Steampunk Laboratory Novels & Stories

But he warned himself that those brothers are just like rotten frosting cake, look delicious and alluring from the outside, but when you ate it, it would taste sour and bitter. The small omega quickly passed the barrack into the laboratory; it was a two-story building with red-colored bricks and black rooftop. After observing his left and right, he sneaked in inside the lab through the entrance door. The laboratory only has few scientists working there, so he could sneak in and out easily without anyone noticed. Jeremiah tried to keep his friendship with Selena in private. If someone knew that they were close, the people of the Blackfrost kingdom could also shun Selena. When he about to ente

He was known only as the Artisan, a man who spoke more in the language of spanners and oil than words, and his universe was a cathedral of ticking blackness. His workshop was a labyrinth of half-made things: brass limbs suspended from copper threads, glass eyes staring blankly from velvet trays, and the constant, muttering hiss of steam from a dozen soft engines. And in the center, on an obsidian pedestal, stood his creation, his secret shame, his passion.

I hear Papa! The laboratory began to groan. The thousands of copper tubes on the walls started to twist and buckle, the mathematical spiral collapsing under the weight of the "Trinity Frequency." The youth lunged for Panni, a heavy iron wrench in his hand, intended to shatter the cuffs and break the circuit. But before he could reach her, the stone floor of the laboratory erupted.

The Royal Laboratories of the Ancient Royal Palace were nothing like the damp, cramped cellar Elena had spent her youth in. Located deep within the subterranean levels of the palace’s north wing, the facility was a masterpiece of architectural engineering. Vaulted stone arches stretched high overhead, supported by columns of polished obsidian. Massive, copper-piped ventilation shafts quietly drew out volatile fumes, and the air carried the clean, sharp scent of distilled alcohol, dried lavender, and expensive glass. Row after row of heavy mahogany workstations stretched across the flagstone floor, each one equipped with state-of-the-art brass distillation columns, delicate balance scales, an

The door hissed again, this time closing, and with another hiss, steam shot at us, and after a while, the second door that led to the lab opened. We stepped through the door and I was met with a large room. The room had tables pushed up against the walls with different things- Bunsen burners, test tubes, filter papers, boiling tubes, and the like. The middle of the room was devoid of tables and chairs; instead, it had hanging trays and pots of plants, which were in a transparent box. Those were probably the plants Doc mentioned that they were growing. They looked unlike any plants I'd ever seen. I must have been staring for quite a while because Doc appeared next to me.

Baby Zetty said, “If you don’t believe me, take me for a tour of your laboratory.” Without raising any objection, the security guard took Baby Zetty to the Poison Doctor’s laboratory. The laboratory’s door was unlocked. There was no smell of smoke nor fire coming from the inside. It seemed like the laboratory had not been used for a long time. Baby Zetty sneered and said, “It seems like your Poison Doctor has used up her creative power. It’s a waste to equip her with such a great laboratory.”

“She doesn’t look like the submissive type. Probably cooking up something.” A cruel smile played on her lips. “Avery Wells... let’s see what you’re up to.” Inside the Kuznetsov Hospital… A heavy silence hummed in the underground laboratory, a chilling hum of machines blending with the sound of clinking metal and low murmurs. Doctors—or maybe scientists—moved like ghosts in white coats, hunched over long steel tables, working under harsh fluorescent lights. They handled vials of pale liquids, crushed herbs, and dropped tiny amounts into tubes that fizzed without color. The air reeked of chemicals and sterilized death.

Khufra smiled and nodded at him. The three of them went back door while Khufra tended the store. They descended the stairs and arrived at a bigger room. It was filled with crates, jars, three stone stoves with three big cauldrons on it, some tables filled with things, and shelves filled tools. It was a bit warm inside here, and smelt oddly herbal. It was how Jai would describe a traditional laboratory. Sir Yang was putting powders on a paper and folded the papers, before putting them in some sort of a leather wallet, but bigger in size. The man heard them coming and without putting his attention away, he spoke to them.

"My father's money... it built this." "And your mother's genius filled it," Louis looked at Harper. The airlock was open (the power had died decades ago). They stepped inside. The laboratory was frozen in time. Papers were scattered on the floor. Coffee mugs with mold sat on desks. Computer monitors from the 90s gathered dust. But in the center of the room, illuminated by their flashlights, was a massive glass tank. It was broken. Shattered from the inside out. And on the floor, surrounded by dried, black stains, was a skeleton. Not an old skeleton from the catacombs. A relatively fresh one. Wearing a lab coat. Clutching a clipboard.

His hands betrayed wrinkled and knotted by age, marked with old ink stains and burns from spilled experiments. Despite the stoop of his back and the rasp in his voice, he carried an air of quiet authority. Every gesture, every pause, suggested knowledge too vast for one lifetime. The fume vault chamber was one of the rarely visited rooms in the castle. It was Grandmaester Parole's little den, where he did wonders with herbs grown and tended with his own hands. The Fumevault, a place where the air never seemed clear, only thick with the tang of boiled herbs and the bitter smoke of burning experiments.