Grey's hands moved with increasing precision as he mixed the ingredients, his focus narrowing entirely on the pill cauldron before him. The faint, acrid smell of the poisons filled the air, clinging to the walls of the small cabin, but Grey barely noticed it anymore. His senses were already dulled to the intensity of the concoctions he regularly dealt with. Each breath he took, each minute of concentration, was a step closer to refining the poison to its lethal perfection.
The poisonous gold-leaf night grass dissolved into the base liquid with a sizzle, releasing a faint golden glow before it vanished into the swirling blackish brew. Next came the retarded blood shoot, a deep crimson liquid that swirled like liquid fire as it touched the mixture. The result was a sinister red-black hue that flickered ominously under the pale glow of the candles surrounding the room. The air seemed to hum with suppressed energy, and the thick atmosphere of poison grew heavier.
