Page 17 of Demon Lord's Proposal

Sage's frustration is palpable, but then... something changes. A look of inspiration crosses her face. In a move I've never seen before, she combines a counterclockwise stir with a sprinkle of Abyssal Salt, all while humming a low note that seems to resonate with the mixture.

The result is... impressive. The elixir stabilizes, taking on a deep, shimmering quality that speaks to its potency. I struggle to maintain my stern expression, even as a part of me marvels at her innovation.

"Adequate," I grunt, refusing to let my admiration show. "But don't get cocky. You've barely scratched the surface of what's possible."

As our session nears its end, I delve into more advanced concepts. "The Principle of Infernal Resonance states that demonic energies can be harmonized through specific vibrational frequencies. This interplays with the Theory of Ethereal Displacement, which posits that magical energies can be transferred across planar boundaries through carefully calibrated alchemical matrices."

I continue, pushing the limits of her understanding. "Consider the implications of the Paradox of Transmutative Conservation. When we alter the fundamental nature of a substance, where does its original essence go? Some theorists argue for the existence of an alchemical plane where discarded properties accumulate..."

To my surprise and grudging approval, Sage keeps up with the complex theories, even asking insightful questions that show she's grasping the deeper implications.

Finally, as the first hints of dawn begin to creep into our underground lab, I set her final task. "For our next session, you will create a Phantasmal Paradigm Shifter. It requires precise control of spiritual energies, integration of at least seven rare components, and manipulation of the very fabric of reality."

I fix her with a stern glare. "This elixir allows the drinker to temporarily alter their perception of reality, potentially granting them insights into alternate planes or parallel hells. Needless to say, the consequences of failure could be... catastrophic. Don't disappoint me."

As Sage stumbles away, exhaustion evident in every line of her body, I allow myself a small, private smile. The girl has potential. More than I expected. Perhaps, just perhaps, she might be of use after all.

9

SAGE

Istep into the lab, my fingers raw and aching from weeks of relentless practice. It's been three months since Deus first took me on as his apprentice, though it feels like a lifetime. The scent of sulfur and exotic herbs hits me, once alien but now as familiar as my own reflection.

"You're here," Deus says, his crimson eyes appraising me. "Ready to show what you've learned?"

I nod, flexing my aching hands. "As ready as I'll ever be."

He gestures to the workbench. "Then begin. Create something... extraordinary."

I approach the array of ingredients, my mind racing through the countless formulas and incantations I've memorized. Each component seems to hum with potential energy, waiting to be unlocked by the right combination of words and gestures.

"Any specific parameters?" I ask, already reaching for a vial of liquid starlight.

"Surprise me," Deus replies, his voice a low rumble.

I take a deep breath, centering myself. The first incantation forms on my lips, a string of harsh syllables that make my tongue ache. As I speak, I trace a complex sigil in the air, my fingers moving with practiced precision despite their soreness.

The liquid starlight responds, rising from its vial and hovering in midair. I carefully manipulate it, shaping it into a perfect sphere as I continue the incantation.

Hours pass in a blur of muttered spells and intricate hand movements. My throat grows raw from the constant stream of arcane language, each word feeling like it's being torn from my very soul. But I push through the discomfort, driven by determination and the intoxicating rush of power flowing through me.

Suddenly, a crucial step goes wrong. The elixir begins to froth violently, threatening to destabilize. Panic grips me as I realize I've misaligned a key sigil.

"Shit!" I hiss, my mind racing through possible solutions.

Deus takes a step forward, but I hold up a hand. "I've got this."

I close my eyes, recalling a particularly obscure counterspell I'd stumbled upon during one of my late-night study sessions. The words feel like broken glass in my mouth as I speak them, but I push through, tracing a complex pattern with both hands simultaneously.

The effect is immediate – the frothing subsides, and the elixir takes on a mesmerizing, iridescent quality.

"Impressive recovery," Deus murmurs, a hint of approval in his voice.

I continue working, each step requiring intense concentration and precise movements. My muscles ache from holding difficult positions, but I dare not falter. One mistake could undo hours of work.

As the elixir nears completion, I'm struck by its unique appearance. The liquid shimmers like captured starlight, with swirls of deep crimson dancing through it. The aroma is intoxicating, a blend of night-blooming flowers and something distinctly... otherworldly.

I make final adjustments, my fingers trembling slightly from exhaustion as I trace the last sigils. Each gesture must be perfect, each word pronounced exactly right. The margin for error is nonexistent.

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