Satisfaction empowered him. Even though his body was begging to rest, his desire to shit-talk the thing that had been kicking his ass until now was too strong to ignore. He turned around and faced the monster. “Your Talent is the ability to Travel Through Fire isn’t it? That’s how you were teleporting around – the torches on the walls!”

The Curse’s laughter ricocheted off the walls, a resounding symphony of darkness and malice. Adam could feel his Stained Vines thrum in response, each chuckle like a pulse of dread. “In many aspects, you are correct,” it replied. “But not all of them.” Adam tensed up his grip, trying to keep the Vines tight. “I am more than a curse, yes. Some hundreds of years ago, I died as a human so that my Lord Sorcerer could revive me as the Ghost of Fire.”

“So you’re going to tell me the limits of your Talent? That’s very kind of you, monster. Ah, excuse me – ghost.”

“Why not? It’s only fair. You’ve fed me with so much precious ink that it would be terribly rude not to respond in kind.”

Again the monster laughed, the sound ricocheting off the walls. “How many years would it have taken to eat this much ink otherwise? I cannot thank you enough, Painter. So know this – yes, I can travel through fire, so long as the flames are close enough to each other. My body can fully reside within them, and they do not prevent me from speaking. Which is hardly a fair trade.”

The Ghost peered down at the long sections of Stained Ink that were restraining it. Slowly, it lifted a mocking gaze at Adam, and grinned. The creature’s tongue unfurled forward like a frog, slithering across the Vine like a sort of razor-sharp snake, breaking the Stained Ink apart and swallowing it whole.

“How–”

Adam’s shock was cut short as he winced and doubled over. He heaved, his body attempting to puke, although nothing came out of his stomach. Shit, I’ve already lost a lot of blood, and this isn’t helping. Although he retracted whatever Ink he could back into his body, the Vines he’d lost were far from insignificant. There was no way of making a Vine long enough to tie up the Ghost again.

His first instinct was convulse on the ground. His second instinct overrode the first. I have to know – what’s going....what just happened. Otherwise, even if I survive today, I won’t live past tomorrow.

“You said before that it’s polite to offer information as payment, considering how rare my Ink is.” Which Adam still didn’t fully understand. Was Ink that came from Stained Creatures different from the Rot? “Considering the feast I just gave you, could you at least tell me what the fuck you just did? How did you break my ability so easily?”

The Ghost laughed amusingly. “Fair enough. It is most simple, Painter of the World of Ink. I bear the Talent of a Viscount, and you of a Baron. A weaker Talent cannot ever break a stronger one. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Are you saying that no matter what I do, so long as the Rank of my Stained Vines is lower than yours, I can’t hurt you?”

“Indeed. Such is the law of the Painted World, my dear denizen of the World of Ink.”

Which means I have to increase my Rank, by any means necessary. Penumbria needs more Orbs, and so do I. But that was a problem for another time. More pressingly, this meant no matter what he did, he wouldn’t be able to hurt the Ghost whatsoever. There was an unbreachable gulf between them designated by the inherent rules of reality. If what the Ghost was saying was true, then this couldn’t even be called a fight anymore.

It never had been.

That was the real reason why the creature was so unconcerned about keeping Adam alive. There was never any danger in the first place. It could take its time feasting on Adam’s blood like he was a water fountain, prolonging his suffering for as long as it desired.

“Show me the Talent of a Lord!” the Ghost said, through an echoing, harrowing laugh. “Show it to me – give me more Ink! Make me more powerful! Unless, of course, you have accepted death.”

“Accepted death?” Adam repeated, thoughtfully. It was a fair question. “Not sure if I have. Not sure if I haven’t, either.”

He sighed. Then, when he realized his annoyance hadn’t quite left his body, he sighed one more time. The Ghost’s question was beyond annoying, it was downright frustrating...because it meant that he would have to address the issue he’d been procrastinating on.

Until now, Adam had mostly avoided thinking about how he felt about living in the painted world. There was always something else to focus on – sorting out his feelings could wait. Aspreay, for all his faults, had been very useful in this regard. The late Lord made for an excellent project to solve.

But Adam couldn’t procrastinate any longer. It was time to come to a decision. If he truly didn’t care about living, he may as well just let the monster finish him off.

What did it mean to want to live, though?

Every time he heard someone talk about the drive to live, be it in a book or in class, they’d extol the feeling like it was some kind of divine spirit. An unavoidable force that possessed you, drove you, pushed you forward. External and intrinsic at the same time. A basic part of the human condition.

Adam...didn’t think he had that. Not now, not ever.

But I don’t think I want to die, either.

After all – there were still so many things he wanted to draw. This world was strange, yet beautiful, in a creepy sort of way. It would be a waste not to capture those sights onto paper. He was also very curious about what life might be like without having to worry about money every second of every day. Maybe things would feel a little...different, now.

And I shouldn't forget the people of Penumbria. They’d be in trouble if I died, I think. Would feel crass to let them down after usurping their lord. Plus, I can't help but wonder if it's possible to turn the dumping grounds of the Empire into a powerhouse that everyone else envies. I want to see if I can make that happen.

Then there was Lord Vasco and his daughter. Adam didn’t really know much about them. If Aspreay was to be believed, then Vasco was just as bad as any lord, if not worse. But he also seemed ready to give up his fortune, his title, and even his life in order to save his daughter...who from the looks of it, wasn’t even blood related to him. It'd be nice to help them out too. Them, and the people of Penumbria, and...

“Ah, shit.” Adam rubbed the back of his head. He sighed, then looked up, flashing the monster a bittersweet smile. “Honestly? I don’t think I have that passionate desire to live that everyone always talks about. But, well...I do want to know what tomorrow looks like. If that counts...”

Adam called upon his Vines to swirl around his arm. “Then I guess I actually do want to live. Which means exorcising you from Solara’s body.”

He sent his Vines forward. When they seemed like they were about to collide with the monster, they instead went under it, through the floor. The maneuver was difficult to pull off without being able to see, but Adam remembered the tower’s architecture; every room so far had a candelabrum at the dead center of the room below them. His Vines wrapped themselves around it, then violently pulled sideways, tearing the candelabrum and the ceiling – their floor – off with it.

The monster screamed in terror as it fell, the sudden destruction leaving behind a cloud of dust where the floor had been a moment ago.

Adam fell too, but his throat let out no screams – only a manic laughter. “If my Talent can’t hurt you, how about gravity?” Adam shouted in midair, as they both fell.

“Are you insane?” the Ghost barked out. “If you die like this, your Ink–”

There was no time for the monster to finish their sentence, but they both knew what he meant. If Adam died, his Ink would revert to ordinary blood again. Considering how valuable the Ghost had said his Ink was, the implication of both its warning and the sly grin Adam flashed as they fell was the same.

Then you’d better save me, dear monster.

Adam collected his Stained Vines into a sharpened weapon and launched it downwards as he fell, hoping to weaken the floor. At the same time, the Ghost tried desperately swaying through the air to get closer to Adam and save him from the crash. Their actions lasted no longer than a few panicked seconds.

CRUNCH.

To be honest, Adam had no idea how successful the monster ended up being. He knew it managed to catch him at one point, trying to wrap its body around him, but he was also pretty sure he managed to struggle free at some moment. All he knew for certain was that his head was ringing, and that they’d crashed straight through a couple floors during their fall.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Hmm. Did I break any bones? Oh, yeah, several. Lovely. Did I at least manage to break the fall with my Vines?

Judging by the cold stone surface pressed against his cheek, they’d fallen all the way down to the first floor. The Ghost probably did break his fall, then – he’d be dead otherwise. The monster itself was clearly alive, although it seemed to be dazed, staggering to its feet on shaky legs. In spite of his current state, Adam made sure to make a mental note.

Notes on the Painted World

— Talents cannot beat Talents of a stronger Rank.

— However, Talent users can still be hurt indirectly.

He wasn’t sure why he was bothering. Even just drawing a deep breath hurt – enough that Adam had to wonder if his ribs were poking against his lungs. If so, then he was on a short timer for how much longer he could last, and he’d still accomplished close to nothing. The desperation ploy that nearly killed him had done little more than temporarily stun his opponent.

The Ghost knew this as well. “You’re insane, you know that?”

“Why do people keep saying that? My actions make perfect sense, alright? It was the only way to survive.”

“Survive? You would have died if I hadn’t–”

Adam cut him off. “But you had to save me, didn’t you? Because you want my Ink.”

“I only need you alive for that, human.” Though the Ghost was up on its feet now, the creature looked less human than before. Like whatever it did to ensure that they both survived the fall had come at a cost. That was interesting. “You will be my farm. Your Ink is all I need. I can cut off your arms and legs.”

“You probably can.” Adam shook his head. “Hmm...this is frustrating. It does look like checkmate, doesn’t it?”

“Yyeeeeeeeeeeesssssss.”

Everything hurt. Enough that he felt like he wasn’t going to last much longer even if the Ghost let him go. Just a single attack – hell, a punch – would likely be enough to kill him. And in a few seconds, the Ghost was going to recover and make him wish he was dead.

Or...

There is the Lord Talent.

Adam hated himself for even considering the idea. Using the Lord Talent would mean opening Penumbria to monster attacks. He wanted to see tomorrow, but not enough to sacrifice thousands of people. Yet if he did nothing, the Ghost would remove his limbs and torture him, which sounded...less than pleasant.

Maybe I can use the Lord Talent, win here, then immediately rush back to Penumbria. If I'm fast, I can get there in time before monsters overrun the city.

Even inside his head, it sounded like a lie.

“It always ends like this, doesn’t it?” Adam muttered to himself. “There's never a perfect solution. Just me wondering what I could’ve done differently.”

The Ghost started to convulse, its wounded body slowly repairing itself by exchanging humanity for distorted flesh. “Prepare yourself, human. The fun is over. I no longer wish to play with my food.”

There had to be something he could have done differently to avoid this. How far back did he have to go to find his first mistake?

Trying to become a professional artist – now *there’s* a mistake. Probably my biggest one. If I hadn’t, I would never have been sucked into that painting. Wouldn’t have ended up dying here, alone and miserable.

Being a professional artist was more than just difficult – it outright sucked. Your work was disrespected by other fields, you struggled to make ends meet, and even your student grants were lower. Things would be so easy, he’d often thought, if only I weren’t an artist. On multiple occasions, Adam had considered quitting his passion and shifting his studies to something else. If he’d stayed on Earth, he probably would’ve done just that, eventually.

Earth. His home that wasn’t a home. Adam had kept some long-term friends there, but he’d never enjoyed the whole process. He found it difficult to get on the same page as other people. The only way Adam made friends was by forcing himself to act cheerful even when his social battery was running dry, pretending to enjoy things that he 'should', and laughing at jokes that he didn’t find funny. He didn’t think he was better than them, but he was definitely different, and the fondness they held for him would’ve evaporated in an instant if they knew who they were actually talking to.

It was a bit of an odd blessing that he'd worked so hard to pay for both school and rent. Being that busy drove him apart from everyone except for Eric...which was probably for the best. He didn’t really know the person he became when keeping up those paper-thin friendships. At least his art protected him from losing himself.

And he was such a bastard that he didn’t even protect that. His own art, the one thing that had never given up on him, was also the one thing he’d considered giving up the most. How many times had he tried changing his style to appeal to a judge in some stupid contest where the winner was decided through nepotism, anyway? How often had he considered burning all his tools, never wanting to create anything again, just because one of his professors was acting like an arrogant dick?

How many times...how many fucking times...had he considered quitting the thing he loved most?

“Just because you love something,” Eric had said, “doesn’t mean it’s always going to be easy.”

Yeah...it wasn’t just about art. It never had been. Whenever Adam ran into an issue, he’d always tried to solve it by becoming anyone other than himself. Yet being yourself was supposed to be hard. If it was so easy to become the person you wanted to be, then everyone would do it.

Eric was a prick, but he’d been right about that much.

I talked a big game to Tenver, Adam thought, hazily looking back on their conversation. Told him I didn’t want to just survive. That I wanted to live. That I never wanted to do things I didn’t feel like again. Just a moment ago, I concluded that I was still too curious about life to be okay with dying.

At the time, those words had been easier to say. Even so, he still meant them.

Then and now.

Which means I shouldn’t dare hesitate—just because—things are getting harder!

“STAINED VINES!” Adam cried out.

At once, his Vines surged through his body, speeding toward the Ghost. Even with its grotesque face, Adam could tell the creature was showing him a mocking grin.

Sorry, but I’m not aiming for you.

The Ghost put its hand to a nearby torch, activated its Talent, and prepared for a blow that never came. Instead, Adam’s Vines shot straight past it, reaching the other side of the room and looping around his backpack. “Return.” The Vines pulled back like rubber that had been extended too far, the whiplash of their sudden stop sending his pack flying backwards onto the floor next to him.

Perfect. With a wide grin, Adam retrieved his tablet from the battered backpack. His ribs ached, his wounds burned, and his body threatened to give out on him any moment, but this? This would never give out. It would fight and die with him until the very end.

Yeah.

This was how things should be.

Because this was how he wanted them.

Adam stood up, tablet in one hand, drawing pen in the other, brandishing both like a sword and a shield, and aimed a piercing gaze at the Ghost. “I’m not going to use my Lord Talent – and I’m not going to die either. I am done hesitating. Done thinking about the right way of doing things. Do you want my Ink? Do you think I can’t paint Solara’s soul?”

At that, he opened the half-drawn portrait from before. “Then prove it. Shut your thousand invisible mouths, know your fucking place, and wait in silence, you goddamn philistine! I’m going to kill you, right here, with my art!”

Adam clenched his fist around the pen and declared, “I will now wager my Stained Ink to steal Solara’s Stained Flames!”