In a dark and distant reality, there exists an academy where alchemy and the arcane reign supreme. Bearing the mark of an eagle, this school stood far above those around it. Within that school was a professor, whose name was lost to the cogs of time. They were the keeper of a magical archive which carried the collective wisdom of all pupils who had entered the academy. One student, however, had created an evil manual detailing the steps by which one might attain ultimate power. Ashamed of what their pupil had concocted, the professor locked away the work, vowing to never again allow another student to produce a tutorial, lest they give birth to such a terrible creation once again.
Some thousand years later, a curious student named Gordon arose in the dead of night. Nervously, Gordon descended down the stairs leading to the deepest depths of his school’s archives. To Gordon, every next step cemented his current predicament. The further he traveled down the stone steps, the more sure he became that there was no going back. He would not be the first to descend this path, and he would be far from the last. The gray steps were endless, and Gordon began to doubt whether his actions were a mistake. Still, he persisted. After what seemed like centuries of walking, Gordon finally reached the archives. Before him remained a large wooden door, its planks splintered and its handle caked with rust. Notably, the door carried faded text ominously declaring that “Everything is a Story”. This was it.
Setting his candle down, Gordon reached for the ring of keys attached to his belt. With shaking hands, Gordon began his search. The ring contained a seemingly innumerable quantity of keys, ranging from the most pristine golds to heavily corroded bronzes. After a frantic scramble, Gordon finally managed to slip the correct key into the door’s rusty lock, the excess keys jangling about. As the clangs of the keys grew more frequent, so did Gordon’s heartbeats. He had come too far to be caught now. Cautiously, Gordon picked his candle back up and pulled the door handle, the keys still in the lock.
The door creaked open, its hinges seeming to fall off the frame at any moment. Wearily, Gordon took a step into the archives, neglecting to shut the door after he had entered. Inside the archives stood hundreds of shelves, each containing books ranging from small pamphlets to gargantuan tomes. The towering columns of books casted heavy shadows, undermining what little light the candle had produced. Gordon wandered the shelves, scouring for one particular work. The candle’s light began to fade. Gordon was running out of time. Hurriedly, Gordon snatched several ancient texts off the shelf, hoping they would be the one he was looking for. No dice.
Just when all seemed lost, however, Gordon had finally found what he had been searching for. With no time to lose, Gordon swiftly exited the archive, leaving the door open on his way out. The candle had long since blown out, but Gordon didn’t care. His mission was far more important than any consequences he might face now. His success was so close that he could taste it. It tasted somewhat sweet, he thought to himself.
Elated, Gordon carried his book up the spire of stairs, finding his way to the small academy’s scullery. After lighting another candle, Gordon dropped the crumbling tome onto the table, a cloud of dust exploding into the air as he did so. Wiping the cover off, he smiled to himself. This was the Terrible Tome of Taboo Tutorials. A book which carried forbidden knowledge, with its reader sure to gain infinite power. The power to bend the will of others. The power to drive masses to drop to their knees, begging for a taste of it. Gordon salivated at the thought.
Gordon’s previous research attempts informed him that page 182 of the tome was paramount to his success. Eagerly, Gordon flipped through the pages. His eyes widened, his smirk following suit. Immediately, he got to work. Gordon sprinted all across the room, seizing the instruments necessary for the ritual. The devices seemed almost foreign to Gordon, with some being akin to small scooping devices. For gouging, Gordon assumed. Crucibles and small spiral apparatuses all met at the center table. Finally, Gordon lit the furnace, hell flames jumping out from within it. All preparations had been made. Gordon’s ecstatic anticipation had grown into a ravenous animosity which consumed him, corrupting his mind. He was utterly sucked into his work, and could wait no longer.
First, Gordon added two and one-fourth cups of powder, likely made from crushed wheat, into a crucible. He then mixed in one scoop of a different white powder, this one marked as necessary for the powers to fully develop. The final scoop was of salt, and half as much as the previous powder. Gordon believed this might be for putting in his enemies’ wounds, of course. They were merged thoroughly, then set aside. For usage later in the ceremony, most likely.
Gordon then prepared a block of smushy, yellow substance measured to exactly one cup. A fourth white powder, this time being sweet, was added in a quantity of one-fourth cup. A fifth powder was added, this one being brown and with a similar taste. An egg of hen was then added at the end, surely a mark of the dark powers that rest within the amalgam. A scoop of sweet liquid was added last, with the bottle from which he poured bearing the insignia of a white flower. Gordon laughed to himself. Something so sweet makes for something so easily corrupted. The amalgamation before him was then unified using the spiral apparatus, forming a sort of brown paste. A herald of things to come.
The original powder fusion was then added to this glob of vile, and two cups of brown globes were thrown in as well. The book denoted these orbs as one of the most important steps of the ritual, exciting Gordon. These would clearly be the artifacts which awoke the demons sleeping within the blend.
After the reactants had melded once more, Gordon placed a sheet of parchment onto a metal slate, tossing balls of the demonic mixture onto it. The spherules were spaced two inches apart, just as the paintings within the tome had described. The demons would need space to incubate, Gordon figured. What seemed like millennia had passed as Gordon beamed, admiring his work. The observance was soon to be completed. Only one step remained. Grasping the metal sheet, Gordon slid the orbs into the furnace which jumped to life, releasing fumes all throughout the scullery.
The fumes smelled pleasant, Gordon thought. Soon, he became entranced by the scent, almost as if he were hypnotized. Stuck in a stupor, Gordon waited for approximately eight-to-ten minutes, or until the clumps seemed to be light brown. As soon as the time had passed, Gordon sprung up and pulled the sheet out of the furnace, placing the now-flattened orbs onto a wire rack. Gordon was charmed by the disks, losing all consciousness. Minutes turned into seconds as Gordon stared at his creations, bewitched by the sights, smells, and airborne taste they produced. The weapon Gordon had created soon turned against him, manipulating him and reducing his thoughts to nothingness. After about thirty minutes of cooling, Gordon had collapsed, overwhelmed by the psychic force his work gave off. The rite was complete. The chocolate-chip cookies are now ready to serve or could be stored in an airtight container. Thanks, Betty Crocker!
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