The golem was complete. Punk studied his first apprentice-level creation. Visually, it was passable. He had covered its entire body with stitched-together horsehide, faintly revealing blood-red runes beneath the surface. The result was eerie and grotesque.
He ordered the construct to take two steps. The soul core processed the command, drawing energy from the transformed soul to power the golem. One by one, the runes flickered to life, and the flesh-crafted being attempted its first, commanding stride—
"Fuck."
…And collapsed.
"..."
Punk watched blankly as the golem flailed on the ground like a dying insect. Then, without hesitation, he obliterated the failure with a kinetic blast.
There was no doubt—the first Flesh Golem experiment had failed.
The reason was obvious: a complete mismatch between the soul and the body. The flesh came from the first horse, while the soul belonged to the second. The incompatibility was immediate. Worse, the core of the soul was still that of a horse—a creature built to walk on four legs. Yet, Punk had assembled a humanoid golem. Instinctively, the corrupted soul attempted to move as it always had, using both hands and feet, resulting in the pathetic display.
Even though Punk had purged the soul of its memories, emotions, and instincts, some behaviors were too deeply ingrained to erase entirely. And when the subject resisted, those remnants only grew more pronounced.
Using Mage's Hand, he carelessly shoved the pile of bloody remains into a corner. This failure made one thing clear—he needed humanoid test subjects.
Punk wiped down his tools, deep in thought.
Technically, he could simply abduct townspeople. He certainly had no moral qualms about it. But the panic such an act would cause would soon empty the entire region.
"And then there's that nuisance..."
Punk stroked his chin, recalling a certain warrior in Dolez City.
This official-level dwarf, a devotee of Moradin, had been active for over forty years. Reports suggested he was a classic "lawful good" type, the kind who might meddle in Punk's affairs. It would be annoying to deal with a veteran warrior unnecessarily, even if Punk wasn't particularly afraid of him.
If kidnapping was too inefficient, then the next logical option was purchasing slaves. It would cost more, but as the saying went—if money can solve a problem, it isn't a problem. And for an alchemist like Punk, money was trivial. He could brew a few potions and have gold delivered to his door.
Resources that couldn't be bought, however, were worth consideration.
He decided that when Luo Taran arrived for her next transaction, he would instruct her to acquire a slave. Preferably, she'd also bring him two apprentices—he had no intention of wasting more time on tedious, low-skill tasks.
With the soul issue settled, that left another challenge—materials.
Flesh golems, naturally, required flesh. Punk, however, had no interest in wandering through wilderness and wasting months hunting magical creatures.
His solution?
Portals.
The multiverse had countless planes teeming with magical life. Some, like Mount Celestia, were home to divine servitors. Hell was filled with infernal beings, all excellent material. But those places were well-defended. Opening a portal there would invite retaliation, potentially even from legendary beings.
What he needed was a place where magical creatures were abundant and where no one cared if they were slaughtered.
One plane fit that description perfectly—the Abyss.
Rather than a single plane, the Abyss was a chaotic mass of interwoven dimensions, the embodiment of raw evil and disorder. Its dominant inhabitants, demons, were utterly insane. They killed for no reason, fought everything in sight, and sometimes even attacked themselves.
While the Abyss had rulers—sub-lords, lords, and absolute overlords—their control was tenuous at best. Even the most powerful demons couldn't enforce order on their subjects. Their "followers" were nothing more than expendable playthings, devoured when the lords grew bored.
Punk was heading there next.
Not for long, of course. As a neutral entity, he would stand out in that chaotic realm, likely drawing attacks from every direction. Worse, the very nature of the Abysseroded the minds and bodies of those who lingered.
But if he acted quickly, remained discreet, and avoided the gaze of true powerhouses, the risk would be minimal. The first layer of the Abyss was infested with weaklings—most demons there hadn't even reached official rank. As long as he played it safe, it was merely a matter of extermination.
That was settled.
Turning back to his workbench, Punk methodically prepared his materials. Only a fool would step into the Abyss unarmed.
Caution was survival. And a wizard like him would never allow himself to enter enemy territory without an arsenal of contingency plans.