Adam looked at the message a couple of times, his eyes repeatedly scanning the words from start to finish. Was he seeing things? Was this right? No way. It couldn’t be...

But it was.

And so, he let out a huge sigh of relief.

The Ghost’s laughter ended with a final note of triumph. “Your power is mine, Painter! The sweet Ink—it belongs to me—the ecstasy...the thrill...”

It was downright jubilant. With an excited growl, the Ghost opened its maw and bit deep into its own arm. The creature’s eyes sparkled as it watched the Ink flow out from within, extending its tongue like a snake to consume its prize.

Just then, the Ghost paused, turning to eye Adam with open curiosity. “Why aren’t you more distressed?”

“Because my tablet isn’t broken,” Adam exhaled another huge sigh of relief. “I really can’t afford to buy another one, you don’t understand – oh, I guess I’m sort of rich now. But not that rich, considering how my money should be used to help Penumbria. And I don’t think I could buy a replacement for this anyway.”

He laughed nervously, like he couldn’t believe his luck. “Holy shit, oh my god, when I woke up and saw the damage everywhere, I thought: no shot my tablet survived. How did that happen? I’m going to thank every deity I can think of for this. Thor, Zeus, Nadal on clay, the thing that took me to this world...”

Oh, yeah. The thing that took me to this world. I think it made my memories a little hazy. Can’t forget to theorycraft about that in more detail later. He quickly jotted down a reminder on his tablet and–

“Your optimism confounds me, Painter,” the Ghost said, interrupting his thoughts. “You have proven incapable of harming me. The painting you were so proud of turned out to be worthless. Are you so uncaring of your own lack of ability that your heart does not despair before the end?”

Adam smiled and gently laid his tablet to the side, away from collateral damage. He carefully tested his body – without the Stained Talent, his wounds were liable to finish him off soon. None were lethal by themselves, but the blood loss would be, and there was no way to hold it back anymore.

“It’s not like I’m hyped about this,” Adam admitted. Goddamn it, everything just hurt so much. “No way I could be. Even I have my pride, you know? I wanted to be cool and save the girl by beating a horrible monster with my hidden genius. Who wouldn’t? Unfortunately, reality is often cruel.”

He grinned. “Still...I told you. Saying things out loud is the first step towards convincing yourself to feel a certain way.”

“Really now, human?” The Ghost’s smirk was mocking, the ink dropping from its mouth seeming almost like venom dripping from its words. “Then say it. Tell me the feelings that you hope will convince your heart to keep beating.”

“Frankly, I still think I can survive this.”

Adam dashed off, cursing all the while.

He cursed the pain, for making him wish for death. He cursed his wounds, for giving him so much pain. He cursed the monster, for wounding him so grievously. But most of all, he cursed himself, because this was only happening because he’d rejected death. If only he would just lie down and die, then there’d be no need to suffer like this.

But Adam had always been a sore loser.

Game on.

His dash was slow at best, but he took the Ghost by enough surprise that it merely watched in confusion as he stumbled toward the door – or close enough to it. When his legs began to fail, Adam leaned forward so that his momentum would carry him when he fell, then tucked his shoulders away to help roll a little more toward his destination.

The Dragonforged Shield. He sat down with his back to the wall and curled himself into a ball, trying to keep his entire body behind the shield. “You can’t kill me now!” Adam shouted. His lungs burned with every word he dared to say. “Dragonforged Steel can’t be broken by your weakass attacks!”

It was only partially true, and would have been pointless even if wholly accurate. While the shield itself couldn’t be broken, Adam could still easily be smashed into the wall until he died. Not to mention that he would probably bleed out in a matter of minutes regardless of what else happened.

Maybe a bit longer than that. Even if I don’t activate the Lord Talent, just having it seems to make me more resilient. That’s...something, at least.

None of this mattered to the Ghost. “Have you forgotten, Painter?” Discordant laughter echoed across the tower. It felt like each reverberation was somehow louder than the last, until suddenly, it faded. “There is one thing that can break through Dragonforged Steel.”

The Ghost held up its arm – Lady Solara’s arm – as inked blood flowed out like a waterfall. “The power you bestowed upon me.”

“It takes time to master. You’re untrained. I wouldn’t advise using it carelessly,” Adam said. He meant it, too.

“Fool! I witnessed you using it against me! I know of its power!” The idea of being unable to use the Talent it had just acquired seemed preposterous to the Ghost. “I repeat, Painter: you have one more chance. Only one. Submit yourself to your desire – become haunted by one of my brothers! If not...”

The Ghost shot out a Stained Arrow, just as it had watched Adam do. The ink penetrated through the Dragonforged shield as if it was made of regular steel, spearing through Adam’s right knee.

It took every ounce of his willpower not to scream. Fuck – I knew it would hurt but...I don’t even – I don’t even think I knew what pain really meant before this moment. Adam managed not to drop the shield, but only because he’d buckled it to his forearm and angled himself. Even if his entire body went limp, the shield would still stay upright.

“Go on,” Adam managed to weakly say. “Try and torture me. I’ll probably die in less than five minutes with these wounds. Can you make me feel enough pain...to surrender my body...?”

The monster continued launching more Stained Arrows. Not every arrow went through the shield, but many did. Their success rate differed based on size and point of impact, with the center of the shield being its toughest part.

You know better than to try the Vines, don’t you? Adam noticed. He wanted to grin, but his face wouldn’t respond to him anymore. If you used the Vines, you could just take my shield away and leave me defenseless. But at that point, while your Ink is transformed into the Vines, you’d be unable to use the Arrows – and I’m right by the front door.

The Ghost was under the effects of Belmordo’s curse. As long as it inhabited Solara’s body, there was no way for it to exit the tower. And even in Adam’s wounded state, if the monster gave him an opening, he could potentially lunge for the door and let gravity push him downstairs to safety, where Belmordo and the others would treat his injuries.

Much better to slowly, surely push him to the brink of death, leaving him with no choice but to accept a haunting.

“A pitiful display, Painter.”

Another arrow went through the shield, hitting close to the center. It didn’t pierce Adam’s body, but it did graze his chest, the back end left sticking out of the shield. This arrow was monstrously large, far bigger than anything Adam himself had ever created.

“The skill you took so much pride in – the effort you put into it – was completely useless. You were never good at anything. Talk as you might, you were never a genius, and you never will be.”

Yeah. The Ghost was probably right about that.

Another arrow, nearly as large as the last, went through the other side of the shield. Adam kept the shield up, but doing so now meant stabbing himself into the edges of the absurdly-sized Stained Arrows.

“If you want to become a genius – give in to your desires! Call upon my siblings!”

Fair enough. The Ghost was an asshole, but he wasn’t wrong, really.

Even so...

Adam glanced around. Numerous Stained Arrows laid lifelessly on the floor, slowly dissolving into Ink.

“You who gave me this intoxicating body – this beautiful ability – this Ink...I again offer you a chance!”

Adam said nothing. He could only say a few more words before losing consciousness, and he was saving them.

More arrows. So many more.

How many had hit him? How many minutes did he have left to live? The shield, once closer to a work of art than an instrument of war, now seemed more akin to a pincushion. So many giant Stained Arrows hung from it that Adam had to use his entire body weight to pull the shield back and keep blocking attacks. Come on...

“If you want to live, show me the Lord Talent! Accept my brothers!”

Come on, you stupid fucking moron.

“Give me the Orbs from your greed–”

More arrows still. That hit me, but it didn’t hurt. Think that’s bad.

Adam didn’t dare to lift his head above the shield, but the sound he heard made what was happening clear enough. The monster’s patience had run out. It was creating an even larger arrow now. Something that would do more than just blast a hole through the shield.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

This one would rip his entire head clean off.

“Painter, If you will not grant me the Orbs I need, if you will not allow my brothers to haunt you, then I will rip you apart! Die in the regret that you were a talentless fraud that could never create – UGH! WHAT–”

Adam heard the thunk of a Stained Arrow hitting the floor. From what he could tell, the projectile had barely traveled a foot or two before impacting the ground. Ahh...finally.

“What, what have you done to me, human?”

Adam dropped his shield. If the Ghost still had any energy left, this would be its chance to score a killshot. But it didn’t, and Adam knew it wouldn’t. As expected, the Ghost was writhing in agony on the ground, paler than even a ghost rightfully should be, complete horror on its face. “What did you do...what curse have you brought upon me? I cannot move...I...”

It couldn’t even breathe.

It was dying.

I saved my last few words for this. Have to make them count. Only the anticipation of the satisfaction to come powered him through. “I really did warn you not to use the Ink,” Adam began. “You said it yourself – you have Solara’s body. A human’s body, with human needs, no matter how distorted your flesh is. But while you said that...you don't really understand it, do you? Either that, or you've forgotten what it means to be mortal.”

Maybe speaking this much was hastening his death, but that was fine. Adam had never meant to outrun death.

He'd meant to cheat it.

“Everything has a cost. For example, my Ink coming from my blood? That isn't just symbolic – it's a resource. Every time you shot an arrow, you created it straight from your own body. And with how intoxicated you were, shooting Ink left and right...I don’t think you even have enough blood in you to move right now, do you?”

“...Painter...you...” More than fear, sheer disbelief filled the monster’s face. “You...you can’t mean...did you...”

Adam tried to grin. “I meant what I said before. Nothing would’ve been cooler than if I’d managed to reveal my hidden genius when my back was against the wall, capturing you inside my tablet with a perfect drawing. It wasn’t just for show. I tried really hard to win that way.”

“But...then...”

“Didn’t I tell you earlier, Ghost? I don’t like to gamble. If I wager something, it’s because I’ve won either way.” Adam started to crawl toward the fallen ghost. It wasn’t a long distance, thankfully. “I’m not so stupid as to rely on a hidden burst of genius when I’m betting my life. From the very start, this is what I’ve been aiming for.”

“What...do you...” The Ghost was trembling now, its eyes wide. “How? Why? When?”

“I knew there was a good chance I would fail in painting Solara’s soul. Even betting my Talent on it, I still didn’t know very much. So what I thought of instead was...is there a way to turn my loss into an advantage? And then I remembered the drawback of my Stained Arrows. You were ranting and raving about the ecstasy you felt when drinking Ink, exactly like a drug addict. And you didn't seem to realize the implications of what my Ink being my blood truly meant.”

He would have chuckled, if he had the energy. “At that moment, I knew; if you ended up getting my skill, you’d lose your composure, drain your blood, and kill yourself. Whether I managed to steal your soul at that point or not was irrelevant.”

Adam locked eyes with the fallen specter. “I’d already won the moment you allowed me to paint.”

“No...n...” The Ghost’s body went limp. It yet lived, but even with its unnatural power, a haunted body that had no blood could not survive, much less fight. “Pa...ter...you....re....mon...ster...”

Adam took that as a compliment. “Personally, I’d love to be a genius. To be someone who can create a work of art and reach their desired destination in a single, beautiful step. But I’m not. Even so, despite lacking talent, I’m too stubborn to give up on my dream.”

His crawling reached the ghost. Its eyes started to spin, a vague sound of horror coming from its mouth. Stay away, it seemed to beg.

Adam didn’t listen. “I don’t give a shit if I’m not talented. If I don’t have the genius that lets me fly towards my dream...then I’ll build a fucking bridge, piling up every failure I’ve ever created on top of each other! THAT is how I’m going to live!”

“...Stay...away...”

At this point, now resting his upper body over the ghost, Adam reached inside his pocket. “Fucking hate that you’re making me use this – only have a couple extra with me. Hope you burn in hell.” He withdrew the object he was looking for. “They say the pen is mightier than the sword. I think that’s bullshit, which is too bad for you. Considering how much you fucked up my body, that means my noodle arms are gonna need quiiite a few attempts, and it’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

He raised his pen. “Solara can come back from the dead once a day, right? So she’s gonna be fine. You, however, won’t be able to haunt her for at least a few hours.”

A savage smile crept up his face. “I hope this hurts as much as I think it will.”

“NO! PLEASE!”

Adam’s pen descended, right at the creature’s throat, again and again. It surprised him how few attempts it took.

His vision faded to black.

A moment later – maybe many moments later – his consciousness returned as a jolt of electricity awakened him. Now *this* is like being electrocuted. His limbs were on fire, the feeling returning to them in a flash. It subsided just as quickly, leaving his skin tingling, a renewed energy coursing through him.

Gradually, he stood up. The fact that he managed that at all meant his plan had worked, but he still checked his tablet, just to be sure.

Talent Returned: Stained Ink

Lady Solara, the target of the painting, has died. You have your Ink once more.

It had gone more or less like he intended. The Ghost stole his Ink, inadvertently killed itself, and then his Ink came back before Adam could die. Unfortunately, his Stained Talent only prevented further blood loss – it would do little to replace what he’d already lost, and it wouldn’t necessarily heal his internal wounds. At least he didn’t think so. Most of his broken bones certainly felt broken, at least, and he couldn’t be sure whether the Talent was speeding up his healing.

Regardless, he wasn’t dying in the next couple minutes anymore. Maybe in a couple days if he didn’t get his injuries treated, but that much was fine. More importantly...

He knelt beside what should’ve been Lady Solara’s corpse. Instead, she looked like she had simply fallen asleep, every wound suffered during the fight gone as if it never happened. If not for the blood and inkstains on her half-torn dress, one could’ve been forgiven for thinking that she’d just decided to sleep on the floor for some reason.

Okay, this is gonna be rude of me, but we really don’t have that much time. He tapped at her face, first gently, then with a bit more firmness. “Wake up, Lady Solara. We have to do this quickly.”

Her eyes slowly opened. Adam couldn’t help but flinch. He breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw blue in her eyes, rather than murderous intent. The Ghost, for now, was gone.

Solara looked up at him, her face reflecting the haziness of thought that only someone who’d just woken up could feel. “Who...what? What happened? Where–”

“Lady Solara, I’m terribly sorry to rush, but you were dead. You can die up to once a day, correct?”

That was enough to startle her awake, recognition dawning on her as she shook herself into full consciousness. “I – yes.”

“How long will the curse take to possess you again?”

“I...I don’t know for certain.” Her gaze sharpened with focus. “Maybe a couple hours. I’ve...experimented with it, but the amount varies depending on how dead I was. Maybe I should’ve killed myself for real and–”

Adam held up his hand to interrupt. There was no polite, dignified way of doing this. Ah, fuck it. Close enough. “Okay, I actually did kill you before, so we should have at least a few hours. I hate to be so blunt, but that means I need to know your life story so I can seal the curse into a painting. Are you okay with that?”

Fortunately for them both, she didn’t hesitate to nod. “Tell me what you need, Lord Penumbria.”

Relief flowed through Adam, although he was too exhausted to show it. Vasco, I don’t know anything about you, but thanks for explaining my abilities to her ahead of time – this probably is going to save our lives.

“What do I need? Your life story and a way to treat my many broken bones would be like, really nice, but I’ll settle for the former.”

“I can do both and get us something to drink as well.”

“Well aren’t you just an overachiever?” Adam weakly laughed. “That sounds rad, thanks.”