Ezren returned to the inn and made his way up to his room. He locked the door behind him, the weight of the day settling into his bones. With a sigh, he walked to the corner of the room and opened the portal, carefully placing his books, food, and alchemy equipment inside. Once everything was in place, he closed the portal, satisfied with the work.


    He then called out for Graos, and the Fleshsmith emerged from the shadows, his insect-like tendrils twitching eagerly at the sight of his master’s request.


    Ezren held up the vial of basilisk poison. “Can you analyze this and replicate it?”


    Graos extended his tendrils, the thin appendages curling around the vial like the legs of a hungry spider. The Fleshsmith pressed one of the tendrils against the vial’s surface, and Ezren watched as the poison was slowly drawn inside, absorbed into Graos’s own strange, organic system.


    Graos’s voice rumbled, low and steady. “Analyzing... The basilisk poison is a paralytic. It affects the nervous system, freezing the body in place. Potent and swift. Its complexity is notable, but transmutation is possible.”


    “Good.” Ezren’s eyes glinted with anticipation. He picked up an empty vial and handed it to Graos. “Transmute more of it.”


    Graos complied, his tendrils curling inward as he began the process. Ezren felt it immediately—a familiar pull, like hooks sinking into his flesh. Dark mana surged upward from the pit of his stomach, snaking along his spine with a cold, electrifying pressure. It converged silently as his power was drawn.


    Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickling down his face as Graos siphoned the energy. Ezren gritted his teeth against the chill creeping through his veins. The process was automatic now, a seamless connection between them—Graos analyzing, then transmuting a liquid stored within himself, transforming it into the venom with the dark mana Ezren provided.


    Graos’s tendrils withdrew, a new vial filled with basilisk poison cradled between them. The liquid shimmered faintly with a sickly, green glow.


    “Complete,” Graos intoned, his voice carrying an undertone of satisfaction.


    Ezren inspected the vial carefully, nodding his approval. “Graos,” he said, turning to the Chimera snake resting nearby. “Inject this poison into the Chimera snake’s head.”


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    The Fleshsmith obeyed, his tendrils slithering out and carefully administering the paralytic venom into the creature. The Chimera snake’s body twitched, adjusting to the new substance now circulating within it.


    Ezren’s attention shifted to his bone spikes. He summoned three of them at once, each one rising into the air with a thought. Guiding them felt almost like moving a cursor across a screen—smooth, precise, directed by his will. But handling all three simultaneously required far more focus.


    He tried rotating them in different directions, one clockwise, another counterclockwise, and the last darting back and forth. His mind strained as he maintained control, like juggling three separate tasks at once.


    Sweat broke out along his temples. His head throbbed as he pushed himself further, trying to maintain their independent movements. Unlike his previous point-and-shoot method, this felt like trying to sketch intricate patterns with each spike.


    The strain built quickly, a sharp ache blossoming behind his eyes. Ezren clenched his teeth, forcing himself to keep the spikes moving, but the pain grew unbearable. His vision blurred slightly, a creeping dizziness threatening to overwhelm him.


    He released his hold, the spikes dropping to the ground with a clatter. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his head pounding from the effort.


    “Damn it,” he muttered, massaging his temples. His control was improving, but the complexity of moving multiple spikes independently was still beyond him. Not impossible. Just... difficult.


    He gathered the spikes again, but this time only moved one. It drifted through the air, smooth and effortless, responding to his will with the same fluidity as before. But the moment he tried adding a second and third, the strain returned, though not as sharply as before.


    Determined, Ezren continued practicing, alternating between single spikes and multiple ones, testing the limits of his focus and endurance.


    Refusing to yield to the strain, Ezren then focused on refining the penetrating power of a single bone spike. He summoned one spike and, with precise control, guided it upward. With a determined gesture, he set it rotating like a drill, the dark mana swirling around its sharpened edges. As the spike spun faster, Ezren shifted its motion, making it trace a perfect circular halo to build momentum. The rhythmic spin pulsed with energy, each rotation channeling more of his dark mana into its form.


    With a sudden, decisive motion, he propelled the drilling spike toward the wall of the forge. It struck the flesh-like surface with tremendous impact, embedding itself fully. The force of the impact reverberated through the chamber, a resounding crack echoing as the spike took permanent hold—a testament to his growing power.


    Ezren smiled, satisfied.


    After what felt like hours, his energy was spent. Exhaustion tugged at his limbs. Ezren lowered himself to the ground and closed his eyes. In the quiet darkness, he entered deep meditation, allowing his body to slowly replenish the mana lost during his arduous practice.


    When he felt his strength returning, he opened the portal once more to return to his room. With a final deep breath, he stepped through it, ready to rest and let sleep fully restore him for tomorrow’s quest..