Acryl has no idea why someone is targeting him on this island. His once battle experience tells him to activate his realm-arts.

Realm-arts: Pure-white palette.

Realm-arts: Reversed spotlight.

Thirty three minutes. The limit for Acryl’s realm-arts maintenance. And if that timer hits , that means for some time , he won’t be able to re-activate his realm-arts.

The hexagons on Acryl’s body worms , pain flows by the marks. The surroundings of him are waving like asphalt on hot summer days. His heart is pumping fast , the pulse of him beats like the falling rain.

He looks at the rain-painted silhouette of his friend , the one who swore to accompany him on this trip. The rain rolls down from the figure. Acryl considers Neon’s realm-arts more useful , since the side effect of it is just hunger.

“Neon , I think…you should find somewhere to hide.” Acryl suggests.

“I don’t think so , plus , you are not that strong either.”

Acryl drops silent. The attack was sudden. Sometimes he felt like having realm-arts is a waste of resources. And Canvas has no reason to spend it on implanting realm-arts for an orphan he raised.

A splash of white launches right next to Acryl. Almost hitting his eyes. He blocks it with the worming colors of his realm-arts. He moves the mass around him. Bright colors rise from the ground , creating coverage for him and Neon. The charged arrow stuck on the coverage.

He can’t see where the attack comes from , but he does not seek victory.

The importance of fighting is not to win , but to live. Acryl strengthens every muscle of his. Feet kicking in the wet ground. Without a word , Neon runs with him. They run into the in-and-between of houses.

Twenty five minutes, Acryl counts in his heart , he doesn’t know the exact minutes , but the side effect of his realm-arts can tell the time for him.

Acryl knows nothing about this small brick-house full island. He is as lost as a leaf in the rain.

Acryl complains in his mind , what’s wrong with these days?

He hears the footsteps above. He could hear how the weapons hit each other and the falling roof tiles. His heart is pumping even faster , like it is going to explode.

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He is too afraid to look up , even if he keeps repeating “it's a human not a hound” in his heart. But he knows how bad a negotiator he is , he is too afraid to even bargain in morning markets. Stuck between curiosity and concern for his own safety , he turns to the other side.

Crap. Acryl thought to himself. He isn’t a messenger or a fighter. But at least he knows now he is exposed to the enemy. At least that’s what the fantasy novels told him.

The enemy lurks in the dark , but Acryl and Neon are exposed. The rain slithers down his feet. The town square is empty , with the lone yellow vending machine sparkling its bad contacted light. Acryl wonders where the people are , the island is way too empty than it should be. Considering it has an aircraft dock.

Neon’s realm-arts can only make herself invisible. That leaves two choices for Acryl.

Take it head on or continue running.

But the figure in red thinks otherwise , appearing to crush Acryl’s second option into crisps. The man dresses in all crimson , as if they just walked out of a blood pool. Hand holding a bone shaped bow with arrows in the gap of his fingers.

Twenty minute. The pain goes deeper. Acryl has heard that realm-arts efficiency can be trained. But not knowing how.

He sees the man’s bow string strengthen , pointed towards Acryl. In the red crimson reflection ,he sees something else. A white figure putting their finger against their lips , fades away as Acryl blinks. Acryl didn’t care about that second long illusion. He hooks the look to the man in red.

The rain crushes even more , from weeping to lamenting.

Acryl takes a deep breath , then empties the air in his lungs. The surrounding is slowly warping , gathering together. He concentrates all of his power , the mass of colors floats around him. His plan is made.

The string loosens , echo of the string explodes. Arrow ricochets towards Acryl. He doesn’t know if it's an illusion or not , but he has a feeling that the shooter is confident with this shot. Like a hunter chasing a wounded deer , or an Existence against a man.

A smile appears on Acryl’s face , his heart slows down for a bit when the dice of his lands. Acryl can’t tell the man’s expression , but he is sure that it is jaw dropping or eye opening.

The arrow stops midair , not even stopped by the floating mass. But by the layers of colorful limbs of Acryl’s creation. It was a massive gamble for him. Not even he knew he could catch the arrow with his realm-arts.

It's not time to celebrate , Acryl told himself.

He looks at the vending machine , and a not-so-moral plan comes up.

The man also seems to notice the vending machine. He aims the arrow towards it.

Fifteen minutes. The pain goes even deeper into his spine.

He has to put an end to this quickly. So the color paints. The colors launch towards the wire of the vending machine. Trying to form something to block the arrow.

So the colors burst , splashed all around like graffiti , forming a small shield.

But the arrow pierces through the color barrier. Punching a hole on the iron skin of the vending machine.

In a time of heartbeat or two Acryl moves the colors. The colors reshape and block the hole of iron. Holding the falling wire and covering the head of the electricity breathing snake.

Thank God , he thinks to himself.

“Timeout!” a strange female voice shouts.

“What the hell Seven?”