoop up some of the newly mixed substance. Raising it to his lips, he downed it in a single gulp.

A content look appeared on his face. It didn't last long, however. A scream of pain erupted from his mouth as his body stiffened up and he collapsed to the ground. He went quiet and convulsed on the floor as white and red foamed from his mouth. The trembling man gradually came to a halt.

His eyes opened. It was then that the man realized. He wasn't dead. His hands had healed, his body had recovered, and he felt better and stronger than ever.

With a dangerous face, he muttered once more, "It worked."

He knew what to do.

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