Infalibility

Whenever an apprentice creates a new potion,

Infallibility


          In the cold, dark heart of the earth, miles from the nearest sound of human folly, lay the workshop of Master Laihp, the Alchemist of Unyielding Patience. This refuge, a vast, echoing cavern known simply as the Deep Hold, had been furnished with leaded shelves and iron-bound tables, specifically designed not for grand artistry, but for structural survival.

          It was the fifth location the Master had established, the four preceding sites having been reduced to colorful smoking craters due to the overzealous efforts of his apprentice, Yanif.

          Yanif, a young woman whose pride matched only the shimmering lack of recognition for her own limitations, considered herself a prodigy stifled by mundane tasks. She moved through the Deep Hold with the swagger of a seasoned sorcerer, though the truth was that Laihp only allowed her to manage ingredients that were already inert.

          One afternoon, while the Master was away seeking the rare, crystallized tears of a mountain gnome, a journey requiring great stealth and sobriety, Yanif discovered the horror. Splashed across the Master's favorite cape, a garment of Royal Crimson spun with silver thread, was a smear of dried mushroom broth.

          A standard cleaner would never suffice. Yanif's reputation, in her own mind, demanded an alchemical solution worthy of the Master's genius, and, therefore, her own.

          "Hark, a common stain met by uncommon skill!" Yanif declared to the empty cavern, her eyes shining with misguided ambition.

          She bypassed the cleaning station entirely and moved straight for the restricted area, where, upon a plinth of volcanic glass, rested the Master's most potent tool: The Obsidian Cauldron of Binding. This vessel, dark as a winter moon and said to draw power from the very depths of the earth, was never to be used without Laihp's specific ritual and instruction.

          Yanif dismissed the rules as overly cautious ritualism. After all, she was Yanif.

          She began her concoction. Tinctures of ephemeral green--meant to stabilize volatile mixtures--were poured in lavishly. Rare powders harvested from subterranean fungi (meant only for specific transmutation) were dusted across the surface. Then, recognizing the need for efficiency and binding power, Yanif added her signature ingredient to seal the potency: the dismembered parts of a recently purchased, unfortunate fowl.

          "The avian essence," she muttered, stirring the dreadful slurry with a silver spatula designed for stirring gold leaf. "It brings vigor and tenacity to the molecular structure!"

          The Cauldron of Binding, which had contained lava and nebulae in its history, took the insult in stony silence.

          Initially, the mixture merely smelled abominable, thick with the stench of spoiled chicken and oxidized metals. Yanif beamed. "A robust reaction! This concentration is exquisite."

          Then, the true nature of the Master's equipment asserted itself, reacting not to Yanif's intent, but to the sheer, appalling instability of her ingredients.

          The temperature in the Deep Hold dropped suddenly, followed by a spike of heat that made the walls sweat. The contents of the Obsidian Cauldron ceased boiling and instead began to vibrate. The thick sludge lifted itself into a perfect spiral, the colors within shifting from a noxious sludge grey to a pulsating, impossible shade of magenta that absorbed the surrounding light.

          Yanif grasped the spatula, still convinced she was merely witnessing a "superior concentration."

          "Just a touch more alchemical pressure!" she cried, shoving the spatula deeper into the vortex.

          That was the mistake that broke the binding.

          With a sound like the sudden shattering of frozen time, the mixture detonated--not outward, in a traditional blast, but inward, creating a temporary tear in the air directly above the Cauldron. A powerful vacuum seized the Deep Hold, sucking shelves, tools, and loose bedrock toward the swirling magenta rift.

          Yanif screamed, dropping the spatula as she clung desperately to a nearby workbench. The cavern's carefully placed structural pillars groaned as the pressure mounted. The Obsidian Cauldron of Binding, designed to hold chaos, was now releasing it in a catastrophic, targeted stream.

          The contents of the rift were not fire, but unmaking. The granite wall closest to the Cauldron began to dissolve, turning into fine, grey dust that spiraled up into the tear. The smell of ozone mixed with burning chicken feathers choked the air.

          Yanif barely managed to slide out from under a collapsing shelf just as the rift stabilized itself into a horrific, shimmering dome one story high. The dome pulsed once, twice, and then violently expelled a wave of dense, purple smoke infused with the smell of regret and burnt spices.

          The Cauldron, having vented its terrible reaction, fell silent.

          When the smoke cleared, Yanif lowered her singed head. The Deep Hold was no more. Half the cavern had collapsed, revealing jagged rock and a dizzying drop into the chasm below. The Master's storage unit was gone; the floor was slick with a glowing residue of fat and unstable compounds, and a persistent, high-pitched whining sound, the very air molecules protesting their treatment, filled the silence.
          Yanif coughed, brushed a crust of glowing powder from her cheek, and looked upon the devastation. She found the Master's Royal Crimson cape, miraculously untouched, lying under an overturned beaker.

          "Goodness," she whispered, her voice hoarse, surveying the fifth ruined laboratory. "The efficiency was truly unmatched. I must have over-catalyzed the stabilizing compounds. I nearly rendered the structure invisible!"

          Alas, Master Laihp, miles away, felt a profound, seismic disturbance rumble through the earth and wept softly, for he knew, with chilling certainty, that he would soon be packing his belongings again. Yanif had, once more, merely proven that the single most significant ingredient for disaster is a genius convinced of its own perfection.

Total Words: 937
Prompt: Write a story about an apprentice who unwisely attempts to use his master's equipment, loses control, and causes a disaster.