Part III – The Discovery
Chapter 2 – The Milking
Location: Nektar’s Cauldron
Timeline: Sixth Age of Substance, 46th Year, Spring
Rejoice with me, friends, as I tell you a tale of fun! How’d you like to hear about me splaying open some poor sap in my Life Labs? Ooh, you’re in for a real treat in this chapter…
Picture this – At The Cauldron, my obsidian citadel loomed like a predator over the desolate landscape of Kra, its jagged spires carved into the side of the volcano and piercing a sky choked with ash and despair. As always the air outside was thick with the stench of sulfur, a miasma that clung to the throat, while the ground lay cracked and barren, dotted with gnarled, leafless trees that twisted toward a sun that rarely broke through the haze to shine upon the minions of mortals trying to eek out a meager existence as my slaves. Inside, the corridors of my stronghold echoed with the distant wails of the damned, their cries a haunting melody that reverberated off the slick, black walls, where condensation glistened like tears in the flickering torchlight. Oh, spring may have arrived in the Sixth Age’s 46th year, but its warmth could not penetrate the cold heart of my domain—nor the colder heart of The Life Labs.
The Labs were my place to perform all the scientific experiments I could ever think up – and believe me I could think of a lot. It was here that I’d created countless species of mortals who plagued your flat earth. There were, in fact, over a hundred lab rooms, but there was one special one – the place where I performed my most important work, where I knew I would eventually unlock the secrets of Life, The Universe, and Everything. This was Life Lab Room 101!
Granted, if you’d been unlucky enough to find yourself in Room 101, you’d probably view it as a cavern of horrors. The chamber’s walls were lined with shelves of grim tomes bound in what might have been flesh, their spines etched with runes that pulsed faintly with a sickly green glow. The air was sharp with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid bite of chemicals, a scent that clung to the back of the throat like a curse. Special “daylight” torches – their flames an unnatural white – cast a stark brightness across the room, illuminating every grotesque detail in a cruel parody of sunlight—an evil paradox to the deadly pall that emanated from the macabre scene.
Yet, Room 101 was a testament to my scientific glory, a workshop designed with meticulous precision. Cages of various sizes lined the wall opposite the entrance, their iron bars unyielding, each waiting to hold my next victim. A small wooden chest sat tucked away under a long buffet on the northern wall—a curious item with a story of its own, one I might share another time, for its contents hold secrets even darker than those of this lab. And then there was the room’s centerpiece – four metal tables that dominated the scene, each a custom manufacture of my own design, their steel surfaces gleaming with an icy sheen that belied their grim purpose.
The tables varied in size, from the giant one—almost twenty feet long and fifteen feet wide, perfect for dissecting larger abominations—down to the smallest, a mere two by three, suited for more delicate work. Each had raised edges on three sides, except at the bottom, where the legs were deliberately shorter, creating a subtle slope. Why, you ask? Because whenever I had a subject exposed on the cutting board, their blood would flow freely and I couldn’t bear to lose even a drop of that beautiful Adrenochrome essence, so the slope ensured that precious liquid dutifully trickled into troughs waiting below the edge, collecting that lifeblood for my further studies.
Beside each steel slab stood a handy little push cart, which I could wheel into place wherever I needed it. Upon each cart was a plethora of specialized cutting tools—flaying knives, bone saws, impalers, and the like—alongside situational instruments such as forceps, clamps, vices, and hooks, their metal surfaces polished to a mirror-like finish. An array of leather straps and tiebacks rested there as well, necessary for securing my visitors, who rarely arrived by choice – so I made sure they were strapped down, for their own protection, of course.
Wash stands stood at the head of every work area, their basins filled with steaming water and cleansing agents. Besides the fact that a god likes to be clean, long ago, I realized the value of surgical cleanliness in my experiments, and as such, I ensured that my workspace, instruments, test subjects, and even myself were always well-scrubbed. I’ll admit, I probably carried this eccentricity to a fault—the slightest note of dirt or grime upon anything in my sacred labs would send me into a rage, and my servants paid a heavy price for their messiness, their screams a reminder of my exacting standards. Yet, this well-washed neatness allowed me to be reasonably confident in the validity and accuracy of my findings, knowing that none of my experiments had been skewed by sloppiness. I’m sure you see the value in that, right?
Over the years, the work I’d done in the Life Labs had propelled me into becoming the foremost expert on the physiological workings of all the peoples that once roamed your world. It was that knowledge that had already given me the ability to create entire new species of creatures in the past—like the Viperz for example – creatures with unique Knowledge Sacs, a genetic quirk I engineered into their physiology when I first designed their race. It was wisdom of this kind that I knew would one day provide me with the key I needed to position myself as the Ultimate Ruler of the Three Planes of Existence—a position held then, and now, by the Great God A’H. Yet that would change one day – or so I hoped.
And yet, because the work I did in my labs was so critical to the long-term success of my personal mission, everything was a closely held secret. As such, the only reason I ever admitted a person to my labs was with the express purpose of making them a subject in one of my experiments. All others were required to remain outside—under penalty of grim death. This applied even to the servants who tended my needs while in the lab. Whenever they transported a new subject for one of my studies, my slaves prepped the new arrival in The Cleansing Rooms before transferring them to a waiting cell in the hallway outside the various labs.
Curious about The Cleansing Rooms? Picture your finest Turkish bath, and your vision will still fall short. My Cleansing Rooms oozed luxury for anyone lucky enough to experience them—for I needed every subject to be in perfect shape, mentally and physically, for my work on them. First, they enjoyed a bathing montage of relaxing soaks, aromatherapy soaps, and aggressive scrubbing to remove the dirt and grime that inevitably caked onto anyone living in this era. Then they were shaved and groomed as needed, followed by time in saunas, steam rooms, and mental preparation classes. When each was finally ready, they were brought to the cells outside The Labs, there to await their final fate—where I would remove the last vestiges of their soul!
For no one entered the labs unless they wanted to be part of the experiments themselves. Lest you think the mortals used in my studies were forlorn victims of fate, ask yourself this: would you rather be an abandoned prisoner left to slowly starve in The Cauldron’s dungeons—where only feces-infested beds and a colorful array of rats were your companions—or would you instead prefer to experience the chance to be thoroughly cleaned for the first time in your life, wait briefly on a spotless steel bench in one of the cages inside my labs, and then be blessed with the penultimate experience of your life as a critical part in one of my experiments? In short, would you rather be forgotten or potentially celebrated for all time? I’ll admit, it probably wasn’t all fortune and glory for my experimentees. We both knew there was a price to pay for their participation—that price was pain: slow, grueling, exhausting pain. A pain so unbearable that it would force breathtakingly horrible screams from their throats, cringing howls begging me to pause the poisonous caress with which I touched them. Oh, how glorious it all was!
<Fccshoo. Fccshoo.>
Aspus’ fangs punctured the thin gutskin cover fastened over yet another vessel, the sound a sharp, wet echo in the sterile silence of Room 101. The changeling was in snake form at this time—a requirement for a proper reconnaissance milking session. Although I’d brought Aspus to the Life Labs and did indeed plan to use him in an experiment, I figured it would be a good idea to milk him first—because, hey, you never know what you’ll find, right? I grasped the sides of his viper jaws, my skeletal fingers precise as I located the Knowledge Sacs behind his brain, a special genetic quirk I had built into the Viperz when I designed them. Prior to beginning the milking, I’d already emptied the useless poison sacs and cleaned the fangs to ensure they wouldn’t contaminate the knowledge I sought. Only then did I attempt to gather the covert mission information Aspus had stored for me.
<Pssheeew. Pssheeew. Pssheew.>
The cloudy, green viscosity of his knowledge flowed into the jar, its faint glow casting eerie reflections on the steel table’s surface. “Well, well,” I couldn’t help but admire Aspus, my voice a low hiss of delight, “you have quite a story to tell now, don’t you, dear? I can’t recall the last time I filled FOUR Reconnaissance Jars! By Haaz, I wonder how much more your sacs could have held before they burst?” My scientific mind immediately turned to the possibilities, and I made a mental note to study that question in a future experiment—what would happen if the sacs burst? The thought sent a shiver of anticipation down my spine.
As I continued milking Aspus, I was excited about reviewing the intelligence he’d brought back—but that doesn’t mean I was happy at the time. Recall that I’d let myself foolishly consider the possibility that Aspus might have returned with The Grim—that magical dagger I’d been searching for over centuries. When I didn’t find the blade in the Viperz’s packs, my anger erupted like a volcano, and some of my slaves paid the price, their screams echoing through the citadel as I vented my frustration. It wasn’t until later, in a calmer moment, that I remembered the mission I’d sent Aspus on did not actually entail retrieving The Grim, but instead gathering information about Pesties and the Drrukka of Akka. In a more composed state, I poked through the contents of Aspus’s belongings again—noting some uneaten, now-moldy rations, an empty water jug, a few hand-drawn maps smudged with dirt, and some rather interesting bones, their surfaces etched with strange markings. I classified, tagged, and stored all items for a later review, then turned my attention to learning what I could from Aspus himself.
“And with that, the final vessel is filled,” I announced, removing the viper’s fangs from the gutskin and pulling the jar away. Exhausted by the process, the snake’s head fell limply forward over the table’s edge, its scales scraping faintly against the steel, though its body remained securely fastened—belly to cold metal—by the leather straps I had tied him down with. The air in the room seemed to grow heavier, the sterile cleanliness now tinged with the faint, coppery scent of Aspus’s exertion, a reminder of the life I held in my hands.
Would that this were a typical milking session, the ordeal would have ended for Aspus, and he could have quickly recovered—but alas for him, I had other uses for him in The Lab. “Excellent,” I said, surveying the cloudy, green viscosity that filled the Reconnaissance Jars, their contents shimmering with the knowledge I craved. “I am certain that you have done well, my child—I can feel that the knowledge you’ve brought back is all that you know and exactly what I was seeking. For how could you disobey your god?” My voice was a mocking croon, laced with the certainty of my dominion.
I poked a bony finger through the instruments on the cart next to Aspus’s body, my skeletal hand hovering over the glittering array until I selected two long, needle-like pikes, their tips sharp enough to pierce through bone. “However,” I continued, my tone darkening as I picked up the needles, “I would be remiss if I did not make absolutely sure that you are giving me ALL that you know. After all, I have waited too long to arrive at this moment. Thus…” I strategically inserted the thin pikes into carefully selected points between the snake’s skull and the connective tissue of his body proper, the metal sliding in with a faint, wet sound. Aspus’s body twitched for only a moment, a brief spasm of pain, then returned to its limp, relaxed state, the sedative properties of the needles ensuring his compliance. “That should keep you feeling good till I return,” I said, my grin revealing the jagged edges of my teeth. “Then we can continue our… discussion.”
At this point, I washed my hands and my surgical instruments in a cleansing pot, the steaming water hissing as it met the cold steel, the scent of cleansing agents mingling with the lab’s metallic tang. I wheeled the cart holding the Reconnaissance Jars out of the Lab, the wheels squeaking faintly against the spotless floor, leaving Aspus’s sedated body to await my return. The torches cast long, flickering shadows across the room, their light glinting off the steel tables and the caged figures along the wall, whose eyes followed me with a mixture of dread and resignation. The air grew still, the silence broken only by the faint drip of condensation from the ceiling, each drop a reminder of the inevitable fate that awaited all who entered my domain. I, Azazel, would return soon enough—and when I did, Aspus’s true torment would begin.
The Apocrypha of Azazel 