Chapter 116: Rebirth
Devon lay motionless on the cold, polished floor of his lab, his body as still as the steel tables surrounding him. The pulse of rock music blasted from hidden speakers, filling the room with raw, electric energy. Guitars wailed, sharp and fierce, while drums pounded a relentless beat, but Devon’s chest stayed silent, no breath, no heartbeat.
His eyes were shut tight, his skin pale under the harsh white lights, glowing faintly like polished stone. Dried blood from his earlier collapse streaked his cheeks, dark and crusty, staining his white singlet in jagged patterns.
The system timer ticked in his mind, It dropped steadily, each second a heavy thud, counting down the gamble he’d made with death itself.
The lab thrummed with life, a stark contrast to his stillness. Bioluminescent plants lined the walls, their soft green glow pulsing gently, casting shifting shadows over his unmoving form, like whispers of light in a dark forest. A tank of lab-grown mini-hearts thumped in the corner, their steady beats syncing with the music’s rhythm, a strange pulse of life in the quiet.
The 3D printer hummed softly, layering cells into fresh test tissues, its mechanical whir blending with the guitars roar. Robotic arms hung still above the tables, their sleek metal catching the light, poised as if waiting for a signal. Screens glowed with unfinished experiments, graphs spiking wildly, molecular models spinning in hypnotic loops, data blinking in real-time. The air system whooshed, pulling in crisp, sterile oxygen, keeping the lab as clean as a surgical ward.
The music pressed on, guitars tearing through the air, filling the space with restless energy, as if the lab itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to shatter the silence.
Minutes dragged into an hour, then two, the timer slipping to Time Left: 14:42:38. The lab felt hollow, the music’s beat the only sign of motion. The blood on Devon’s singlet darkened, flaking off in the cool air, dusting the floor like ash. Machines kept their quiet vigil, the spectrometer whirred, its fans a low drone; the nano-injector cooled with a faint hum, a test tube clinked softly in its rack.
Then, a spark. Devon’s right hand twitched, fingers curling slowly, stiff but stirring, as if reaching for something just out of grasp. His eyelids flickered, hesitant, then snapped open, eyes sharp and blazing, locking onto the ceiling’s intricate web of lights and sensors.
A grin spread across his face, slow and confident, his lips curling with the satisfaction of someone who’d just outsmarted fate. He sat up smoothly, no gasping, no choking, just a deep, deliberate breath that filled his lungs with clean, sweet air. The music hit a soaring note, guitars screaming triumph, the lab vibrating with the sound, as if it was cheering him on.
A sharp ding echoed in his head, and a system screen flickered to life, bright and bold in his vision.
[System Notification]
[You who face death without fear, who risk everything for answers is brave and bold]
Hidden Quest Completed: Trial by Fire
Reward: Active Regeneration – Your body heals fast from any damage, cells rebuilding stronger, faster, undoing harm in moments. It also learns from pain, reinforcing muscle fibers, thickening bones, and sharpening reflexes. The more you’re hurt, the harder you are to hurt again.
Devon flexed his hand, a warm tingle spreading through his veins, his blood pulsing with life, stitching itself back together. The cure had worked, slow but relentless. He’d injected pure Aerothrax, a concentrated dose far deadlier than the mist seeping through the hospital’s vents, built to kill in minutes rather than hours.
The cure was designed for the weaker, airborne strain, so it took time to dismantle the heavy poison, breaking it down molecule by molecule, bond by bond. It wasn’t a misstep, it was a calculated test, pushing the cure to its absolute limit to be certain it could handle the worst. His grin widened, teeth flashing in the lab’s light. He felt good better than good, like he’d been reborn.
The Active Regeneration surged through him, his body buzzing with energy, every cell waking up fresh and strong. The dried blood on his cheeks flaked away completely, leaving smooth, unscarred skin that seemed to glow faintly. His heart, which had pounded erratically under the poison’s grip, now beat steady and powerful, the pain erased, as if it had never existed.
He stood, legs solid, no trace of the wobble that had dropped him earlier. Energy coursed through him, muscles tight yet loose, ready to spring. He stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders, feeling light and sharp, like he could run a marathon or fight a storm. Cuts would heal in seconds, bruises fade in moments, a gift for surviving his reckless dance with death.
"Nice," he muttered, his voice low but buzzing with excitement, nearly lost in the music’s roar.
He caught his reflection in a polished steel panel on the wall, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, his face looking younger, sharper, as if the poison had burned away something old and left something new in its place.
The music shifted to a heavier track, drums pounding like a call to action, urging him to move.
Out there, in the hospital, people were choking on Aerothrax’s mist, their lungs burning, their hearts failing, their lives slipping away with every second. The cure worked, but it was too slow for a crisis.
He needed it faster, a match for the poison’s ruthless speed. "Time to crank it," Devon said, his voice cutting through the guitars’ wail as he dove back into his work.
He grabbed the dark red vial of the cure, its liquid glinting like a ruby under the lab’s bright lights. He poured a single drop into a petri dish filled with poisoned human lung cells, their delicate membranes twisting and popping, turning gray and mushy under the toxin’s assault. The cure spread slowly, cells healing over long minutes, some regaining their pink glow, others still succumbing. It was progress, but not enough, not for people gasping their last breaths right now. He needed speed, a cure that hit like a lightning bolt, outracing the poison’s spread.
He moved to the shelves, rows of vials and jars neatly labeled, a scientist’s paradise. Shelf B held bio-accelerants, compounds he’d synthesized to boost cell repair, their golden liquid shimmering faintly, catching the light like liquid sunlight. He mixed a tiny amount into a new batch, his hands steady, pouring it into another dish of poisoned cells.
The cells perked up faster, their pink glow returning in half the time, but the liquid turned an ugly brown, bubbling like a bad brew, unstable and useless. Devon swore under his breath, the music hitting a low, growling riff that matched his frustration. He dumped the batch down the sink, watching the brown swirl vanish like a failed idea.
He tried again, undeterred, the music shifting to a wild guitar solo, the notes climbing higher, pushing him to keep going. He grabbed enzymes from shelf E—fast-acting proteins that moved through blood like tiny racers, delivering fixes with precision. He mixed carefully, using a digital pipette that beeped softly with each drop, its sound a faint counterpoint to the music’s roar.
The new batch healed cells quicker, their membranes snapping back to life, but some burst, overwhelmed by the enzyme’s strength, like overinflated balloons. "Not yet," he muttered, cutting the dose, adding a zinc stabilizer from shelf Z to hold it together, its clear crystals dissolving smoothly. The music thumped, drums loud, his thoughts clicking like gears locking into place.
He ran tests on the big screen, a 3D model of a human body glowing on the display, its translucent form showing lungs, veins, and nerves in vivid detail. Red dots marked the poison’s spread, lungs blackening, blood vessels constricting, nerves fraying while blue dots showed the cure fighting back, spreading slowly at first, then faster as he tweaked the mix.
He adjusted ratios, watching the blue overtake the red, the model’s lungs clearing, veins pulsing freely. Real tests followed, his hands flying between vials, pipettes, and test tubes, the lab a blur of motion and sound. He used the nano-injector, a sleek device that shot microscopic doses into cell samples, letting him see exactly how the cure hit at the cellular level.
One mix fizzed too much, bubbling over like a shaken soda can, spilling onto the table. Another turned thick, like jelly, clogging the injector’s delicate nozzles, no good for spreading through air. He thinned it with solvents from shelf S, their sharp, chemical smell biting the air as he worked in a fume hood, its quiet whoosh pulling away the vapors.
Each failure taught him something too much enzyme burned healthy cells, too little let the poison slip through. He kept going, the music a steady pulse, guitars shredding, drums thumping like his heart.
The lab was alive around him, plants glowing brighter, their green light pulsing faster, as if feeding off his energy. The 3D printer whirred, spitting out fresh tissue samples, layering cells smoothly. Shelves were filled with treasures, jars of glowing liquids that shifted colors with heat, from blue to violet to gold, frozen disease samples in misty drawers, vials of snake venom and rare plant extracts.
The air stayed clean, the system whooshing softly, lights bright for detail work, dimming in corners for a quick pause. It was a place where science felt electric, every tool gleaming, every vial holding a spark of potential.
Sweat beaded on Devon’s brow, dripping onto the table, but he wiped it away with his arm, focused, his hands moving faster with each test.
The timer ticked on.
He shook a new vial, the liquid now a deep crimson, steady and strong, no separation, no flaws. He held it up, swirling it gently under the light, watching it catch the glow like a polished gem, its surface shimmering with promise. "Got you," he said, his voice sure, a quiet triumph cutting through the music’s roar. It healed cells in seconds, not minutes, the petri dishes glowing pink with healthy tissue under the microscope, their membranes smooth and whole, as if the poison had never touched them.
But the hospital needed more than a vial.
Aerothrax spread through the air, a silent killer slipping through vents, clinging to lungs like smoke. The cure had to match it, had to become air itself. Devon moved to the nebulizer, a sleek silver machine with a glowing control panel, its buttons smooth under his fingers.
He poured the cure into its chamber, adding dispersants from shelf D—clear, sharp-smelling compounds that made the mist spread wide and fast, like fog rolling over a city at dawn. He tweaked the settings, adjusting pressure and flow, his fingers dancing over the controls as the music hit a heavy riff, urging him on.
He ran a test, the machine humming to life, its fans whirring as it released a fine red fog that hung in the air, shimmering under the lab’s lights like a living cloud. He leaned in, watching it drift, testing its density with a handheld sensor that beeped approval.
It was safe, stable, ready to be used.
He rigged the nebulizer for portability, packing it into a sleek black case with a sturdy handle, its surface cool and smooth under his fingers. He added a backup vial of the cure, sealed in a protective sleeve, and tucked it into a side pocket.
Devon grabbed his coat, the fabric cool against his skin, its weight settling over his shoulders like a second skin. He slipped the nebulizer case and vial into a secure pocket, feeling their reassuring heft against his side. His body still hummed with Active Regeneration, every step light, every breath strong, his muscles buzzing with energy, ready to run, to fight, to win.
He paused at the lab’s threshold, turning back to take in the space one last time. The bioluminescent plants pulsed softly, their green glow a quiet farewell. With a final, confident grin, he stepped out, the lab door hissing shut behind him.