The low, steady hiss of the alchemical burner echoed through the darkened dining room as I began the precise extraction process. Using the 250 mL Erlenmeyer flask as my primary reaction vessel, I carefully set up the apparatus. The 50 mL graduated burette was locked securely into the heavy iron laboratory stand, its glass column perfectly vertical. I placed the collection beaker underneath to handle the initial rinses, ensuring the entire fluid path was completely sterile and free of contaminants.
I systematically arranged the chemical matrices on the table: the high-purity 5% acetic acid solution, the solid anhydrous sodium hydroxide pellets, the distilled water, and the small, dark vial of phenolphthalein indicator.
To standardize the alkaline medium, I measured out exactly 4 grams of the solid NaOH pellets and introduced them into a separate flask containing 1 liter of distilled water. I swirled the vessel with a continuous, rhythmic motion. The dissolution of sodium hydroxide is highly exothermic; to prevent any sudden thermal surging or cracking of the glassware, I monitored the solution constantly with the precise glass thermometer, keeping the temperature safely below 60 degrees Celsius.
Once the alkaline medium was perfectly uniform and cooled, I flushed and primed the glass burette, clearing out any trapped air bubbles before recording the initial meniscus baseline. Using a volumetric pipette, I transferred a precise 10 mL aliquot of the acetic acid matrix into the Erlenmeyer flask, diluted it with 50 mL of distilled water to ensure proper volume for mixing, and introduced 3 drops of the phenolphthalein indicator. The solution remained completely colorless.
Positioning the flask beneath the burette, I opened the valve to dispense the sodium hydroxide solution dropwise. My newly restored left hand kept the flask under continuous, smooth agitation, swirling the liquid to ensure instantaneous neutralization at the point of contact. Drop by drop, the reaction progressed until the exact moment of absolute chemical equivalence was achieved… the precise second the colorless liquid shifted to a permanent, faint pink hue that resisted fading for more than thirty seconds.
To establish absolute statistical accuracy for my yields, I executed this exact titration process three times, recording the exact volume of titrant used. With the neutralization parameters perfectly verified, I transferred the neutralized solution into my specialized chemical cooking pot, placing it over the steady charcoal fire on the thermal tripod. Under gentle, highly controlled evaporation, the water slowly phase-shifted into vapor, leaving behind a pristine, concentrated crystalline residue at the base of the vessel.
Using this refined crystalline base as the core stabilizing matrix, I systematically transitioned to assembling the localized payload. Operating with clinical efficiency in the dim ether light, I carefully transferred the synthesized compounds into the ten thick, spherical glass bottles I had secured from the artisan shop, tightly sealing each specialized cap with a thick layer of alchemical wax.
Ten perfectly weighted spherical bottles of tear gas now sat in a flawless, systematic line on the wooden table, their surfaces reflecting the dull amber glow of the charcoal embers. They were structurally optimized, highly portable, and ready to be slotted directly into my external utility belt for the impending nighttime drop into the Sisiphon desert.
With the primary crowd-control payload successfully finalized, my mismatched jade-green and crimson eyes drifted toward the remaining jars of raw sulfur dust, ethyl alcohol, and the pressurized chlorine canister.
I watched with a cold, clinical focus as the tear gas liquid finished condensing in the specialized chemical pot over the glowing charcoal fire. Because my body possessed an absolute immunity to all environmental toxins and poisons, the thick, acrid vapors rising from the vessel felt entirely harmless to my respiratory system. To my senses, the chemical dispersion merely smelled of intense, sharply concentrated onions, and it completely failed to irritate or overwhelm my eyes.
However, the sheer volume of the reaction soon produced a heavy, dense chemical fog that drifted off the tripod, slowly rolling across the dining room ceiling and enveloping the entire interior of House 132 in a hazy shroud. It was an incredibly toxic environment for any ordinary living being, but I knew my sisters were still safely out in the bustling sectors of the capital, completely insulated from the hazard.
As the evening shadows deepened outside the tightly pinned velvet curtains, my mismatched jade-green and crimson eyes locked onto the remaining raw materials lined up on the table: the vibrant yellow sulfur dust, the high-purity ethyl alcohol, and the heavy, pressurized canister of chlorine gas. My analytical mind rapidly cross-referenced the basic chemical components. By introducing these specific reactive elements into the thermal cycle, I could synthesize a highly destructive vesicant agent.
Operating with deadpan efficiency, I tilted the jar of sulfur dust, pouring the fine yellow powder directly into the bubbling mixture within the chemical pot. Next, I measured and introduced the ethyl alcohol matrix, followed by a careful, regulated release of the compressed chlorine gas from the pressurized cylinder, letting the halogen bubble steadily through the shifting liquid core.
The mixture inside the pot reacted vigorously under the sustained heat of the charcoal, its chemical structure rapidly breaking down and recombining. Within minutes, the transparent solution phase-shifted, thickening into a heavy, dark yellow, oily liquid that coated the sides of the vessel.
The unmistakable, pungent odor of improvised mustard gas began to bleed into the room… a sharp, distinct scent resembling garlic and mustard plants. Even at this extreme concentration, my toxic immunity held perfectly, allowing me to stand directly over the boiling vat without a single microsecond of discomfort or respiratory distress.
I picked up the iron ladle with my newly restored left hand and began to steadily stir the yellow, oily compound, ensuring the thermal distribution remained absolutely uniform across the batch. The chemical properties were locking in perfectly. This heavy, flesh-blistering liquid would serve as an optimal tactical tool against the purebred vampire's rapid cellular repair, destroying its tissue structure from the inside out. I continued to monitor the solution as it simmered, waiting for the oil to reach maximum purity before decanting it into my specialized glass delivery spheres.
I continued to stir the heavy, yellow oil with the iron ladle, watching it swirl against the sides of the chemical pot. As the reaction finalized over the glowing charcoal embers, the sharp onion scent of the previous mixture was completely overpowered. The air in the dining room grew thick with a pungent, biting aroma that smelled distinctly like a volatile mixture of crushed garlic and horseradish.
The dense chemical fog expanded rapidly, rolling out of the kitchen and enveloping every single room of House 132 from floor to ceiling. To any ordinary vanguard or knight, a concentration this pure would cause instant, catastrophic blistering of the skin and lungs. But for me, it was completely harmless. I stood right over the boiling vat without a single cough or a tear in my eyes, completely ignoring the need for protective medical masks or filtration gear. In my line of work, such precautions were unnecessary boundaries. My absolute immunity to toxins was all the shielding I required.
Reaching onto the dining room table, I grabbed a sturdy glass funnel and aligned it over my remaining heavy-duty glass delivery spheres. Moving with the smooth, flawless precision of my newly restored left hand, I lifted the hot pot and began to decant the freshly synthesized mustard gas.
I carefully poured the thick, yellow oily liquid into the containers, managing the volume perfectly until I had successfully filled five specialized, wax-sealed spheres with the blistering agent.
I stepped back, surveying the completed arsenal lined up neatly on the wooden table under the dim amber glow of the ether lamp.
The logistical tally was complete:
10 Spherical Bottles of Tear Gas (Optimized for severe respiratory disruption and sight neutralization)
5 Spherical Bottles of Mustard Gas (Optimized to permanently liquefy organic tissue and suppress cellular regeneration matrices)
The alchemical cooking phase was officially done. I systematically slotted the fifteen heavy glass spheres into the reinforced pouches of my makeshift external utility belt, ensuring they were perfectly secure and wouldn't clink against each other during high-velocity movement.
I checked my pocket watch. The hands were steadily creeping closer toward midnight. The house was saturated with a toxic cloud, my weapons were fully upgraded, and my chemical payloads were locked and loaded. It was time to wait for the final transition of the night, open my wings, and take to the sky toward the Sisiphon desert.