The Skill Thief's Canvas - Chapter 38 & 39 (Patreon)

Author's Note:

One of these chapters is short, so we decided to release both in one update.

--

Chapter 38

What?

The word caught in Adam’s throat. He couldn’t speak, his body frozen as he stared transfixed at Eric. Are you...serious? Did you really...again? It wasn’t all just in my head?

I was right?

Eric’s Curse flashed in his mind. ‘The subject of this meeting will be the Emperor granting amnesty for severe crimes. I will not take credit from slaying the Ghost of Water. I will acknowledge that the Ghost of Waters was killed during the journey from Penumbria to the Puppet Mines, which I was not part of.’

It was meant to be ironclad. Something that laid all worries to rest. Both Eric and his own subconscious had argued that it was more than enough proof; that any doubt on Adam’s part was unfair.

But fair or not, those fears proved correct. The meeting came, and credit was given...to Tenver.

I was right.

He thought back to the many paintings he’d shown Eric. One of them, surely, should have revealed the truth of his duplicitous nature. Yet he hadn’t stolen Adam’s work out of jealousy, or anger, or revenge. They truly had been friends at one point, and Eric didn't need the contest's prize money. Nor was Eric desperate to make a name for himself. It wasn’t that he thought he could never create a piece of art on that level. He didn’t wish to drive Adam to suicide, or for Adam to never be around, and he did care about him to at least some degree.

Adam knew that most people would have considered all that...excessive. There was covering your bases, and then there was locking your bases down in a fortress of steel. At the very least, though, it meant he could finally put his paranoia behind him.

Except that paranoia was only paranoia if it ended up being wrong.

I...was right.

"My Hangman has made a bold claim indeed." The Emperor turned to face Adam, arching a regal eyebrow. "Have you any words in your defense?"

Adam didn’t bother speaking up. Nothing he could say would salvage this. Instead, he looked directly at Eric. Maybe the Hangman had...misspoken, somehow. Maybe he would have a last-minute change of heart.

It wasn’t too late.

"Be wary of the Pretender’s lies," Eric stated. His eyes showed not an inkling of regret. "After Tenver slew the Ghost of Waters, the Pretender used his Talent – granted to him by the Dark Sorcerer – to alter the memories of everyone aboard his ship. I was the only one who did not fall prey to it."

Oh.

We’re really going there, then?

No rightful anger took over Adam’s body. He didn’t stand in silent disbelief at what had transpired. His body did not tremble, in either sadness or anger. At no point did his vision blur, or his stomach threaten to empty itself.

There was only a quiet sadness within him.

In spite of everything, one small part of Adam had still trusted Eric – or wanted to, anyway– and it would have leapt with joy if proven right.

Now, it was quiet, never to raise its voice again.

Adam stared at Eric with a gaze of muted grief, knowing that their bond couldn’t ever be repaired.

"Very well then," Ciro said, unsurprised. "I see no reason to delay my verdict." His voice and the clap of his hands may as well have been announcing the start of a brothel’s show of debauchery. "For the crime of treason, you are condemned to death by execution."

The Emperor's eyes narrowed. "It will take place here and now."

Adam forced himself to speak as a great pressure started to build around him, well-aware that his time was limited. "Tell me," he muttered, addressing Eric directly. "I just – I need to know why. Why would you do that? You...you had nothing to gain. You could’ve gotten more by just...telling the truth."

Eric gave him nothing but silence in response.

"Do you know what the worst part is?" Adam said, barely containing his tears. God, this didn’t hurt any less the second time. "I was trying to...I was trying to – until the very last possible second, I wasn’t sure what I should do. I thought that if I planned for your betrayal, and if you turned out to be telling the truth, I wouldn’t deserve your friendship. It made me–"

"–Ah, boredom," Ciro said, lifting his hands. "Die already."

A maelstrom of darkness appeared from nowhere. It was as if a dark sun had spawned inside the room, affecting Adam alone. The Emperor merely stood untouched before him, like he was separated by an invisible glass shield. Ciro waved at him, as if bidding farewell – and perhaps he was.

Every inch of Adam’s body was twisted, contorted, then drawn into the maelstrom, swallowed by a voracious void. Time slowed to a crawl. An eternity passed, the very light around him bending sideways as his legs flew ahead of him.

Adam watched himself die over the course of an everlasting instant. He had only time to think of one word before his body ceased to be. Gravi–

The hole collapsed out of reality, leaving nothing behind.

--

Ciro stood up. "Well, this was a pleasant afternoon. Clean things up for me, will you, Eric?" He walked off. "I suppose I’ll have company soon – now that my nephew has been cleared of his crimes. Most unfortunate. Anyhow, it simply wouldn’t do to greet him in a damaged throne room. I’m sure one of your Talents can figure something out, yes?"

For a moment, only the Emperor’s distant footsteps could be heard among the silence. At least until he stopped to turn around, casting an impassive gaze back at his subordinate. "Oh, yes. Eric? Good job."

After the Emperor exited his throne room, a full minute passed before the Hangman dared to speak. Drawing a deep breath, he glanced at what remained of Adam.

Which was nothing. No flesh, blood or bone. Not even a stain. Not even atoms.

Still...Eric found it fitting to gaze upon the spot where his best friend had died.

For several seconds, he stood in a quiet vigil. This was the only funeral that would honor the Pretender of Penumbria. And as its sole participant, it fell to Eric to deliver the eulogy.

He opened his mouth, speaking straight from the heart. "Honestly? I never wanted the world, Adam."

Eric inclined his head. "I just wanted you to have nothing."

"Is that so?" Adam replied, sadly.

"WHA–"

He didn’t give Eric time to reply. As his body rewound itself into its previous state, Adam slammed his fist against the man’s face. Violence overwhelms Talents. Even yours.

Eric collapsed to the floor, momentarily stunned. Adam was already running. He couldn’t waste even a single moment. The Hangman would strike as soon as he regained his wits, and the Emperor wasn’t far away, either. Every second that passed was one second closer to ruination.

Yet there was still one thing that Adam needed to say. Enough to risk his life for.

"The worst part was that I wanted to believe in you," Adam continued, as if he hadn’t been rudely interrupted by a gruesome death. "I tried to, you know? Until the very last instant, I tried."

He sighed. "I would’ve been satisfied if I could – even if you betrayed me. Didn’t really need anything else. But despite how much I wished for it, or what my heart desired...I think I’m just completely unable to trust you again. That’s the worst part. Worse than the betrayal could ever be."

"Adam, I–you–how dare–"

"But just because I don’t trust you..."

The Painter rolled up his sleeves to show an inked pattern.

"Doesn’t mean I can’t trust anyone."

‘Solara, I’m going to use my new Talent on us,’ Adam had told her last night. ‘It’ll give me limited use of your revival Talent, and you of my Flames. That way, when Eric betrays me, I’ll fake death and escape.’

The elf smiled teasingly. ‘Oh? Aren’t you afraid of what I might do with access to your powers? That I might turn out like the Hangman?’

Her tone grew more serious. ‘According to your ability, I’ll be able to use your Talent if you trust me. But if I don’t trust you, then you won’t be able to use mine. Aren’t you afraid I’m deceiving you? That you might die and simply not wake up?’

‘I am,’ he admitted. ‘But even so...I want to believe in you.’

Adam dashed over to the far end wall, calling on his Stained Vines. This was his best chance of escaping. The Emperor’s guards would be waiting behind doors, not solid walls, and his experiments with Aspreay’s prisoners had taught him that Stained Ink could cut through even the most magical of stones.

"WAIT, ADAM!" Eric shouted. There was a remorseless pain in his voice. It was deep, perhaps even genuine, yet... "You don’t – you don’t get it! Tenver, that literal bastard, he tricked me, manipulated me, threatened to kill an entire city with a bomb he stole from the puppets. He was never your friend! I was going to undo your death later, when it was safe! You have to trust me, this was the only way–"

Adam didn’t wait for him to finish. He cut a hole through the wall and launched himself out of the castle.

It starts now, he thought. Our rebellion.

The die was cast.

--

Chapter 39

The Night Before

"Assuming that I’m executed," Adam began, "would it be possible to delay my resurrection until after the Emperor is gone?"

Solara nodded. "You should have some amount of control over my Talent. Don’t push it too hard – after dying, your body will start to repel your soul, like opposing magnets. If you wait overly long, you might not be able to come back."

That aligned with some of what the Grandmaster had alluded to about how the Dragons used to capture souls for creating Puppets. While it wasn’t relevant to the plan at hand, Adam found it noteworthy, regardless.

Tenver stirred in his seat. "This scheme is far too reckless. Why meet up with the Emperor at all if you are so certain of Eric’s betrayal?"

"Because I’m not," Adam plainly answered. "My brain feels like it’s a certainty, but my heart can’t quite accept it. Even right now, making this plan with you guys...there’s a part of me that keeps saying: You’re wasting time, planning for something that won’t happen. Eric has always got your back." He laughed heartily and bitterly at himself. "Quite the foolish thought, don’t you agree?"

Then, with deadly confidence, he spoke in a low voice. "That’s why I want to do this." His hand tightened on the left side of his chest. "I want to rid myself of hesitation before we do anything drastic."

"Anything drastic, eh..." Solara aimed her gaze at the ceiling. "Such as killing the Emperor?"

"Him too," Adam said, nodding. "There’s a few excuses I could make about why I’m going through with the meeting. For one, making ourselves an enemy of the Emperor publicly would raise our banner as the one his enemies should rally behind. Maybe I’ll also get lucky and find out enough about him to paint his soul. If nothing else, he might have important information on things we need to know, such as how my world and the Painted World are connected."

He paused. "But if I’m being honest...more than all of that...I just want to throw away my doubts before burning everything to the ground."

Silence.

"Thanks for going along with this," Adam muttered. "It’s selfish of me."

Solara laughed. "I’m glad that you are capable of selfishness. Being helped by a saint makes every temptation feel like a sin." She stretched her arms above her head. "Worry not. All of us owe the other debts we cannot repay, so let’s not fuss over it."

Tenver nodded in agreement. "Aye. Knowing of your greed lessens my guilt for my own." He shook his head, as if arguing with himself. "Moreover, some of those ‘excuses’ are quite valid, especially the one you haven’t bothered to state aloud – that your existence is still seen as treason by the Emperor. Should he not grant you amnesty, your life and that of Penumbria’s will be forfeit. Considering we have no way of matching the Empire’s military, making an attempt at peace is prudent."

"If you will excuse me," Solara cut in, "earlier you mentioned ‘your world’ and–"

"I’ll explain later," Adam promised her. "We don’t have much time, so let’s focus on our escape plan. Remember; you shouldn’t enter the throne room with me no matter what. They’ll probably want to separate us anyway, but if they allow you guys in for some reason, make something up and calmly get out. My escape will distract them from yours. We left the Airship outside the city’s Barrier for a reason."

Tenver fell into thought. "Right. The moment you head inside the throne room, we’ll devise an excuse to leave the castle. You won’t be declared a traitor for at least about five minutes, so they’ll have no reason to keep us from leaving...officially, anyhow. I’m sure they’ll still try to force us to stay, but the guards should be easier to get through."

"I could kill myself," Solara proposed. "Pretend there’s an emergency and you need to mourn my sudden, inexplicable death. Even if they’re under orders to keep us in, that might confuse them enough to let us go, even if they keep an eye on us."

She glanced at Adam. "But what about you? Won’t the Emperor hunt you down immediately after you escape? We are inside his Realm, after all."

Adam had considered this point intensely for a long while. It was something he’d considered even back when imprisoned by Aspreay:

Would the lord have been able to tell if someone escaped his city? How closely could he track its inhabitants?

This was a vital detail, and Adam had treated it as such. Between books, references, his own experiences, and his tablet, he’d made sure to gather as much information as possible.

He couldn’t be wrong about this.

"I doubt it," Adam said, frankly. "The Emperor has the strongest Talent of a Lord in the world, no doubt about that. But...the Capital is also the largest city in the world. To use myself as an example – while I’m roughly aware of how many people there are in Penumbria, it’s not like I can keep track of them."

He tapped his thigh. "Even if the Emperor is far stronger than me, it’s not like he can monitor every person in a city of hundreds of thousands. It’s like watching an ant colony. Even if you can see all of them, your brain can’t really process everything, much less narrow down the search to a single one. He won’t be able to find me that easily."

Although that would be a different story if the Realm’s size was smaller, with fewer people. Then the Emperor might even be able to tell what someone thinks inside of it.

Solara wasn’t yet convinced. "I like to think that I’d notice if one of the ants suddenly employed a Talent, though. And using Resurrection is definitely going to draw his awareness towards you."

"Yeah. Probably." Adam acknowledged the point easily enough. That was within his margin of acceptable risks. "Which is why I’ll only have a few moments to act. First I’ll use Resurrection to come back to life, then cut open the walls with Stained Ink and jump outside. After that, I’ll try to blend in with the crowd in the streets. It’s a big city, and the Emperor is unlikely to come after me personally. I’m dressed well, but not so well that I’ll stand out in the Capital of all places. Normal guards will struggle to pick me out of the masses."

His words were true – yet they brought forth the point that none wished to acknowledge. "The guards will struggle...but what of the Hangmen?" Tenver quietly asked. "Aside from Eric, the Emperor should have others at his disposal."

"Valeria got us some information about that," Adam said. Though the Puppet Detective had remained in the Mines for the time being, she was committed to her sworn fealty as a citizen of Penumbria, eagerly – almost scarily – investigating everything asked of her. "There are six Hangmen that usually stay in the city and rarely go out on missions. The Emperor typically has each of them patrolling the districts that lead out of the castle, and he frequently changes who goes where."

"Just our bloody luck," Tenver muttered. "All six of them..."

Solara folded her arms, seeming hesitant. "Tenver...ah...I know this is a difficult question, but you’re the one who’d be most familiar with the Empire’s Hangmen. Anything you can tell us?"

It was a sensitive question, as some of those Hangmen had likely aided the Emperor in killing Tenver’s father. Nonetheless, the knight needed less than a second to answer.

"Fighting against any of them is out of the question," he began. "Even if we could muster up a win – which is truly unlikely – it would take so long that other Hangmen could arrive. And after a battle like that, even normal guards without any godly Talents would be enough to subdue you."

He sighed. "But considering Lord Adam’s Talents, even if he stumbles upon one of them, he should be able to escape. We’re not here to fight; just to survive. And I’m confident he can manage that against most of them. Except..."

There was a pause.

"Except against their Captain." Tenver lowered his gaze to the floor and clasped his hands together. Was he...trembling? "If you see a man with white hair and purple eyes, who looks like he hasn’t slept in days...even just escaping will be impossible."

Adam couldn't disagree. He’d never met the Captain in person, but the stories he’d heard told all he needed to know. "That’s the man who killed the Mountain Puppets, right?"

At that, Solara sat up. "The one who single-handedly carved a tunnel between Gama and Penumbria?"

"The very same," Tenver replied, with an acrid tone. "He...Adam, if you see him, don’t even try running. Remember that my Father also possessed an Emperor level Talent – unfair fight or not, who do you think killed him?"

A mild shiver went down Adam’s spine. He put on a brave face, trying not to think about what potentially awaited him in the capital city. "Between the Captain and the current Emperor, which one of them is stronger?"

"The Captain doesn’t possess a Lord’s Realm, so he can’t rule over people as my dear old Uncle does," Tenver slowly replied. "But when it comes to simple, overwhelming strength...there is not a single man who could best him throughout the entire Empire."

Adam hesitated before responding. "It should be fine," he said, with forced optimism. "If each Hangman is guarding just one of six districts, then I’ve got over an 80% chance of avoiding the Captain."

He nodded in an attempt to persuade both his allies and himself. "All of this hinges on Eric’s betrayal, anyway. He might surprise us. And there’s a slim chance that even with his betrayal, I’ll be able to convince the Emperor that I should be left alive. It’s a gamble, but if we do nothing, the Empire will just come knocking on our door sooner rather than later."

Adam drew himself up. He could feel the reaper hang its scythe over his neck, waiting to see if it should cut down.

"I’ll take these odds."

--

Present Day

Adam launched himself out of the castle. He needed to move fast – Emperor Ciro would have certainly noticed his Resurrection, and he’d already wasted too much time exchanging words with Eric.

That goes for both just now...and for my entire life.

The cold, hard streets were rushing up to meet him. Ciro’s throne room was located rather high up in his castle – no normal person could have survived a fall like this. Thankfully, Adam had accounted for that in his planning.

Although he did find some irony in the fact that it was raining outside. If only the Ghost of Waters hadn’t been made up of so many different souls, he mused. I could’ve stolen his Talent and escaped through the raindrops. Would’ve been way easier. While there hadn’t been any realistic chance of him stealing that Talent, the regret burned regardless.

It didn't last long. None of his emotions did. Adam focused all of his attention on the task at hand, shoving aside his lingering concerns until nothing else mattered. Even his grief over having to accept Eric’s final betrayal could wait.

Right now...he had a city to escape.

"Stained Vines!" Adam stabbed through the side of the castle walls, using his Talent to slow his fall. Initially, he’d half-planned to start a fire and use the Haunted Flames to escape, but the sudden onset of rain had taken that option away from him.

It’s not all bad, though. The heavy rain worked as a cover, obscuring him from sight as he descended. Guards and citizens down below won’t see me. They don’t have any reason to look up at one specific area of the Imperial Palace during a storm. I can escape – no one’s coming after me!

Adam screamed the thought in his head...which didn’t make it sound any more convincing. He’d earned a head start on his pursuers, but that was it. Eric would be rushing to alert the Emperor by now, and it was likely that at least a few people had witnessed the indistinct, rain-cloaked figure rappelling down the castle’s walls.

Still, he had to make himself believe it. He couldn’t let fear touch him, lest he become its slave.

And he would never allow himself to controlled ever aga–

"Well, well. You survived?"

His heart froze as the Emperor’s voice filled inside his head. "Was that the Talent of Resurrection? What a curious little Painter you are." Casual malice dripped from every word. "Stay put. I shall send–"

Adam tuned out the voice. Despite being a bit high up, he forcibly let go of his Stained Vines, quickly plummeting to the ground below. The impact was painful, but nothing seemed broken. Good enough.

Two thoughts came to him at once. The first was, He can send thoughts into the heads of people inside his Realm? How does that– and the second, I can’t have been using my Talents for longer than a minute. Was that enough for him to find me? That’s absurd! If that’s the case, then I’m already dead!

Uncertainty clouded his questions of the future, but the truth of the moment reigned supreme – inaction meant death. Adam could only grit his teeth and set himself running into the rainy streets, his feet clicking against the cobblestone and echoing throughout the city.

For a moment, for just a singular, solitary second, Adam stopped pretending. He quit being a superhuman above such petty concerns, and allowed himself to think everything that he’d forbidden from himself until now.

‘This is hopeless.’

‘I’m already dead.’

‘I can’t escape the Emperor.’

‘I’ve gotten everyone killed.’

Each and every one, a valid thought.

Adam discarded them all. "Being reasonable isn’t going to get me anywhere," he declared to himself. "I’m going to escape. That’s a guarantee."

His vow sustained him as he fled, the encroaching shadows chasing close behind.

–

Adam’s flight from the castle was a desperate blur. His breath was ragged in the chill air, and his sense of time had deserted him. It should have been midday, yet the stormclouds masked even that. Too gray for the light of day, too gray for the dark of night.

Fear clung onto him tighter than his wet, rain-soaked shroud. It was both a heavy chain of burden and the only thing that moved him forward. Every time the sharp reality of betrayal struck, invoking a feeling of hopelessness within, the threat of hostile footsteps prompted him to run ever faster.

Eric...you really couldn’t help yourself, could y–

Adam quickened his pace. The Capital city’s mazelike design was a blessing and a curse; easy to hide inside, yet difficult to find your own way out of. Streets twisted, turned, grew narrower, then wider. For how long? A few minutes? A few hours?

He couldn’t know for sure. Adam didn't have the luxury of calm thought, for his legs now mattered more than his brain.

Can’t–let–the–Hangmen–get–me!

The crowd was a wave of faceless figures, every cloak a dark whisper, every laugh a burning threat. No time to discern passersby from the people hunting me down. Have to assume everything is a danger to me. Objects no longer stood only for themselves. Shadows hid watchers, and flickers of torchlight beckoned accusatory, malevolent gazes.

Nowhere was safe. In that demented, manic haze, Adam’s most primal instincts guided him towards the only direction he could go – away.

Away from them.

The storm poured down still. It was less of a rain and more of a dense, almost green mist that sprayed against his face with every passing moment. Coldness clung at his skin as Adam’s uneven breath forged a mist of its own. Those vengeful clouds were his ally and his enemy; the wet cobblestone threatened to slip his boots many a time, yet the rainy mist camouflaged his desperate flight among hundreds of others seeking shelter from the elements.

Suddenly, the rain seemed to pause. Nothing felt the same as it had been one moment before. The world slowed down as Adam’s heartbeat raced faster.

All to herald the arrival of the Dark Captain.

The Captain was a tall, somewhat elegantly dressed man, with eyes of purple, and hair of white. He stood beneath the rain as if unbothered by the growing storm.

No. Not as if.

"The rain...it...it isn’t touching him," Adam muttered to himself, in disbelief.

It was hard to make out details from a distance, but this much, he was sure of. Despite the raging storm above, the Captain was completely dry. Each time the water neared him, it would close up, yet never touch him, sent sideways like it had been repelled by a magnetic force.

Are the raindrops scared of him to the point of fleeing?

A mere glance was enough to understand – strength was not a word befitting of this man. This was one of those rare few that was an anomaly in existence; a life akin to an army in and of itself. Another creature alike the Emperor and the Grandmaster. There was no need for Adam to glance at his tablet to know the man’s name or title.

Valente Marinyo, Head of the House of Estrela Verde, and Captain of the Hangmen.

The Strongest Man in the Empire.

Their gazes met, and all color vanished.

It wasn’t poetry; it was sight, it was reality. Shades of blue, red, and green turned to pitch-black before Adam’s eyes. This is...the world telling me I’m about to die. He didn’t know where the thought had come from, yet it felt indisputable, and ruled his mind from that moment onward. His hopes perished within that monochrome world.

He’s going to kill me. Six possible Hangmen, only one to worry about...and I got the absolute worst possible outcome.

At first, the Captain seemed to be grimacing, but his expression soon relaxed into a relieved smile. "Ah, look over there! Where was this luck in the Colosseum? Dice should’ve favored me more, they should have."

Valente lifted a foot high up in the air as if readying himself for a theatrical, exaggerated march. His intention was clear – he was approaching Adam.

I have to do something before he gets here! What can I do? Run? No, there’s no way someone like him wouldn’t be able to outrun me. My best chance would be to blend in with the–

"Now, now," Valente said. He lowered his leg.

And immediately appeared in front of Adam, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What should I do with you? I don’t enjoy killing. Enemies of the Empire do have to die, though. Gods, I’d much rather someone else dealt with you...but as the Colosseum taught me, luck isn’t my strong suit."

Adam was stunned into silence as the Hangman rambled on. One instant he’d been across the street, and the next he was inches away. That hadn’t been mere speed. It was as if–

NO TIME FOR THAT! With haste, he stepped on the man’s shadow and called on his Talent of a Lord. "Kneel," Adam commanded, his eyes sparkling with intensity.

"I think not," Valente cheerfully replied. Upon seeing Adam’s expression, he let out a gentle laugh. "Surprised that your Shadow Realm isn’t working? Or is it that I’ve suddenly appeared in front of you?"

Tenver’s warning rang true in Adam’s mind. ‘You have no chance of fighting against him. Forsake the goal of winning. Even running is impossible. Survival should be your only priority.’

No fighting, winning, or running. What else could he do right now? What options did he have?

Get him talking. Delay the execution. "Admittedly, my Lord Talent failing to work is puzzling," Adam said, with false amusement in his voice. Stay confident. Make him think you’re not afraid. "Care to elaborate why?"

"For one, I’m pretty confident that I’d be strong enough to survive even inside your Realm," Valente said, his voice sounding both joyful and puzzled. "But then again...I’m not a specialist in Lordly Realms. How about you elucidate for us?"

It was here that Adam noticed Valente was speaking to someone else. "You’ve been watching for a while now, right?" the Captain said.

A figure emerged from the shadows, stepping closer to them.

Adam then realized, far too late, that he’d been wrong. Happening upon the Captain of the Hangmen – despite having over an 80% chance of avoiding him – was not the worst possible outcome.

"If you insist," said Aspreay.

This was.

"I suppose I can spare a few words." The former Lord wore an expression of vague distaste. "It’s not a total waste. At least one of you will live to remember them."

Dealing with a Hangman was difficult enough. Dealing with their Captain was virtually impossible. Adding Aspreay of Penumbria, the only man in this world who hated Adam more than himself, made the problem so insurmountable as to make him want to laugh. It was beyond absurd.

"Your Shadow Realm is an extension of your Realm in Penumbria," Aspreay continued, his every word dripping with disgust. He placed a hand on Adam’s other shoulder, standing opposite to the Hangman. "It’s the same principle as to why the Emperor cannot so easily pinpoint your location. The power of your Realm is a simple calculation of its size and your overall strength. At present, it is too weak to function inside the Emperor’s Realm."

With a tilt of his head, Valente muttered a soft, contemplative hum that skirted between pure innocence and a thinly-veiled aura of murder. "Isn’t the Shadow Realm really small, though? It only applies if he can step on my shadow."

"Weren’t you listening, white-haired imbecile?" Aspreay said, with annoyance. "It only looks small. It’s still derived from the Realm he established in Penumbria. Considering the difference in Rank between him and the Emperor, building a functional Realm inside the Emperor’s Realm would require much more finesse."

That seemed easier for the Hangman to understand, who nodded along happily to the explanation. "Yes, I‘ve got it, I see! You’re saying that if Adam wanted to fight me with his Lordly Realm, he’d need to first undo the one in Penumbria?"

"Yes. That’s exactly it." Aspreay tightened his grip on Adam’s shoulder. "If he were to undo his Realm there...he could recreate it here. Make it smaller. Instead of a gigantic Imperial city, if he focused everything onto a narrow street, then perhaps he would have a chance. Lordship is among the few Talents that the Emperor cannot detect inside his Realm."

"I see, I see!" Valente excitedly said. "So the question is whether or not the Pretender is willing to doom his city – and his treasonous followers – in order to save his own skin. Villains such as he will die regardless, but this way he could try to put up a fight."

"Correct," Aspreay stated. "That is precisely the question. So, Painter. What’s it going to be? Your life...or Penumbria?"

In response to that, Adam could only bark out a low laugh. "This isn’t the first time I’ve had to decide between those two." He adopted a dry tone, locking eyes with both men. "But considering how dire this situation is...it might actually be my last."

"You don’t fear death?" Valente raised an eyebrow. "You bluff, surely."

"I’ve already made arrangements for my inheritance. If I die, I know who the Lord Talent will get passed down to – and it won’t be someone like Aspreay."

Truthfully, he had no idea if his Talent of a Lord even could be passed down like other people’s. There were many unknown oddities related to Painted abilities. Still, he had followed the protocol as learned, instituting heirs just in case: Tenver, then Solara, then Esteban, then Vasco. While he wasn’t entirely happy with his selection, he’d assumed that if Tenver and Solara had also fallen...there were likely few people left to protect, anyhow.

"I won’t disband Penumbria’s barrier," Adam calmly told them. "If you want to kill me, go ahead." More sternly, he added, "But Aspreay – you’d better go back and make sure someone has a barrier set up there after you take my head, you hear me?"

He paused, and when he continued, it was with a low voice, almost a growl. "Listen carefully Aspreay. If you let monsters overrun our city, then I’ll haunt you for the rest of eternity!"

"Do you mean that?" Aspreay asked, slowly. He didn’t seem bothered by the threat, nor did he acknowledge it. "Will you truly not lift the barrier in Penumbria, even in the face of death?"

Adam drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. It’s easy to say those things in the heat of the moment. But when I actually stop to think about it...it’s terrifying. Dying is scary. I don’t want to die. I want to help more people. I want to have fun. I want to trust people again. There’s so many things I still have to do.

But...even so...

He opened his eyes and glared at Aspreay. "If I wasn’t willing to do this much, I would have had no right to take Penumbria from you."

"Is that so?" Aspreay repeated, in a deadpan. "I suppose that’s true." He let go of Adam’s shoulder and peered at the Hangman. "Valente, I have a proposal for you."

The Hangman recoiled, as if hurt, but still didn’t release his grip on Adam’s shoulder. If anything, it grew tighter. "Oh? What could you possibly want? We must impose the will of His Imperial Highness upon creatures such as this man. Surely you don’t intend to suggest that we merely let this villain go?"

"No," Aspreay immediately replied. "But you were muttering some inanity earlier about how murdering him or allowing his escape would both be troublesome, were you not?"

"Was I?"

"You were," Aspreay said, with a degree of anger. Then, more formally, he asked, "What do you say that I kill him?" When Valente didn’t respond, he added, "The Emperor’s reward will be yours. I only want the satisfaction of murdering the man who stole everything from me."

Valente's eyes became alight with a fiery malice, licking his lips as if anticipating a feast. "Oh, I can certainly deal with those terms. It’s only fair that you kill the Pretender brat. And I could use the Orbs after how my last night at the Colosseum went...yes, this would be acceptable!"

This is pathetic, Adam seethed. Am I seriously just going to wait here and let them debate how to kill me?

No. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. If they meant for Aspreay to kill him, then the Hangman would need to let go of his shoulder and step back. That would be the best time for Adam to unleash whatever mad attack he could conjure up in his last moments.

Maybe I can try pulling out my tablet to trap Aspreay’s soul. It won’t save my life, but I’ll die happier knowing that he doesn’t get to live to gloat about this. Or maybe if I can find a way to start a fire to use Haunted Flames – maybe give the Curse to one of them on purpose.

All hopeless plans, Adam knew. There wouldn’t be time to do any of that. If either man saw him reaching for his tablet, they’d murder him on the spot. Using any Talent outside of Lordship would alert the Emperor of his location, and using Lordship would doom Penumbria to a swift and merciless demise by Stained Creatures.

Was this checkmate?

It certainly felt that way when the Hangman let go of Adam’s shoulder and took several steps back. "Is this far enough, Aspreay? I don’t want to get blood on my suit. Lost my other good one in the Colosseum, you know?"

"A few more steps," Aspreay annoyedly shouted. As Valente acquiesced to his request, the former Lord of Penumbria glanced at Adam and lowered his voice to a whisper. "If you let Vasco die, then I’ll be the one haunting you for eternity, brat."

Adam blinked. "The hell are you–"

"Quiet." Aspreay took two steps away – and towards the Hangman. "Get out of my sight."

Suddenly, color returned to Adam’s world. It wasn’t a full palette yet. Almost every color was dark, an odd shade of blue for most of it, and some dark greens for the rest...but it wasn’t monochrome anymore.

"Aspr–" Adam started, then stopped as he recoiled in pain. He instinctively tried to approach Aspreay, one hand extended toward the empty air between the two – then pulled it back as it burned intensely as if he’d just touched...fire? No. Something else. As if a sudden jolt of electricity had just shocked his hand. It was a familiar sensation. Where had he felt that before?

Remembrance came to him in a flash. Adam paled, the blood draining from his face. There’s...no way. He wouldn’t be able to touch Aspreay right now. No one from the outside could. If you do that, you’re going to...

Across from them, the smile was gone from the Hangman’s face. When he spoke, it was in a raspier, more malicious tone. "Aspreay, Aspreay Aspreay..." He shook his head. "Oi, oi, oi...are you serious?"

"If you can’t understand it still, then you bear the sin of stupidity. You heard my explanation earlier, yes? You also must have heard the brat explaining why he refuses to abandon the city. But I..."

Aspreay lifted his right elbow, dangling his hand before his face as if holding a marionette. "...I am no longer Lord of Penumbria. No attachments. Nothing to hold me back. Nothing to protect."

He clenched his hand into a fist. "Nothing to fear."

"I disagree," Valente said, in that same low, raspy voice. "You should fear me."

"Mayhap so," Aspreay acknowledged.

The Hangman sighed. "Once you utter the words," he warned, "there will be no turning back."

"Aye." Aspreay cracked his neck. "A single street...even against the Emperor’s Realm, I should be able to manage it if I narrow it down this much."

The two were about ten steps apart from each other. In this narrow street, the storied buildings and bustling taverns practically felt claustrophobic, as if threatening to envelop them all. A few people walked quickly, not fully cognizant of any of their identities, yet feeling the oncoming storm heavier than the deluge that was presently falling upon them.

For a moment, only the sound of rain punctuated this stage of theirs.

Then Aspreay whipped his arm to the side, as if to signal an invisible army to start its advance, and cried out:

"–REALM–RECONSTRUCTION–!"

--

Thanks for reading!