A.N.: Alvor here, sorry to start this off on a sour note, but this was actually supposed to be posted… a while ago. Still! The plan in progress is to maybe take commissions for this month, probably wait until next month to take them - doubly so since I'll be starting school again too. What's important is that our work is (finally) done and we can actually try and get a few chapters out before I go have to math and accounting and nonsense like that.

Important details! So, first thing, this is technically a crossover between the Client's, user Azazelicko, original world and Worm. What that means is we're working with his notes a lot of the time and there's going to be a lot of things that need to be adjusted as we go.

Secondly, it also means that we, more or less, aren't in control of a lot of the overarching plot or details and we're working with specific orders to hit specific notes. Now, that's not bad, but it does mean we've gotta figure out how certain things are gonna work and mesh and push and pull and all the wonderful little fiddly bits that come about trying to make something work.

Considering we're being paid 100 bucks to write 10k words, understand I'm not complaining, just giving everyone a heads up!

Wyvern: As for me? I'm just in for the ride, writing as much as I want seems like a dream come true. Writing something someone else made and loved presents a challenge all its own. Hopefully we have managed to get the essence of the idea right.

Now then, onto the reading!


Swim… maybe.


Watching the water slowly climb up the inside of the beaker was beautiful, as it always was.

Molecules annihilating and reforming as acids and bases as the solute was consumed and consumed in turn.

Heat poured off of the glass, as a thin film of cloying steam - not water, something far more dangerous - began to form on the inside of the bottle. But that was what she wanted, what she needed. Because it was only from destruction that creation could come.

When there was a cracking sound from inside the flask Taylor's hands moved.

Making sure the metal connecting tube was secure, she turned the safety valve. Vapor and mist suddenly rushed out, attempting to fill the vacuum within the second container - this one a cylinder made out of brass and copper - leaving behind a black, rough looking matter at the bottom of her initial flask.

Taking her nigredo, her blackened material, she flipped on a small fan and ensured that the vapor was fully secured. Eventually satisfied, she once more checked the safety valves and unhooked the two containers.

Pouring the lump of ash and char into a pot of boiling water, this one on a totally normal campfire stove, she added flecks of silver and didn't so much as flinch as electricity leapt from the water to her finger. Considering the hundreds of tiny inscriptions on the stove, the pot, the walls, the floor, the chemistry set behind her, and the roof above her… that was actually the most normal thing about her set up.

Memories of being hunched over tiny pieces of slate for hours and hours came rushing back.

So did memories of the back pain.

And the cramping of her fingers, the pain in her joints, and how even a single drop of sweat could ruin so much of her effort.

But when she was working with her… speciality, well, there was always more to do.

Progress, a step forward, a single, infinitesimally small advances required sacrifice.

Not that she minded. When she began to attempt the yellowing process, well, she had been forced to re-etch her equipment. Right now, as the last of the water boiled off, there remained a small lump of her citrinitas, her silvered material, and to that she added a single drop of blood.

Pulling out a pen knife, she pricked her finger and watched as the small red droplet splashed against the yellow-silver creation. This too bubbled, then melted again, then filled the bottom of the pot. Just barely enough for a few swallows.

But by the time the process was complete, and when she had her rubedo, Taylor smiled as sucked on her pricked finger.

"Well, it'll do."

Her muttered words were low and the stove was shut off.

Bottling the substance was an easy process, after all, this substance would no longer react. And when she had placed it into a clear, pure crystal vial she smiled.

None of it was cheap, her product was the barest imitation of the real thing, and what she held in her hands was such a pale imitation of the real thing that any alchemist worth their salt would despair. But she wasn't an alchemist. She was a cape. And this might not be the Philosopher's Stone, but it was one of the most powerful curatives in the world. Not to mention it would also be paying for tonight's dinner.

She wondered how long it had been since her first try.

A few months?

Half a year? Perhaps not that much.

It hadn't been long since Taylor had begun to turn to books on philosophy, magic, and alchemy to try and understand a very odd, though definitely not the oddest, power. After all, there was a guy who went by the name Myrddin.

"Kiddo, you about done, dinner's cooling on the stove? Oh, Jesus, are you using the black candles again?" Blushing, the teenager in question couldn't help but fidget. "I thought you said that you were 'totally not a witch'." Daniel Hebert chuckled, the somewhat scrawny, bespectacled middle aged man somehow able to practically radiate smugness. "You know, your mother would be proud of you. Even if Gran might try and drag you to St. Paul's."

Now Taylor was really fidgeting.

"It's how my power works! I promise! Basically, well, I mean…." Blushing, she huffed. "Powers are bullshit Dad, you know that."

He raised an eyebrow, half way down the basement stairs, and clicked a lightbulb on.

"Oh, you used all the colored candles. And the magical symbols. And you're wearing your robes again. The one with the constellations on it. In the dark. Playing with a knife. To make a magic healing potion." He crossed his arms. "If you still think this isn't magic, then what is?"

"Um. Powers are bullshit?"

She knew her defense was weak, but it was all she really had to offer.

"I mean, do you know how Panacea's powers work? Or how Legend can turn into energy?"

Danny shook his head.

"They don't make potions in their basement and mutter spells. And I think the paparazzi would have gotten pictures of someone less famous if that's how all capes worked."

"Myrddin!" She was just thinking about him, everyone knew about him, and his powers were… weird too.

"Yes. The guy that claims to actually be Merlin."

Shaking his head one last time, Danny just ruffled his daughter's hair.

"Come on up when you're ready Taylor. I made chicken divan, green peas, and carrots. Your appointment is an hour and I wanna get there a little early to discuss billing."

Just like that, the conversation was over because she withdrew.

The teenager simply… shut down a little and her father's smile turned sad, squeezing her free hand and heading back upstairs. And even if she didn't say anything, Taylor was thankful for the space and time to think. Or at least push through the warring guilt and frustration and confusion that was starting to well up inside her again.

No easy task when you were a teenager.

And unfortunately, she wasn't average in that department either.

Even now, she still tried to work through the breathing exercises she'd been taught. The simple ones, the easy ones, the ones that kept her functioning when all she had to do was stop caring, stop trying to keep calm and her heart would rip itself out of her chest with its pounding.

In.

Out.

Let the calm in.

Let the hurt out.

She repeated the mantra until she felt calm enough to open her eyes.

Letting out a final, deep breath, she shook her head. Slipping out of the robes, in jeans and a button down underneath it, she carefully folded them and slid the glass vial in her pocket.

Washing her hands, something she tried to do every time she worked with her powers, was an easy affair. Even if the price tag of the cleaning solutions that she could stand did make her flinch.

'Well, I suppose that's why I became a potion maker.' Shaking her head, she tried to muster more than a sarcastic quip in her own mind.

Popping her back, and wincing a bit at a particularly loud crack, Taylor quickly made sure her candles were out, the matches were resting in a cup of water, and everything was as put away as it could be - at least without spending a couple hours cleaning it first. But that would be for tonight. When she needed the familiarity of the cleaning brush in her hands and the routine, ritual, even, of tending to her tools to relax.

All of that helped keep any unpleasantness to her waking hours, instead of her dreaming ones.

Working on her powers was… therapeutic in a way.

She got to focus on doing something that actually helped other people. Actually had meaning, while at the same time experimenting with the boundaries of her eccentric abilities. Which seemed hellbent on behaving like she was some sort of budding witch girl from a young adult novel.

The candles and symbols and chants - that much she could handle.

But Taylor felt extra silly whenever she had to don the 'ceremonial' garbs that the books described. As if she was practicing for some kind of Shakespearean play. Or was going through a phase. A really, really, really edgy phase.

As much as she might love them, her powers were actually bonkers on how they functioned.

With some kind of hydrokinesis as the base, Taylor could make handfuls of liquid float and move with a mere gesture of her hand. But even then, those gestures were draining and left her tired more often than not. Which was why she'd done research, looking into everything she could - anything related to water manipulation.

Of course, her powers decided to manifest as a rather context sensitive issue. Most capes didn't blab about how their powers worked and people over on PHO only ever had simple descriptions of powers and how they functioned based on ever continuous theory work.

Nothing that she could use.

Really, Taylor had been of half a mind on giving up right then and there. How could she help people if she could barely make water bubbles float?

And that was when she found one of Myrrdin's interviews.

'I'm not a fangirl.' Lips thinning in displeasure, the teenager couldn't help but recall her father's teasing her later over how… flamboyant her powers were. If she ever had to explain how they worked to another cape, Taylor was sure they would needle her over acting like the second coming of Myrddin.

Which, as much as she might not appreciate it, seemed like it might be rather likely.

In the interview, the self-proclaimed mage explained how he took inspiration from 'mystical feats of the past' to better ground his understanding of the 'arcane'. Most of it was meaningless babbling from a delusional attention seeker, Taylor was sure it had to be just him being dramatic.

But she'd been desperate at the time.

And that's how she found the guide to alchemy she'd been using for the past few months.

'That and I was bored.' It wasn't like she was going back to Winslow, and it was far too late to transfer to Arcadia, so Taylor had busied herself trying to work out a way to make her powers work.

Lo and behold, doing the funny things in the funny book while wearing funny clothes had worked.

And she would be forever embarrassed by it.

But the fact of the matter was that it had helped her.

Gave her something to focus on, a way to move forward.

A bridge that let her pretend to be normal in between her sessions.

Just ok had become her mantra.

"Hey Dad, wanna eat in the living room? Watch a movie or something?"

Danny glanced up at her, looking a little worried, but he relaxed when Taylor gave him her best hesitant smile. It was the little things that let them pretend they were normal and nothing was wrong. And maybe when all the crap had scabbed over they could go a few days without a breakdown or two.

"Sure. I think the Redbox bag is over there. Mind grabbing it for me?"

It was a little concession to her spending the days at home, but she had to admit that, picking up the sack of about a dozen movies, she was genuinely glad they didn't have to pay for these.

"We really are lucky Alexander's cousin had a friend that doesn't mind letting us borrow these."

"The benefits of working in a union honey." Danny stepped around his daughter, waggling his eyebrows. "After all, the pay is crap, the hours are crap, and if it's not the mayor kicking us in the teeth, it's the gangs trying to sell crack to our kids, or the main office in Boston spending two million on five star hotels."

"Oh, if it's so bad then why are you head of hiring?"

At this point, it was all Taylor could do not to laugh. After all, these complaints were both well worn and well loved. A hard day's work demanded a hard evening's bitchin', as some of the dock workers liked to say.

In the end, it didn't matter what went wrong - her father loved the men and women he worked with. Just like it didn't matter what movie they started or that it was raining cats and dogs outside or that she was definitely going to be late for her session. Sometimes, you just had to stick together and make it on through.

Here's a harsh truth about the life of a budding cape - everything is expensive.

In life, nothing worth owning comes cheap. Being a teenager, a nobody, and the daughter of a blue collar worker in an urban environment, well, the prices on everything you make can and will be haggled down by people around you just because you were the 'new kid' on the block.

And if you can't afford to haggle, then you need to get a reputation quick. Which obviously means you have to give freebies and demonstrations.

Only that wasn't going to fly with Taylor.

Between her… ahem… research material and her own workstation, the budding wannabe alchemist had been strapped for cash - and that was after buying everything at a discount to make sure she had a respectable lab. And by respectable she meant something that didn't look like it was being used by Merchants.

Though right now what she had amounted to something between 'my little mad scientist' and 'bootleg Jimmy Neutron'.

Laboratory equipment was expensive. Good equipment was even more so. Actually usable reagents could be bank account ruining for anyone on a budget.

So she decided that, before hitting the streets as a cape, to make sure she had the funds to be self-sufficient.

Well… apart from living with her dad, of course.

Equipment cost money.

Books about ancient chemistry and pseudo-science that wasn't wikipedia babbling cost a pretty penny too. Taylor's only saving grace was that the basic foundation she worked with was water, readily available and easy procured. What kept her from truly advancing, however, was the lack of proper tools.

She dreaded the day she'd have to log on ebay in search of an alembic.

"Kiddo, do you have the merchandise?"

Taylor rolled her eyes.

"Dad, please don't act like we are doing a drug run."

"We are kinda doing a drug run, though. Only it's the weird glowy kind that heals kidney stones. Speaking of, when you figure out how to really crank this stuff out, I'm pretty sure I can convince the union to buy it by the gallon"

The look she shot her dad was decidedly unamused.

"They aren't drugs, dad. They are-"

"Solutions, yeah. You said it before."

If only he would use the right name instead of teasing her!

'At least it's better than calling them potions or tinctures or philters or anything else associated with DnD.'

Though, if she was being honest, her father wasn't that far off with the comparison, however. They weren't supposed to be selling the stuff she made and were probably breaking half a dozen laws against manufacturing illegal substances with the intent of selling.

Of course, not a judge on earth would be able to tell her solutions apart from water. Because that's what they were, clean, pure water. Which just happened to glow red if you left it in the dark.

'Well, water, plus a large number of dissolved components, energized to a state that meant it should have been turned into vapor, and with properties that defy modern science.'

But it was still, technically, water.

In fact, no matter how hard she tried, there was no way to actually detect any of her ingredients. Admittedly, she only had the MK 1 eyeball and some basic gear, but the point stood that her creations didn't seem to obey the laws of conservation of matter or energy.

"I do think this is the most well lit drug deal I've ever been a part of though."

While it was obvious by her father's tone that he was having far too much fun with this whole scenario, Taylor couldn't resist poking back.

"So that's how you've kept the Union together. Huh, I figured you guys were moving more than cargo."

Danny was most definitely not amused with the deadpan reply.

"Har, har. Laugh it up. Anyways, that's their van, come on."

The large vehicle two parking spots down from them was unmarked, but the large ramp on the back kind of ruined the feel of a seedy meet up. There was also the fact that they were meeting at noon, around the back of the dock worker's office, with about half a dozen guys working in the background.

So, climbing out of her father's truck, the young alchemist walked a few steps behind the man who'd responded to her powers with careful hope and tentative excitement.

All to meet her first patient, client, whatever the Hell they were.

'Hopefully not trouble.'

Even now, there was more than a hint of nervousness. Enough that she couldn't quite keep her fingers from shaking.

"Hey Danny." A large man got out of the van. "Give me a sec, I'll get Mom." He was on the older side of middle aged, with pretty much completely grey hair. "Just be aware that, uh, she's a bit fragile you know?"

Taylor glanced at her father when he spoke, nodding along with his words.

"It's ok Tommy. Take your time, we aren't in a rush."

Watching the ramp lower with a mechanical whir, the young woman tried to smother her pity. Inside, an older woman, early sixties at the youngest, was holding the hand of an old man. He was… withered. Eyes sunken, skin like paper, body sagging into the mechanical wheelchair the old timer was trapped in. The bald head, not even a wisp of hair, told her exactly why he was the way he was.

Just meeting his eyes broke her heart.

What she made couldn't heal him.

There was little a solution that boosted the body's vitality could do when faced with the body destroying itself little by little. She was still far away from producing anything resembling the true universal cure.

She fervently wished she could in this very moment.

"You okay, kiddo?"

Taylor took a deep breath.

"I'm fine. Just help me unload the back seat."

It was unnecessary. The unnecessary act of a girl trying to distract herself from the harshness of reality. In truth, they didn't even need to move the old man - didn't need to even bring him. All that they were actually required to do was let him drink and he would be made more.

She just… wanted to do something.

Anything to occupy her trembling hands.

Unlatching the lock on the large trunk they'd loaded into the back seat of her father's truck, Taylor forced the heavy case open to reveal the soft glowing red light within as multiple glass containers glittered in the noon sun. Sparkling water of a color unlike any she'd seen before, as if she had liquified rubies.

The solution, Rubedo, was beautiful.

Now if only she could go past this stage.

"Ok. Let 's go." Prying out a single vial, about as big around as her thumb and filled with ten milliliters of solution, she held it up to the sun. "This should be enough."

Taylor walked over to their customers, taking a moment to actually look at the person this was for. Again, he was old, tired, and looked like he had nothing left in him. Like a stiff breeze would finish him off.

Somehow, that made her feel a little better and a little worse.

Better because maybe she could help this person, worse because she knew it wouldn't be enough.

"Here, sir, this is what I promised."

Offering the vial to the old timer, she gave him a smile.

Tommy looked… disbelieving? No, wary would be a better term. After all, you usually didn't drink some medicine to handle injuries from a fall. It wouldn't help with his father's current condition directly, nothing Tailor could make at present could fight off cancer. But what it could do was….

Quite a sight.

"Danny, are you sure about this?"

Tommy - the son of her client - spoke up, a bit more than a dash of hesitancy in his voice.

"To be honest, I'm not. I trust my daughter, but I'd be lying if I said I had a clue how any of this worked."

"Taylor Hebert." She held out her hand to the old man, his eyes alert and focused, even if they were tired. "Nice to meet you sir."

"I'm sorry honey, he can't-" The older woman - Mom from earlier she supposed - began to speak. Only for the old timer to rasp out a response.

"John." A deep, rasping breath. "Berkowitz."

She chuckled.

"Brave name for a place like this, Mr. Berkowitz."

His eyes smiled.

"Damn. Nazis. Polish."

Nodding, the teenager got the gist. He might not have been Jewish himself, but his people hadn't exactly scraped by when the funny mustache man had decided that a barrel of a gun could make you God. And now he was stuck, dying, in a city half ruled by people who thought cosplaying as crack addicted forties era german political groups gave them the right to kick every person they didn't like in the teeth.

"Lung cancer?"

"It started there. Then it spread to his liver. We were beating it, but…."

"I understand Mrs. Berkowitz." John had receded. Even just those five words left him exhausted. "Now, I want to make it clear to everyone that this won't cure the cancer. It's not… capable, I don't think, of attacking a tumor. Nigredo or Citrinas might be able to do such a thing, but this is Rubedo. What that means is that it's a bit like drinking liquid health. Like from the games kids play."

"I play DnD. My parents know enough to get what you're saying." Tommy interjected, holding out his hand. "Can I see it?"

Taylor handed over the small vial with a sigh of relief.

At least she wasn't making a fool of herself trying to explain how her totally-not-magic powers worked and why she was spouting terminology right out of a modern fantasy novella. Which, again, didn't get any easier no matter how many times she rehearsed it in front of the mirror.

"I guess a demonstration will be the quickest way to answer any questions." She slowly pulled a small switchblade from her pocket. Something she used to prepare ingredients with and cleaned nigh religiously and let the small knife pop out with a click of her finger.

Before pricking her finger with it.

"When I said 'liquid health' I meant that the solution doesn't know what it is healing or understand how it is healing. It's like a… booster shot. A way to help the body heal better and faster. You can either drink it, rub it in like a lotion, or even shoot it if that's easier."

She fished out another flask, letting a small droplet run down the edge and directly into the bleeding cut.

Before the eyes of her captive audience, Taylor's skin seemed to turn a deep red as the liquid seeped into the nick, a dim glow seeping through the skin as the wound slowly reknit itself. It would have taken all of a fraction of a second before the cut closed without so much as a hint of discoloration, the alchemist flashing a quick thumbs up.

"It works faster if you apply it to the area. But I suggest that you drink it. Even if it doesn't heal everything, the improved health will at least keep you more comfortable."

Taylor shrugged.

"I, well, obviously I haven't tested it out on cancer directly - it's just a gut instinct there - but I am pretty sure it won't make it worse." She paused. "Are you, you know?" The old man grunted and tried to laugh. "Ah. Yeah. Well, not much to lose on a gamble then." Once again she paused, eventually shaking her head. "Look, all I can say is that it should restore your 'health'. So even if it can't destroy the cancer cells directly, it should at least… buy you time."

Finishing lamely, she shrugged. The teenager had nothing left to say.

"Bottoms. Up."

Lips curling, even as his family fretted around him, the old man snatched the vial out of his son's hand and tipped the concoction back - sagging into his wheelchair as the last, final action he would ever take was finished.

And then, he started to change.