Silver branches that are like spider webs grows out from Suiming’s body , but this time it is controlled by him like a marionett.

He went through the allyways with cat walking volume footsteps .

The branches continues to grow , until it merges toughether into a grim and reflective weapon. The ‘‘root’’ snaps off , making a sound that’s like someone is snapping their finger.

Does this count as my third realm-arts? Suiming thinks to himself.

He swings the scythe through the air , almost breaking some unlucky person’s window.

If he remembers right…the next turn to left…and the house with blue door…

All across the street is the otherworld plants that is being cleaned by the messangers with cognition filter and bold , blunt weapons or diverse mythical items.

Some of messangers are near to the battlefield , prepearing some kind of ritual that Suiming hasn’t seen before.

Suiming didn’t pay attention before , but now he is bound by the tragedy that struck his eyes. The author of this tragedy is the same with the origin of his new power.

On the sidewalk lies a man that has silver branches pierced through his chest , his face remains the same when he died , like a statue that is frozen in time.

Suiming walks up to the man, then closes his eyes, and prays for him to rest in peace, although he knew it was an unattainable wish. He then checked if the man had any kind of identification with him. Thankfully, there was a document in his jacket's inner pocket; at least he wouldn't die namelessly.

‘‘The world is a small giant , too big to walk , too small to be called as home.’’ Suiming says to himself , like he is lamenting.

‘‘May you rest under the night sky.’’

He noticed the giant mask flying and the warped , tundering snake that dissapeared midair and the unnoticable scent of burning talismans.

He then knocks on the blue door , seeing noone is inside , he walks into the building.

The person from the chamber of Letter-Writer told him to come here , but there is nothing than an empty shell of the four walls and a damp floor , the sunlight just shoots in directily from the roofless top of the house.

Suiming noticed some kind of paintings are hanging up on the wall like a hangman that looks straight into Suiming’s eyes. He walks closer to the painting , it is a painting of a room full of drawing equipments- brushes , buckets , vase , unopened canvases and many more. Suiming sees a signiture-Canvas.

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‘‘Ooh , that’s his painting!’’

‘‘Didn’t expect that.’’ Suiming says as he puts the scythe away.

A ‘‘scar’’ appeares in the air , Fosfor walks out of it as she drags a wounded man.

Before Suiming asked any question , Canvas and Nameless comes in after Fosfor.

‘‘Mistblue?’’

‘‘You know him?’’ Fosfor asks.

‘‘Yeah , i know him before he became the Letter-Writer.’’

‘‘He said that he has to come here , no matter what.’’ Canvas informs.

Suiming didn’t respond , Canvas’ face is covered by his hoodie.

‘‘Listen , Sharded…. light , i’m …here to tell you something.’’ he says with cought and deep breath every two word.

‘‘The night sky shatters in our years , accompanied by an eclipse.’’

‘‘remem-ber that.’’ he accents.

‘‘…Is that some kind of prophecy?’’

‘‘If you take it that way.’’

They both sielences , Suiming didn’t wonder why he hasn’t die from bleeding since the presence of Fosfor explains that with no word. Instead he wonders more about the man in white hood.

Canvas notices his stare , he pulles the hood even lower and puts his finger infront of his lips.

Then the Letter-Writer breaks the sielence with a spell coming out of his mouth.

‘‘O the drunkness of dream , waves of madness ,i give you my being , bring your drunkness upon our world!’’

Nameless’ creation tried to stop him , but it’s too late. The Letter-Writer’s hanging wounds and flesh mixes with some kind of unseen mass that human’s eyes can’t understand. Whispers that are like dream talks of a cosmos radiats from Letter-Writer.

Suiming summons constalations as his hand reaches to his scythe , his hand were a centimeter away from the weapon. But then he felt a stare.

The sight of ‘‘that’’ is diffrent from what Suiming encountered before , if the previous ecounter were waves of madness , then this would be an injection of absurdness.

Sights and things that are not sane and logical shoves right into his mind , they were like dreams , dreams that are not in our dimention. The things in it warps lefts and right , up and down , even to the direnction that doesn’t even exist.

From then unimaginable things , Suiming filtered an important imformation.

‘‘Everything added together is equal to ‘him’.’’

‘‘‘He’ is the end , ‘he’ is the begining.’’

‘‘ ‘He’ shall rule the rulers.’’

The whispers were unprouncable with human mouth , they were like buzzes and cracking of dimentions , but Suiming somehow managed to understand what it was.

From the corner of the eyes , he sees a hand touching the painting on the wall , then the Letter-Writer dissapears.

Suiming bears the pain in his head , tears that are crimson red slithers down his eyes , his sees everything as a red figure.

He rubs his eyes , light of the dusk shoots from the open door.

‘It is already so late?’ he thinks to himself.

Suiming’s head is still lingered by that sentence.

‘‘Everything added together equals ‘him’.’’

Then he sees the painting on that wall , the painting have changed , there is a humanoid in the centre of the painting , he sits there like he is being imprisoned.

Everyone kept their mouth shut , the marks of blades and their blood speaks for them.

Fosfor’s eyes were uncentred ; Nameless’ hair are warped and messed up like overcooked noodles.

‘‘Why?’’ Fosfor breaks the sielence.

‘‘All this…disaster…just to please an Existence?’’

‘‘Everything added together equals ‘him’.’’ Suiming mutters

‘‘固梦碎现大司命 , so the siyuenese tales are true…’’ Canvas says to himself.

‘‘Solid Dream…Broken Reality?’’ Suiming asks.

‘‘Prehaps , it is just teatime stories after all.’’

‘‘Who would talk about Existences while sipping tea?’’ Suiming says while frowning.

‘‘Those who are too curious.’’