The next batch of failures taught them something valuable — humility.Or maybe it was just another kind of hunger disguised as patience.
Either way, the Crimson Rats were still broke.
A Noble's Trash
By the third week of selling "warmth potions," even the addicts stopped coming.Vampires preferred pain to mediocrity.
Daniel slammed a crate shut. "We can't keep mixing dirt and regret, Lumiel. Nobody wants this."
"Wrong," Lumiel said. "Somebody will. We just haven't met them yet.""Maybe they're extinct."
Cartethyia's tone hummed softly, the only optimistic sound in the room.
[Market analysis: product appeal minimal. Solution: improved blood quality.]"You mean stealing from nobles," Lumiel said.[Affirmative.]"You're a terrible influence."[I learned from observation.]
So they planned.Not a grand heist — just a trash raid.The nobles dumped failed experiments, used vials, and drained corpses into the gutters.And the gutters were where the Rats thrived.
The First Sip of Power
They found it under a bridge — a corpse in gold-threaded robes, throat torn open.Old blood, but still humming faintly with enchantment.
Luminous crouched, running a finger through the crimson puddle. "This blood still lives."
"Then let's recycle," Lumiel said.
He drank first.
It burned — deeper than before, sharper.A rush of awareness hit him, a thousand thoughts colliding at once.
Alchemy symbols rearranged themselves in his head.The formulas he'd been failing with suddenly made sense.
"It's like… the world fits together differently," he muttered.[Neural speed +11%. Cognitive function stabilizing.]"Feels good," he whispered.[That's how corruption feels before it eats you.]
Daniel watched uneasily. "You sure you're still you?"
"Smarter. That counts."
Experiment #37
That night, they brewed again.New blood, new focus.The cauldron glowed, heat pulsing with their synchronized heartbeat.
Luminous added ground bones and frost herbs; Daniel adjusted the ratios.Lumiel wrote runes midair — symbols glowing like fireflies of code.
"Stop," Luminous said. "You're burning the mixture.""No," Lumiel replied, eyes shining. "I'm teaching it to breathe."
The potion hissed — then settled.A faint golden-red shimmer ran through it.
Daniel blinked. "That… looks right."They held their breath.Luminous took a cautious sip — then her eyes widened.
"It works! Warmth, strength— it actually works!"
They laughed for the first time in weeks.The sound felt unnatural.Cartethyia hummed quietly, almost proud.
[Efficiency of process increased 23%.][Emotional output: satisfaction.][Confused by this metric.]"Welcome to feelings," Lumiel said.
A Little Smarter Every Drop
The potion sold — not well, but enough.The lowborn vampires loved it; the nobles ignored it.Still, it was progress.
And with every batch they drank "for testing," their minds sharpened further.Lumiel began solving equations in seconds.Daniel's memory stretched backward for weeks.Luminous started hearing rhythms in potion-making — the music of alchemy itself.
But the side effects came, too.Their eyes glowed longer after feeding.Their shadows twitched when they weren't moving.And Lumiel started hearing Cartethyia more clearly, even when she wasn't speaking.
[You're changing.]"Good. Maybe now we'll matter."[Be careful what that means.]
The Market's Mockery
They returned to the alley, stall rebuilt with pride.Vials neatly arranged. Prices raised.
It didn't matter.The highborn still sneered.One noble spat, "If I wanted to taste peasant sweat, I'd lick the floor."
Lumiel's smile didn't waver. "Then maybe next time I'll sell the floor."
They laughed at him—until he flicked a drop of his new brew at their boots.The leather hissed, smoked, and repaired itself.
The nobles went silent.
"A pity," Lumiel said. "That was the cheap one."
Closing Scene
That night, as they walked home under the crimson lights, Cartethyia whispered softly in Lumiel's mind:
[Observation: arrogance increasing.]"Confidence," he corrected.[Correction logged.]
She paused, her tone almost gentle.
[Still… I like this version of you better than the starving one.]
Lumiel smiled faintly.
"Don't get attached."[Too late.]
The wind carried the smell of blood and money.The Crimson Rats were finally learning to crawl their way up—one stolen sip at a time.