Inside his dream, Adam was awake.
The mysterious voice jolted him to awareness. A second later, he located its source – a strange gentleman, standing tall and seemingly unbothered by the heavy downpour falling on him. It’s raining, Adam noted absently, studying his hand. Water fell on him, so persistent that they were less like raindrops and more of a greasy mist. The liquid crawled around his skin, twisting, turning, then flickering out of existence as if painted over by another layer of reality. My skin isn’t wet, he realized, in spite of the clouds dousing him from above.
Only, there were no clouds.
Or ground.
While Adam could feel his feet planted against something, in every direction he looked, he could find only pure white, illuminated evenly and unnaturally.
There aren’t any shadows here. Not from me, not from the rain, and not from–
Suddenly, the strange gentleman was standing in front of him.
Taller and thinner than any man Adam had ever seen, arms crossed and back turned, he stood so sharply against the storm that his very presence seemed like an attack on the clouds above.
Many questions came to Adam’s mind. His whereabouts, the reason for him being here, and whether his life was currently at risk. Yet in that dreamlike haze, his thoughts were still clear enough to focus on something far more important: responding to the gentleman’s question.
“You’re asking for a license to murder,” Adam boldly declared. While his nerves were fraught with anxiety, in the end, he was the Lord of Penumbria. His pride did not belong to him, but to his people. It would be weak – no, cowardly to steal that title then betray his people by acting meek in this moment. “Aspreay and I didn’t see eye-to-eye very much, but even that self-absorbed bastard punished murderers. Don’t ask me to stoop below his level; limbo isn’t among my favorite dances.”
“I ask you not to favor me any more than you favor the dance, my lord. Nay, Painter, I ask for nothing!” The figure raised its chin, its face still shadowed. “And you have yet to answer me.”
“Do you think any lord would grant a request like that?” Adam said, in a sharp tone. He stepped forward. “Or do you take me for a weak fool? Are you somehow unaware of how a lord should act?”
I don’t care what you are, or what this place is. You will not intimidate me.
“On the contrary, Lord of Paint. Mayhap you are the one who misunderstands.” The figure laughed heartily, yet only his neck and head appeared to move. His – its – back remained frozen in place. “What you hear is not a beggar’s plea. Those, you should ignore.”
“Those I would pay more mind than your demands,” Adam corrected. “It’s not how thick their wallets are, but how absurd the request is that matters to me.”
“What you hear,” the gentleman repeated, “are the demands of an army that has you besieged.”
Time stopped. For a second, Adam wasn’t sure if he was still breathing. Was this the man’s ability...or was he merely nervous? My hand can move, he tested. I’m not paralyzed. The hazylike atmosphere, and the gentleman’s presence, were all that had stolen his movement. There was no magic in that.
“I assume you don’t mean literally,” Adam dryly told him, after a moment. His throat closed up, and nausea roiled in his gut, but he didn’t allow the feeling to touch his expression, which he kept hard and with a measure of disdain. “Penumbria is safe. You could not enter its walls.”
“But of course! Your lordship’s Talent keeps most invaders away. And yet...if you were to die, their lives would perish as well.”
The gentleman spoke politely, almost too much so. Yet at that last word, ‘perish,’ a note of amusement entered his tone, sending a chill through Adam’s body. “You will die here, if you insist on stopping me. As will all aboard this ship. As will your city, once your Talent fades. That is the siege, my lord.”
“And your terms,” Adam said coldly, “are to let you murder unconditionally?”
“Unconditionally, but only occasionally. I need not many lives to sustain myself. You know how many passengers have gone missing in the last short while – it’s hardly a large number. Surely the lives of a negligible amount of people, most not even from your domain, are a fair price for arriving at your destination unbothered.”
“No.” Adam’s voice was cold, and his heart was burning. He smiled in the most amiable fashion he could muster, clenching his fist hard enough that fingernails pressed against his skin. “I won’t place a number on the value of human lives.”
“Don’t bother with such an uncouth action, my lord.” The tall gentleman bowed. It was an unnerving, unnatural motion, like seeing a tree splitting its trunk halfway, then returning to its upright position as if nothing had happened. “It is I who assigns them value. Your duty is only to accept the bargain.”
“I need only to catch you and have you arrested,” Adam thundered. “That’s my duty as lord!”
He realized how foolish that sounded as soon as the words were out of his mouth. This creature wasn’t human, elven, or anything of the sort – it was closer to a monster. It reminded him, oddly enough, of the Ghost who’d haunted Solara. Prison wouldn’t hold a creature like this.
His paintings would.
The thought coursed through Adam’s body like a lightning bolt. At once, he felt more alert, more focused. Disparate thoughts coalesced together.
Had the creature given him any clues? A few. But most notably–
‘I need not many lives to sustain myself.’
That implied motive. It wasn’t simply that the gentleman had a taste for murder, but rather that he needed to kill people for some reason. Adam’s thoughts wandered back to the Ghost, and how it had possessed Solara. He considered directly asking the man – the thing – if that was the case, but decided otherwise. His query would just have been met with a mysterious shrug.
Instead, he chose to press onward as if he already knew the truth.
“You seem different from the Ghost of Flames,” Adam calmly stated. “More composed. More rational.”
“Ah, but of course!” The gentleman sounded pleased. “My younger brother, you see, was far too inefficient with his approach. How could he expect to sustain his Self that way? Foolishness, I say!” He laughed. “And I suppose that is why he ended up in that sorry state over there, don’t you agree?”
The gentleman turned his neck without moving a single other muscle in his body. It was an abnormal, stilted motion, like watching a switch flip, except superimposed on the facsimile of a human body. Hesitantly, Adam followed his gaze towards what he was certain had been pure nothingness until a moment ago.
Now, there were three beings laying there in a state of vague unconsciousness.
First was a mutated lion, writhing in agony.
Second was Aspreay, trembling and muttering.
Lastly was a man Adam had never seen before. He, too, appeared to be suffering greatly. Parts of his body were covered in spots, so dark they seemed more than just black, closer to symbols devoid of all light, like tumorous volumes that grew outward and inward. “That’s the Ghost of Flames,” Adam said, slowly. “Your brother.”
“Aye, my lord. Are you not well-acquainted with him in this form? Does it surprise you to know that he was once a man?” The gentleman laughed. “This is the shape of his soul.”
His soul. So we must be... Adam glanced around at the infinite white around them. A sudden theory overcame him. “We’re inside my tablet.”
“But of course. We are inside your Canvas, my lord. And I must say...”
The gentleman turned its head around the room in gradual, abrupt, repetitive movements – akin to a clock’s hands – until it finished a full rotation. “Your inner world is still very much unpainted.”
Adam didn’t take his eyes off the three agonized people on the ground. “These are their souls, then?”
“They are.”
“Is that why I can use their Talents?” Adam asked, his voice growing quiet. “Because I have their souls to use as...fuel?”
The gentleman laughed. “Oh, my lord, of course not. Have you truly not understood things yet? Or is it merely that you’d rather avoid the conclusion?” The thing walked towards him with a dignified march – that only highlighted how its head was facing the wrong way. “Do you not remember how one awakens to a Talent?”
Adam took a step backward. “I know the generalities,” he muttered. “You can only possess one Talent, and you can influence what Talent a child awakens, to a degree, with instruction from a master. There are also Talents that cannot be awakened except under special circumstances, such as the Lord Talent.”
“Mostly correct.” The gentleman stopped, bowed so deeply that he should have fallen over, and started clapping its hands in a grandiose fashion. “As you noted yourself, it is possible for some rare geniuses to awaken to one Talent, then inherit the Lord Talent at a later date. Your elf friend will be one of them, once her father dies.”
“What are you getting at?” Adam cried out. He was beginning to sweat. The heavy, ephemeral rain still fell, intransigent and unrefreshing. “We’re here to speak of the murders, aren’t we?”
“Talents,” the gentleman began, his voice echoing across the white void, “cannot be avoided sometimes. They are your very soul, my lord. One Talent, one soul. Any more than that and...well, you understand, surely?”
Adam tried calling for the Stained Ink. It failed to manifest. Is it because of where we are? Because I’m not really awake?
The creature went on as if nothing had happened. “Your Talent is often – though not always – defined by the worst scars you bear. Solara, the elf who witnessed more death as a child than most would in a lifetime, awoke the Talent of resurrection. Tenver, the man who witnessed the Arrow Eclipse, awoke the Talent of Archery. And you, Adam, who fell to the worst of betrayals...you awoke the Talent of Painting.”
“I’ve always been a painter!” Adam shouted, as he inched back. Every step the creature took towards him made his heart race faster. “That had nothing to do with it!”
“But it colored the way your Talent manifested. Tell me, Adam...have you really never wondered why you attained the ability of plagiarism?”
Adam’s shoulders tightened. It was over half a year ago, and the memory pained him less now, but he still didn’t want to think about it. What did it matter, anyway? Everything – everyone – was on a different world now. Focusing on what this conversation meant was more important. “You mean I’m not really using their Talents so much as...plagiarizing them?”
“Aye. It keeps you from the worst of curses, of course, though one could argue they will never reach the same potential the originals would.”
He shook his head. “I’d prefer to think of them as studies, then,” Adam barked back. “Assuming that you can never surpass your inspiration will only bind you to mediocrity forever. I’ll master my Talents better than Aspreay, the Curse, and—”
“—You need to live to accomplish that,” the gentleman pointed out. “Which brings us to my original point. Chances are, my lord, that you might be pondering my reasons for freely informing you of so much.”
“The thought did cross my mind, yes.”
“Imagine, if you will, a general negotiating with the king of a besieged country.” The gentleman’s limbs grew unevenly, as if he was spreading and stretching them in a welcoming gesture. He, it, still crawled forward. “The king does not wish to surrender, because his advisers have misled him so as to the number of troops that lay outside his castle. He is a reasonable man, who would have entertained a surrender with the proper terms if he knew as much. This results in a costly battle for the invader, who although he has an assured victory, would much rather achieve it diplomatically and without loss.”
The gentleman tilted its head.“Do you not think, my lord, that the invading general should have personally informed the king of his numbers? To have attempted every avenue to assure a more favorable outcome for both?”
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Adam felt his hands shake. Steady, he told himself. “You’re trying to intimidate me.”
“Nay, nay, nay! My lord, has my meaning been lost? I try to give you not fear, but knowledge! Understand that your understanding is lacking!” The gentleman’s limbs vibrated, contorted, then shifted into one once more. “We are presently inside your Canvas. In here, your device is unnecessary to see the depths of my Talent. You need only look around.”
He was right.
While Adam didn’t have his tablet with him, there was no need for it. Information flowed into his brain like an oppressive wind, as though the very rain that fell on them was the source, each drop cursing him with more knowledge. He tried to calm his heartbeat, to steady his trembling lips, but every ounce of his being warned him:
You cannot win against this man.
He’s a master.
Auricio, the Ghost of the Stained Water. He bears the Talent of a Duke, if not higher.
“You’re saying that none of my Talents can hurt you,” Adam said, regaining some steadiness in his voice. “That even if I find you after waking up, there won’t be a single thing I can do.”
“Correct. But though I can dispose of you readily enough, our duel would likely ruin the ship in the process. Such a pity – steady supplies of food are so hard to obtain these days, you understand?”
Adam wasn’t willing to step aside so easily. “That doesn’t mean your host is as strong as you are,” he countered. “They can be vulnerable. I’ll seal you here, just like your brother.”
“You already know that’s impossible, my lord.” The gentleman didn’t sound taunting, so much as helpfully giving a reminder. “When you stepped onto this ship, you inspected everyone’s Talents, did you not? Did you see any of them bearing a Haunting?”
He hadn’t. But what did that mean? Were they able to hide it somehow? Perhaps, but that seemed unlikely, and far too easy to defeat considering how powerful this Ghost appeared to be. Was one of the commoner passengers bearing the Haunting? No...that couldn’t be it, either. Valeria, the detective, had assured him – using her Bloody Truth – that all the people below deck were traveling aboard the ship for the first time, and that the disappearances had happened before.
There were only three suspects. But then...how does that make sense?
“Are you not scared?” Adam asked, after a pause. “You’ve met up with me. What if I’m already capable of making a painting of your Soul? My ability is unusual; it might work on you, even if you possess a stronger Talent.”
“Mayhap I needn’t worry about you deducing the truth about me, if your reasoning is still so lacking,” the gentleman said. “My lord, must I remind you of what I said earlier? I am much stronger than my younger brother.”
He glanced once again at the writhing, half-rotted human. “My brother suffered much, for he did not sustain himself frequently enough. But me? My lord, you’ve heard the numbers. How many people do you think have become a part of me?”
The gentleman stretched out its hand.
Then, slowly, it shifted into another hand – that of a young woman. Followed by an old man. Then a soldier’s hardened hand, missing two fingers. And finally, back to its original shape.
“I am many souls, and I am none of them. Do you think, my lord, that you would be able to paint this?”
Adam felt terror surge within his gut. The realization that his skill wouldn’t work was only part of it – even greater was the realization that this creature he was speaking with so casually wasn’t merely a monster, but an amalgamation of many, a forced fusion of tortured souls.
Which also led him to realize what the other monsters were. Adam peered over at the rotting lion, perpetually writhing in agony. The first thing that nearly killed him when coming to the Painted World. From the beginning, it had always seemed like a mismatched combination of animals.
Because it wasn’t just a single monster.
The Stained Lion had eaten other animals and transformed into an amalgamation. No different than the gentleman. Thankfully, as an animal, all of its feelings converged onto a singular desire of wanting to devour prey. Its soul was simple enough that Adam had been able to paint it regardless.
But would he be able to do that to a creature with sapience? One that was comprised of people?
The Ghost of Flames had seemed to become more reasonable and intelligent when it drank Adam’s Stained Ink. If this monster was doing the equivalent with a number of people...
“This is my army!” The gentleman theatrically boomed. “Your painting cannot work, brute force is insufficient enough to vanquish me, and you have no idea as to my true identity in the waking world. If we clash, your death is certain – and Penumbria will pay the price for your arrogance. Why bother, my lord? Give up mayhap four corpses a year, and all shall be well. Fight, and risk the deaths of thousands.”
Adam’s fist tightened to the point where if this was not a dream, he would have drawn out his own blood. Don’t lose focus. Make every word count. Get everything you can out of him. “If you’re so logical, if you need so few victims... why risk taking someone while I’m here? Why not just wait?”
“Ah, for two reasons. First, the detective woman. She wouldn’t allow me to lay quiet if I tried. And second...”
The gentleman laughed. It was a vicious, cruel sound, bereft of the manufactured humanity present in him before. “Why, I simply couldn’t control myself this time.”
“And here I thought you were prattling on about your logic and good sense,” Adam remarked. “It seems like you can’t—wait!” He realized it too late. “You couldn’t control yourself—this time? You mean you already—?”
“Ah, yes,” the gentleman said. “I took the liberty of feeding myself while you slept.”
–
Adam sat up in bed, wide awake. Panic and urgency hurried him. Please, please let it not be too late. He stood up, placing both feet on the mattress, starling Solara and nearly knocking her off the bed as he leaped away.
“What—are you—?”
“TENVER!” Adam shouted at the door connecting their rooms as he kicked it. “OPEN THE DOOR NOW!”
No response came. Adam wasted no time calling upon his Stained Vines. A small voice in his head said, Solara might have an idea of this ability, but Tenver doesn’t. You might want to keep it hidden until—
Adam ignored that thought. Smoky liquid swirled around his wrist, turning sharp as he brought his fist forward and cut through the door itself, unlocking it from Tenver’s side. In nearly the same motion, Adam burst inside the adjoining room. “Are you here?!” he shouted. “Tenver?!”
Silence greeted him. A quick glance showed that Tenver didn’t appear to be inside his room. WHERE ARE YOU?
Adam wanted to mutter a curse, but couldn’t allow himself the time for it. He dashed outside Tenver’s room and into the main deck, knocking on every door, finding the same reply every time. Every single person, from the captain to the detective, was present and available to answer his knocking. To each of them he said, “It’s urgent, don’t waste time – get over here, now!”
But even as he hurried, that sinking feeling in his stomach told him it was pointless. His meeting with the Haunting was fresh and vivid in his memories. He knew, deep inside, that a death had already occurred. Yet he wanted to hang on to the waning hope, to try everything he possibly could before accepting that the monster had truly struck.
Please...please, let me be wrong about this.
And so he waited, in the middle of the central deck, as each person joined him. Solara came first, followed by the captain, then Ferrero. There was a pause until Valeria joined them.
Adam had already opened his mouth to ask about the others when Serena and Tenver showed up a moment later, the knight approaching with an unhurried gait. Tenver, where were you?
“What the devil is going on?” Ferrero asked, hand on his sword hilt. “Are we being attacked?”
“Perhaps,” Adam replied. He turned to address the captain. “Baltsar, can you head downstairs and confirm if...the number of passengers has changed?”
Baltsar’s face paled at the request, but he nodded regardless. He quickly disappeared through the hallway door, using the same key he’d shown Adam earlier.
Half an hour passed. During this period, hardly anyone said a word. The topic weighed heavily on their minds, and few wanted to discuss it aloud, even if they had plenty of questions.
Right as they were starting to get used to the atmosphere, Baltsar returned. The grim expression on his face confirmed Adam’s fear before any words were spoken. “We – we’re missing one passenger. A boy. Just a kid.” The captain shook his head and bit his lip. “Just...just a kid.”
“You’re sure he’s missing?” Solara asked. “He’s not hiding somewhere or—”
“The kid has no Talent and was missing a leg,” Baltsar told her, unable to meet her eyes. “Couldn’t hide if he wanted to. He...he’s nowhere. Like...”
‘Like the others’ hung unsaid in the air.
Adam closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He took a moment to contemplate his options. This Ghost had been clear enough about what would happen if they fought. What he would risk. What he would lose.
Still...
Was he supposed to live like this? To just accept that some people were fated to die in the name of the ‘greater good’ – or any other vague cruelty masquerading as philosophy? Maybe he was. Maybe that was the way wise rulers should be.
“Solara,” Adam began, in a tone close to whisper, but loud enough that the entire room could likely hear him. “Tenver. We don’t have to get involved in this. It isn’t our fight. If we close our eyes, everything will be fine. If we keep them open, then this will be harder than anything any of us have overcome thus far.”
He fixed his gaze upon them. “Would you consider me a fool for fighting regardless?”
It was Tenver who responded first. “Aye,” he said. “It would also make me proud of being your knight.”
“Stop wasting our time with hypotheticals,” Solara grumbled, with a dismissive wave. “I might not have known you for very long, but I already know that you’ve made up your mind about this.”
“Yeah...sorry. I know it’s absurd. Putting so many people in danger, just because I refuse to let those bastards get what they want...it’s worse than insane. It’s damn near evil.”
Adam heaved another heavy sigh. He thought of Earth, and of how countless people there were drowning beneath its system. Ignored, because they were an outlier. Celebrated, even, because they were an acceptably low statistic – living ‘proof’ that everything was as it should be.
This pragmatism...I can’t live like that. “Pride is a sin for a lord. And victory is the only virtue that can erase that crime.”
His eyes snapped open. Adam stood up, observing each person in the room. Valeria, the detective, leaning against a wall and pulling a hat over her eyes, showing only the barest hint of a smirk. Ferrero, the duelist, with his hand on his sword hilt as he watched the room uneasily. Serena, the communicator, covered in so many cloaks her face was still unseen. Baltsar, the ship captain, sweating heavily and appearing pale. Solara, her arms crossed, appearing nearly unbothered by it at all, if not for the burning anger in her gaze.
And then there was Tenver, smiling like he always did, as if nothing had happened.
Before this ship arrives at the Mines...I have to know everything. Not just about who did this. But about you too, Tenver. Assuming those were two separate questions to begin with.
“I am Lord Adam of Penumbria,” he declared to them all. “With my authority, I decree that there is a serial murderer hidden aboard this ship, and that I will find them. And when that is done...”
Adam widened his eyes to glare at every suspect. “I will execute them myself.”