Marseille Harbor Labyrinth Mystery

The Septic Sludge

Or he would die here, trapped in the city he had just liberated from one tyrant, only to fall into the hands of a greater one.

Jean did not stop running. The black liquid spreading across the Vieux-Port was not just oil. It was alchemical death. Every step he took felt like dancing on the edge of an abyss.

He leaped onto the deck of the Triton. The wreck of a ship that was now his fortress felt like the only safe place.

“They know, they know exactly how to stop me,” Jean hissed, leaning against the cabin, his breath ragged. He looked out the window. The ocean around the main pier was now completely black, viscous, and motionless.

He grabbed the case of rare stolen minerals. Its blue light felt warm, a contrast to the deadly chill of the Anti-Transmutation Elixir.

“Ancient mineral,” Jean whispered to the case, placing it on the table. “You are the catalyst for purity. But what good is purity if the enemy can turn the entire battlefield into sludge?”

He paced the cabin. “I relied too heavily on clean water. That’s the old arrogance of Atlantis. We always thought that only the pure possessed power.”

Jean stared at the Tier 1 Transmutation Elixir he had just stolen from Le Requin. The pale green liquid faintly shimmered.

“This garbage Elixir is their answer,” Jean said, holding up the bottle. “They use alchemy for trash. This Elixir is designed to turn filth into wealth, not purify it.”

“But they are wrong. They are still clinging to wealth. While I…” Jean looked out, toward the spreading black oil. “I must cling to chaos.”

He opened the alchemical notebook he had found in Le Requin’s ice storage (not his stolen journal, but a general ledger). Inside, there was a recipe for Tier 2 Transmutation, developed by an Alchemist who rejected Atlantis’s total purification.

The recipe was disgusting.

“To transmute non-organics on a small scale without a Nexus, I need a potent biological catalyst. The foulest things,” Jean read, his face contorted. “Decaying fish bile, infected squid mucus, and… concentrated septic sludge.”

Jean dropped the notes onto the table. “I have purified my body. I cleansed myself of Valéry’s filth. I cannot touch that!”

He argued with himself. “Would you rather die in this ship because you are too clean? Is this about morality, or survival?”

“This is war, Alchemist,” a harsh voice retorted in his head, a voice that reminded him of his brutal past. “If you want to control the water, you must control every drop of it—the pure, and the most vile.”

Jean took a deep breath. “Fine. Marseille is my raw material. And I will take the rottenest parts.”

Jean put on his jacket. He took his silver screwdriver and two empty test tubes. He couldn't use the Salt Mist Elixir again; he had exhausted the remainder during his earlier escape. He would have to rely on his physical stamina.

He leaped from the Triton, not onto the now filthy dock, but directly into the shallow water behind the ship, where the old fishing vessels dumped their waste.

The area smelled unbearable. A combination of diesel fuel, human waste, and decades of rotting fish.

Jean felt overwhelming nausea. His new body, which had been forced to live in alchemical purification, instantly rejected the contamination.

“Don’t throw up,” he commanded himself. “This is the Tier 2 Elixir you need.”

He used his silver screwdriver, channeling the energy of the stolen mineral—not for transmutation, but to attract specific particles.

“I need the infected squid mucus…”

Jean touched a floating squid carcass. The thick purple mucus was immediately pulled into the test tube with magnetic force.

“And now, the septic sludge.”

Jean headed for the main sewage outlet hidden beneath the pier. He had to kneel in the thick muck.

“This is your lowest point, Jean,” he muttered.

He plunged the second test tube into the dense black sludge. Its foul energy was so concentrated that the test tube vibrated.

As he pulled it out, he saw a swift shadow move in the corner of his eye.

“Who’s there?” Jean asked, instantly wary.

An old man, whom Jean knew as the pier janitor, emerged from behind a pile of fishing nets. The man stared at Jean with bewildered eyes.

“Hey, kid. What are you doing in this foul spot? You looking for pearls?” the man asked, his voice hoarse.

Jean stood up straight, mud dripping from his hands. “I’m looking for certain chemicals. None of your business.”

“Chemicals?” The old man laughed. “There’s only filth here. You look… unwell. Are you sick?”

“I’m fine,” Jean said. He had to ensure this man wasn’t suspicious, especially after the chaos at Le Requin.

“No, you’re not fine,” the man said, approaching. “You look like a freshly washed corpse. And why are you sniffing the sludge like that?”

Jean realized that he wasn't just smelling the stench; he was sensing the alchemical composition of the sludge, its potential energy.

“I’m an environmental health officer,” Jean lied quickly. “I’m taking samples to see how bad the pollution is here.”

The old man nodded slowly, his eyes skeptical. “Pollution? Son, the pollution here is our livelihood. This filth gives us life.” The man pointed to the sludge. “You can’t clean this sea. It is the identity of Marseille.”

“I didn’t come to clean, Uncle,” Jean said, his voice calmer. “I came to take its power.”

The man smiled strangely. “The power of filth? That’s a bold thing to say. Be careful, kid. Filth has a way of clinging to you, and never letting go.”

“I know, Uncle,” Jean retorted, realizing the man might be wiser than he looked. “But I am stronger than the filth.”

Jean turned, heading back to the Triton.

The old man called out again. “Hey! You aren’t going to clean what you took, are you? Just let it stay rotten!”

“Of course,” Jean answered, without turning around. “The fouler, the better.”

Back in the lab, Jean placed the two test tubes full of contaminants next to the stolen Tier 1 Transmutation Elixir.

“It’s time,” Jean muttered.

He took the Tier 1 Elixir, which served as the binder. Then he added a single drop from the stolen ancient mineral (the pure energy catalyst). Finally, he poured the septic sludge and squid mucus into the mixture.

The reaction was instant and horrifying.

The liquid hissed, turning dark purple, and then began releasing toxic vapor that smelled like death and melting metal.

“Tier 2 Transmutation Elixir: Organic-Nonorganic Binder,” Jean dictated, coughing from the fumes. He had to stabilize it before the Elixir exploded.

Jean channeled purifying alchemical energy into the mixture, not to clean it, but to control the chaos. He suppressed the Elixir’s natural tendency to detonate.

The process was agonizing. His head pounded, and he felt the filth trying to creep back into his cleansed skin pores.

“I control you,” Jean hissed, his teeth clenched.

After five minutes that felt like forever, the vapor subsided. The liquid in the glass bottle was now dark silver, viscous, and emitted a cold, stable aura of energy.

This was filthy alchemy, fueled by criminal desire. This was power that could turn steel to dust, or concrete to fluid.

Jean picked up a small piece of scrap iron he used as a doorstop.

“Trial run,” Jean whispered.

He dripped a single drop of the Tier 2 Transmutation Elixir onto the iron surface.

The droplet landed, and the iron reacted immediately. Not with slow corrosion, but with instant transmutation.

The iron didn't turn to rust. It softened, vibrated, and in less than two seconds, turned to liquid. The fluid dripped off the table and froze in the air into…

A perfect solid needle, forged from the transmuted iron, floated mid-air in front of Jean. Jean stared at the needle, stunned.

“I… I did it,” Jean mumbled. “Small-scale non-organic transmutation. I can change their weapons.”

Suddenly, he heard a rumbling sound. Not from Neptune, but from the Triton herself.

The ship shook violently. Jean looked down, toward the floating needle of transmuted iron.

The transmutation was successful, but the energy released by the Tier 2 Elixir was too great. The energy wasn't just affecting the iron, but also the non-organic objects surrounding it.

The alchemical coral floor protecting the Triton began to hiss. The coral softened, as if the ship itself was starting to—