Steampunk Laboratory Novels & Stories

It was quite interesting to imagine Reive walking around here, looking for ingredients for potions or experimenting with the very same vial of blood that had united his life with that of Biellendevir. I ran my fingers over the lacquered surface of the cabinet; there wasn’t a speck of dust. There was a small dagger and a mortar and pestle, on the bottom of which I could see remnants of herbs. Reive must have prepared something but I couldn’t figure out exactly what. It was then that I had an idea how to better find out more about the Undead King without even asking him. I only had to hope I would find everything I needed in this old laboratory.

Well, he could try to kill me but I doubt this would be his lucky day. But he led me to the actual lab at the back of the house where the stench of chemicals combined with immortal blood was so strong that it was making my stomach churn. I kept my face expressionless despite the situation. This was probably the place where the experiments were being conducted because I think I saw several jars at the back of the lab with body parts suspended in formaldehyde. I followed him through another set of doors with more chemical bottles and even more body parts held in formaldehyde, including an entire head of a vampire which had been skinned.

The rogue repellent I’d been perfecting might have been our only chance at buying time. When we finally pushed the heavy door open, the familiar sterile scent of my small makeshift laboratory hit me. The shelves rattled faintly from the vibrations of the ongoing battle outside, announcing the level of power involved in the battle. Bottles clinked together as if the room itself was tense. “There,” I pointed to a steel cabinet I kept separate from others, rushing forward. My hands shook as I pulled out the carefully sealed vials filled with the bluish liquid that shimmered under the dim lamplight.

It felt heavy, a physical anchor reminding her that her life was no longer her own. Unable to sleep, she spent the remaining hours of the night exploring the state-of-the-art relic laboratory located on the basement level of the wing. It was a masterpiece of sports science and ancient mysticism—lined with extraction chambers, synthetic blood-ink vats, and rows of pristine carbon-fiber wraps. At dawn, the heavy reinforced doors of the lab hissed open.

The laboratory was a vast, sterile cavern of white tile and cold blue light. The air smelled of ozone, expensive oil, and the constant hum of high-powered servers. I stood in the center of the room, my internal gyroscopes working overtime to keep me perfectly still. But inside, my processors were screaming. Victor was at his workbench, his back to me. He was cleaning a set of precision tools. The "clink" of the metal against the glass tabletop echoed in the silence.

I promise as I turn to Shawna and ask her to show me the way to the grand hall. Brent, Tor, and I come to a screeching halt in the laboratory. It’s an absolute horror show. There’s blood and various bodily fluids everywhere. Heads preserved in jars, little floating balls of light, spirit energy I assume, trapped in test tubes. Not enough to kill a spirit, but enough to weaken them significantly for a long time.

We descended past the basement, past the old tunnels Richard knew, and into a floor that didn't exist on any blueprint of the Harrington estate. The doors slid open. "Holy shit," Richard whispered. The space was a cathedral of glass and steel. Rows of humming vats filled the room, containing a glowing, viscous fluid. Technicians in white hazmat suits moved between the stations, their movements precise. It smelled like ozone and sterile salt. "This is my shadow lab," I said, walking toward the central console. "I’ve had this running since the month after I came back from the human city. Before you and I were even speaking again."

A faint, flickering amber light spilled through the gap. Marcus didn't knock. He pushed the panel open, and stepped inside. The room looked more like a laboratory than a chamber. Long stone tables were covered in blown-glass vials, rusted steel calipers, and heavy parchment rolls fixed with wax seals. In the center of the space, hunched over a brass brazier, was an old man. His hair was thin, spun out like white cobwebs, and his fingers were stained a dark, chemical purple from decades of handling active reagents.

Meanwhile, [Omniscient P.O.V] The alchemy lab hissed with incompetence. Copper spoons clattered against glass. Cauldrons bubbled over, spewing green smoke that smelled of sulfur and panic. Students shouted, cursed, scrambled for dampening cloths. The air was a thick soup of mountain mint, burnt hair, and desperation.

I left the lab, almost bumping a few shoulders on my way. I had to get out of there, I had to get some air. All the air on the planet maybe. Liam Anderson was my biggest nightmare. My biggest headache. The thought of having to spend the next six months of my life looking at his face every single day, or well, almost every single day, made me nauseous in ways I couldn't describe. His arrogance was unbearable. Ok, he was the best in robotics, but that didn't give him the right to stick his nose into other people's projects and…my phone bipped. Message. I came to a halt. It was from an unknown number.