I Transmigrated Into a Weak Body

Chapter 8

Brandon picked up a handful of the black seeds. They were dead. They were poison. Even if he could somehow cook them, they would kill Veronica. 

“No,” Brandon told himself, his grip tightening on the black seeds. “There is no such thing as a magical curse. It is a biological infection. It is a disease. And diseases can be cured.”

Brandon looked down at the black tattoo on his right hand. He could still feel the raw, blue Aether swirling in the air around him. The brand was a siphon. It allowed him to pull the energy into his body. 

He didn't know any magical spells. He didn't know any prayers. But he knew biology. He knew cellular structure. He knew botany and genetic mutation. 

Brandon moved quickly. He found a large, deep wooden planter box near the window. He dumped out the dry, dead dirt and filled it with fresh, damp soil he dug up from beneath the loose floorboards. He poured a thick layer of the black, blighted seeds into the dirt. 

He knelt in front of the planter box, placing both of his hands deep into the cold soil. 

He closed his eyes and consciously relaxed the bio-feedback grip on his right hand. He allowed a tiny trickle of blood to flow back into the brand. Instantly, the black tattoo flared a bright, angry red. 

The room hummed. The blue Aether in the air rushed toward Brandon, funneling into his right arm. It felt like drinking ice-cold lightning. 

“Focus,” Brandon commanded himself. “Do not just blast the energy like a bomb. Guide it. Use it as a tool.”

He pushed the magical energy down through his hands and into the soil. 

Through his new connection to the Aether, Brandon could "feel" the seeds in the dirt. It was incredible. He could sense their tiny, hardened structures. He could feel the dark, necrotic magical energy of the Blight-Rot wrapped around the seeds like a suffocating web. 

“The rot is just a parasitic cell,” Brandon thought, visualizing the process in his mind. “It is attacking the healthy DNA of the wheat.”

Using the Aether like a highly precise microscopic laser, Brandon attacked the rot. He forcefully commanded the raw magic to burn away the dark, necrotic energy clinging to the seeds. He imagined a sterile, white fire cleansing a wound. He pushed and pushed, sweating heavily, until the dark feeling in the soil vanished. 

“The infection is gone. Now, stimulate growth. Accelerate cell division.”

Brandon pushed a massive wave of pure Aether into the purified seeds. He pictured the basic laws of biology. He visualized the cells dividing—one becoming two, two becoming four, four becoming eight. He provided the magical energy to act as sunlight, water, and fertilizer all at once. 

"Grow," Brandon whispered, opening his eyes. 

The dirt in the wooden planter began to tremble. 

It was working. A tiny green sprout pushed its way through the dark soil. Then another. Then a dozen. Within seconds, the entire planter box was overflowing with thick, healthy, vibrant green stalks. 

Brandon laughed out loud, a sound of pure relief. He kept pouring the Aether into the soil. He watched in absolute awe as the stalks shot up, growing two feet tall in mere moments. The green stalks quickly turned a beautiful, rich, golden yellow. Heavy, plump heads of perfect, golden wheat bloomed at the top of the stalks. 

He had done it. He had cured the Blight and grown months' worth of food in less than a minute. He had saved Veronica. 

Brandon slowly pulled his hands out of the dirt, intending to cut off the flow of magic. 

But the brand on his hand did not turn off. 

It glowed violently, burning with a blinding red light. The magic was no longer flowing from Brandon into the plants; the Aether in the room was rushing directly into the soil, completely bypassing Brandon's control. The brand had acted as a spark, but now the reaction was self-sustaining. 

"Wait, stop," Brandon said, trying to pull his hands away, but an invisible force held his right hand near the dirt. 

He had pumped too much raw energy into the plants. He had forced cellular division to happen too fast. On Earth, when cells divide uncontrollably and unnaturally, it is not called a miracle. 

It is called cancer. 

The beautiful golden wheat suddenly turned a sickly, glowing purple. The stalks expanded, thickening from thin straw into thick, muscular vines. The soft leaves hardened into sharp, jagged thorns the size of daggers. 

The wooden planter box exploded violently as the mutated roots burst through the sides. 

"No!" Brandon shouted, trying to scramble backward. 

Before he could move, a thick, purple vine covered in thorns shot out of the dirt like a striking snake. It wrapped tightly around Brandon’s left ankle. The thorns pierced his skin, injecting a burning, numbing poison into his leg. 

Brandon fell backward onto the stone floor, crying out in pain. He grabbed his heavy iron hammer and frantically smashed it against the thick vine, but the mutant plant was as hard as iron cable. 

The dirt in the center of the ruined planter box heaved and split open. 

A horrific, unnatural mouth formed in the center of the roots. It was a gaping maw made of jagged, wooden teeth, dripping with a glowing, acidic sap that hissed as it melted the stone floor. The plant let out a terrifying, high-pitched shriek that sounded like grinding metal. 

The vine around Brandon’s ankle jerked violently. 

Brandon dropped his hammer as he was dragged across the floor, his fingernails scraping uselessly against the stone. He was being pulled straight toward the snapping, acidic maw of the mutant plant. 

He had survived the guards. He had survived the Inquisitor. But his own scientific hubris had just created a monster that was about to eat him alive.