Before his Lord Realm shattered, Adam used its last remnants to accelerate his thinking, considering all the possible ways he might be able to defeat the Hangman.
He could...
1. Capture Eric's soul and end the fight immediately. Their difference in Rank meant nothing to the Talent of Painting.
2. Awaken to some mysterious power, like the Genius Realm, thereby shifting the balance of power.
3. Hope that Tenver, Solara, or even Vasco finished up on their end and arrived as surprise reinforcements.
4. Spend more Orbs to increase his own Rank even further.
5. Defeat Eric in a no holds-barred fistfight while the Hangman was still weakened from their Realm Clash.
Option #1 wasn't something Adam wanted to bet on. He hadn't been able to paint Eric's soul earlier aboard the ship, and there was little reason to presume that things would be different this time.
Option #2 simply wasn't going to happen. Adam had never been one of those prodigal geniuses that achieved results when applying the slightest bit of effort. He wasn't about to risk his life – risk the entire war – on an unrealistic hope outside of his control.
Option #3 was just as unreliable, if not worse. Adam could see the distant smoke of battle burning outside the city. Tenver, Solara, and Vasco were clearly still fighting. And even if they finished soon, they'd need hours to find him, let alone reach him. The Stained Beasts ambling around the city would slow their movement to a crawl.
Option #4 wasn't possible either. He simply didn't possess enough Orbs to match a Hangman like Eric. The numbers didn't add up.
That just left...
1. Capture Eric's soul and end the fight immediately. Their difference in Rank meant nothing to the Talent of Painting. Low chance of succeeding, too risky.
2. Awaken to some mysterious power, like the Genius Realm, thereby shifting the balance of power. Not a genius, can't do it.
3. Hope that Tenver, Solara, or even Vasco finished up on their end and arrived as surprise reinforcements. They're all accounted for and too far away.
4. Spend more Orbs to increase his own Rank even further. Not enough Orbs.
5. Defeat Eric in a no holds-barred fistfight while the Hangman was still weakened from their Realm Clash.
...ONE OPTION!
Adam launched himself at the Hangman, knowing and trusting that his crossbowmen would cover him. While he was well-aware of the risk involved, there would be no better time to strike than now. Eric should be busy recovering from their Clash – having stained his Canvas from overuse.
Although Adam wasn't clear on the specifics of Soul Canvases, he understood the general concept. The Ghost of Waters had spoken of it when entering his dream, and Eric had thought of it frequently during their earlier exchange. When a person overused their Talents, their Canvas became stained, and only proper rest could cleanse it.
There was much for the Lord of Penumbria to learn still, but he was certain of this much: Eric had exhausted himself with his Reconstruction and the subsequent shattering of his Realm. Out of the two painters here, the Gryphon was undoubtedly the one more affected by their Clash. Despite his higher Rank, he would be left vulnerable by–
"What is this amateur hour shit?!" Eric shouted. He dodged four crossbow bolts, grabbing two midair, and allowing the rest to bounce off his skin as if he were made of stone. "Arrows? Against ME?! I'M STILL A HANGMAN!"
He should have been left vulnerable.
Adam bit his lip. This wasn't the time to hesitate. He called upon his Stained Talent, turning blood to ink and pumping it through his veins at incredible speeds to increase his strength. Then, after strengthening himself as much as he could...Adam stepped inside Eric's range.
The ensuing clash was not one of Realms, but one of fists, violence, and bitterness. Both men traded punches again and again, heedless of the blood and bruising starting to adorn their features. The Painter refused to give an inch, treating Eric as a canvas upon which to paint red, his mind sharpened to a razor focus.
Unfortunately, Adam's body couldn't keep up with his resolve. Despite the Ink circulating throughout his veins, his strikes felt weaker than before – and without Noble Guard, he couldn't easily recover from the injuries inflicted by Eric's blows. Would he even still be alive if not for his Talent reinforcing his body?
No matter. The Hangman's skin may have been tough as stone, but even stone weathered under the fury of a storm.
I'm hurting him, Adam realized, noticing the darkness contained in the Hangman's grimace. I'm pushing him back. As long as I can keep this going–
"LOOK OUT, MY LORD!"
The one responsible for that shout was Captain Diego, the leader of Adam's honor guard.
He was also the one responsible for keeping Adam from being killed that very moment.
Out of a mixture of reflex, trust, and a sudden feeling of dread, the Lord of Penumbria abruptly halted his clash of fists and Ink, instantly flinging himself to the ground as if evading an explosion.
And it might as well have been one, for the fiery lethality it wrought.
Eric's winged boots had moved upward, now sprouting from his back – and when his wings fluttered, men died. The deadly gust of wind couldn't have lasted for longer than a few seconds, yet the destruction it wrought was reminiscent of an actual hurricane. Parts of the already-destroyed city ruins were pulled out of the ground, pillars now leaning further sideways, and some buildings had been shattered entirely.
Adam didn't need to turn back to hear the effects the attack had on his men. He could hear the anguished cry of a few...and the harrowing silence of the others.
He owed it to them to look at the results all the same.
With a grimace, Adam forced himself to turn.
The battlefield had transformed into a grotesque tableau of carnage and suffering. Seven of his twelve men lay dead, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the uncaring sky. The survivors were no better off, their bodies twisted in agony, blood pooling beneath them.
Among them was young Captain Diego, his leg cruelly severed, writhing in pain as he desperately tried to stem the tide of his lifeblood. Despite the pain etched across his face, Diego's resolve remained unbroken such that he could still yell, "MY LORD! W–WORRY NOT ABOUT US–FOCUS ON THE GRYPHON!"
The young captain's face was pale, his voice stuttered, his leg lost – and his honor intact.
Adam whirled back around to face the Hangman once more. He struggled to avoid thinking of how many men had just died because of him. Much as he wanted to grieve them right here and now...grief was an indulgence afforded only to the victorious. He needed to win today so he could carry his guilt into tomorrow.
"What's wrong, Adam?" Eric's sneer was as ugly as his soul. " Didn't think I had a Hangman Talent too? I'm the fucking Gryphon, man!"
Despite his bravado, the Hangman was positioned a safe distance from the Painter. He was breathing heavily, though he maintained a cocky smirk. "Fucking coward. Twelve on one and..."
Eric laughed in a transparent attempt to catch his breath. "...And you still can't beat me."
Adam's emotions erupted in unison. Vengeance, resentment, hatred – all wanted to seize control of his limbs and wreak savagery upon the Hangman.
His sense of duty won out.
Anger, regrets, guilt – those could wait. He couldn't afford to let those rule him right now.
No, even more than that. If he wanted the luxury of giving those feelings the room they deserved to breathe...
Then the Gryphon flying before him needed to have its wings clipped.
Adam's mind locked in, bringing up his list of options. He altered them accordingly based on the current state of the battlefield.
1. Capture Eric's soul and end the fight immediately. Their difference in Rank meant nothing to the Talent of Painting. Low chance of succeeding, too risky.
2. Awaken to some mysterious power, like the Genius Realm, thereby shifting the balance of power. Not a genius, can't do it.
3. Hope that Tenver, Solara, or even Vasco finished up on their end and arrived as surprise reinforcements. They're all accounted for and too far away.
4. Spend more Orbs to increase his own Rank even further. Not enough Orbs.
5. Defeat Eric in a no holds-barred fistfight while the Hangman was still weakened from their Realm Clash. Eric's too strong to defeat in a fistfight, even weakened.
None of those possibilities seemed like what he would consider a good idea. Even so, Adam still needed one of them to work. He had to pick the best option out of the lot, despite the risks that came with it.
Out of those, which was the best – or rather, the least bad – idea?
He grit his teeth. Yeah...it was always going to come down to this, wasn't it, Eric?
1. Capture Eric's soul and end the fight immediately. Their difference in Rank meant nothing to the Talent of Painting. Low chance of succeeding, too risky...
STILL THE BEST OPTION!
"I'm not here to beat you – I'M HERE TO TAKE YOUR FUCKING SOUL, ERIIIIIIIC!"
--
The shattered terrain sang in silence. On the outskirts of Penumbria, a duel between two members of royalty neared its second round. Only the sound of ravens and crows could be heard ushering in the violent family quarrel about to take place.
From inside the city itself, atop the highest tower, and armed with a monstrously large crossbow attached to his mechanical arm...was Tenver, the Puppet Prince. 'I will not let you set foot within our city, uncle,' he thought. 'Nor will I allow your Stained Creatures to harm even a single person. Try me.'
From outside the city, standing unharmed amidst the destruction his nephew had caused, and caught between amusement and downright excitement...was Ciro, the Emperor of the World. 'Ah, Nephew!' he thought. 'So today is finally the day, is it? I hope you've prepared for it.'
The two men of royal blood had always known, on some level, that they would need to cross swords like this one day. Uncle and nephew by blood, closer to brothers in age, this clash had been fated by their birth.
It was a tale of tragedy penned by two Emperors. First to blame was Gregorio – father of Tenver. He had a talent for politics, yet found himself lacking in both ambition and natural talent.
Second to blame was Gomez – father to Ciro and Gregorio. He was a cold, quiet man who spoke with his advisors more than to his own children. And unlike Gregorio, he was damn talented. It was by his hand that the Empire finished its expansion across the known world and solidified its position, and by his hand that it stayed strong for decades to come.
A man of that caliber would surely not have been deaf to the courtly whispers that followed the birth of his grandchild.
"Did you hear? Prince Tenver has little in the way of compatibility with the Lord Talent."
"Truly? Then what shall befall the Empire?"
"It will stand just fine. Gomez's Lord Talent will pass down to Gregorio, and from there it will pass down to Tenver. Even if the Talent regresses a few Ranks, it should keep our lands safe nonetheless."
"True...but the expansion Gomez launched will end then, no? What of the search for lands beyond the sea?"
"Well, what do you want me to say? Prince Tenver is Gregorio's only heir, and Gregorio is Gomez's only heir. It's a straight line to our future, I fear. Such is our fate."
But what was fate to someone like Gomez? He who commanded the lives and deaths of the entire known world?
To him, fate was merely the whims of gods that existed beneath him – if that.
Surely he couldn't be blamed for having second thoughts about the Empire's future. Or that he thought it better to intervene rather than let it rust away in mediocre hands.
Why else would he have chosen to sire another heir? Surely he must have known that his failed son would have spawned another failure into the world, and sought to correct that mistake.
Every whisper about the matter appeared to think much the same.
"Prince Ciro's potential is immeasurable – far greater than Gomez himself!"
"Ah...if only he were our heir instead...imagine the glory days ahead of us!"
"Shhh! Did you hear what Gregorio did to the last man who suggested that?"
"Bah, to hell with him! If our Empire wishes to prosper, to survive the Rot..."
Ciro had always surmised that his father's logic was in line with the general sentiment regarding his birth. Pitifully, Gomez had passed away before Ciro had grown old enough to understand such courtly matters. Their last conversation had been a painfully mundane one about toy wooden swords.
Conversely, Tenver had likely been prepared for the future by Gregorio, and what he lacked in Talent he made up for in acumen. He must have expected this day to come as well – mayhap after his father's natural death. But defying expectations is the way of conquerors, and thus Ciro had felled Gregorio in battle, laying the blame squarely on the Puppets.
'Then you ran, Nephew,' Ciro thought, dodging another giant arrow nearly as tall as himself. 'And I thought this fated duel of ours would never happen. But as it turns out...'
The Emperor of the World's superhuman eyes locked onto the Puppet Prince's deathly stare, dozens of miles away. '...YOU DECIDED TO INDULGE ME AFTER ALL!'
Because both men had always expected this day would come, neither had held anything back in researching the other's powers.
Tenver's limits had been easy enough to uncover. His Talent of Archery was forced upon him the day of the Arrow Eclipse, when he nearly died. Although, no, that wasn't quite accurate. Tenver had died that day – his return now only possible thanks to Puppetcraft.
'And it's exactly those Puppets that are the problem,' Ciro thought, with a measure of annoyance. A godslaying arrow clashed with the ground and detonated on impact, sending fragments of both itself and the fractured terrain in all directions. The fragments moved at such high speeds that even Ciro could feel the mildest of scratches as they grazed his skin. 'Their Dragonbirthed technology is an abomination that cannot be allowed to exist in this world.'
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Talents cannot harm Talents of a higher Rank. That is an immutable rule of the Painted World.
However, how many degrees of separation were needed for a Talent to affect something else with the capacity to hurt Talented individuals? Such as – for example – explosive arrows wielded by a man with the Talent of Archery and an immensely strong Puppet arm?
From what Ciro had learned, more than one degree of separation was required. Tenver's arrows by themselves should not have been able to kill him. But the Puppet Arrows were rigged to detonate on impact, damaging their surroundings and turning the very world itself into his target's natural predator.
'Such troublesome technology should not exist, Nephew – surely even you can understand that. Talent rules above all else. Our grasp on this land would collapse elsewise.'
Ciro landed elegantly on a shattered area of the terrain, where the dirt had been split open into two hills that protruded upwards. "But you don't know much about my Talent, do you, Nephew?" The Emperor smoked. "You must be thinking that I am mortal here, for I would not dare undo the Realm around the Capital for the sake of defeating an insignificant failure like yourself. In that sense, you are correct. However..."
He contemplated his next move. There might have been a faster, more elegant way of dealing with Tenver...
But this simply felt more fitting.
'You will die not knowing how outmatched you were. Forever, in the hollow void beyond death, you will gaze upon my reflection in the water and ponder why your claws could not reach me.'
Ciro licked his lips and whispered softly, "I order you to kill yours–"
The sudden detonation of a missed arrow stopped his order short. The Emperor of the World cursed with mild dissatisfaction as he dodged. 'Seems as though the goddess of luck offered you this last blessing as an apology for your birth.' Although one lucky coincidence was an ill restitution for the uselessness of his talents.
Once more, Ciro landed on mutated earth that shot upwards, gracefully balancing himself against the sharp quasi-stalagmites attempting to pierce the heavens. "I order you to kill y–"
And once more, the land exploded around him. Irritation colored Ciro's face as he avoided the blast, his eyes narrowed in discontent, but he didn't allow the emotion to overwhelm his judgment. This time, the Emperor of the World didn't wait for his feet to touch the ground before saying, "I order you to–"
Another explosion interrupted him.
"I order–"
Yet another.
"I or–"
This time it was an arrow.
"I–"
Another explosion.
The crows and ravens surrounding the battlefield watched over their fierce duel. As if mocking him, they cried out in unison.
'Foolish animals.' Cito barely restrained a grimace. 'You want bodies to feast on, don't you? Just wait a little. Your wishes shall be fulfilled soon enough.'
It was odd for such a large flock of birds to be gathered in the Eastern side of the Empire, but mayhap his corralling of the Stained Monsters was to blame. 'How long until they reach the city? Four more minutes, at most?'
It was a comforting thought. Regardless, Ciro had to admit that while his Order being interrupted once could have been attributed to mere coincidence, three times made for a purposeful pattern. But if that were true, it meant...
'I can't believe you've gone this far, Nephew.' The thought came to Ciro with a mixture of disgust and hatred – yet what surfaced to his expression was an amused smirk, touched with just a hint of admiration. 'Good. It is gratifying that you can put up this much of a fight. Even a failure of the royal line still shares the same blood as I – you need to be at least this much of an anomaly.'
The Emperor, perhaps for the first time in his life, felt tempted to know what strange thoughts were wandering inside Tenver's head. And the Emperor of the World was entitled to access wherever he wanted.
He reached inside the Puppet Prince's mind–
'You can read my thoughts, can't you Uncle?' Tenver's inner voice was jovial, noble – and most of all, irreverent. 'I already know your secret.'
'It defies belief, but...' The Emperor inserted his thoughts into Tenver's head, just as he had once done to Adam the Painter. Not once had he ever wished to speak to his Nephew, but now, at the very end, he found it necessary. '...are you truly aware of it?'
'Look inside my own thoughts. You will know for sure, Uncle.'
Ciro greedily rifled through his nephew's thoughts, flipping the pages of his memories like old books that he cared little if he ended up hurting. Tenver did not hide anything from him; rather, the Puppet Prince invited him into his mind palace with a flourish, appearing elegantly dressed and gesturing at the correct door. After what felt like hours – yet cannot have been longer than a second in reality – Ciro finally found the memory he wanted.
It was the memory of Tenver's conversation with a raven.
"I have concluded my research into Aspreay's duel against Valente," said Valeria, through a raven's mouth. "Curious findings indeed. This is the first time that the Capital city has been damaged to this degree."
Tenver and Adam exchanged a look. "Aye, we knew this," the Puppet Prince told her. "The first time any danger has come to the Capital in hundreds of years."
"That's not quite true." Even though she spoke through faraway ravens, Tenver knew the Detective had a smirk on her face right now. "There was a brief window of a few minutes when Stained Creatures attempted to attack the Capital many years ago, but the Hangmen repelled all their attacks."
"When?" Adam asked, puzzled. "When Tenver's father...died, and his Lord Talent changed owners? That shouldn't have created an opening of any sort. The Realm's Walls should have stayed formed – just like when I took Aspreay's soul."
"It wasn't an automatic dismissal," the Detective claimed. "Ciro broke off the Realm for one specific reason: to Reconstruct it completely. With new Laws, of course, but remember that he was simply much more capable than – forgive me for saying so – his late brother."
Her raven's black, beady eyes shifted between Adam and Tenver. "There are records of Ciro nearly emptying the Imperial Treasury to achieve his maximum 1st Rank Talent soon after ascending to the throne. And do you know what he did next with his newfound power?"
Adam snapped his fingers, cluing in to the possibility faster than his knight. At first he appeared pleased with himself, then furious. "No shot he actually did that," he muttered. "No goddamn shot. You mean he...?"
The Raven nodded in response. "Aye, my lord. Emperor Ciro's Realm–"
Another arrow forced the Emperor to snap back to reality, brilliantly dodging Tenver's renewed assault.
'Your Realm,' Tenver declared to his uncle, 'extends far beyond the Capital, doesn't it? YOUR REALM ENCOMPASSES THE ENTIRE CONTINENT – THE WHOLE OF THE EMPIRE!'
For a fleeting moment, pale shock froze Ciro's body. Then, a gentle, dignified smile moved him forward. 'So you know, Nephew. It seems like I can allow neither you nor the other betrayers to escape alive after all.'
'The same to you, Uncle.'
Ciro withdrew from Tenver's mind, not wanting the Puppet Prince to hear his next thoughts. There was quite a lot to ruminate over.
This revelation...changed much.
'I confirmed it from his memories,' the Emperor mused. 'The rebels have surmised most of my limitations.'
Their guess was correct. Ciro's Realm did indeed encompass the entire known world.
The Emperor of the World had reconstructed it using the Capital as a basis, then expanded his Realm outward until it'd covered the entirety of his domain.
However..it was not equally strong across all of his domain. Ciro's control over his Realm weakened the further out he was from the Capital.
He was the first man in history to expand a Realm this far. Unfortunately, a peerless genius had few masters to teach him how to further refine his technique. As far as Ciro knew, there was little way to prevent this weakening from happening. Hells, mayhap every Realm suffered from the very same flaw – they were simply not large enough for it to become noticeable.
And that was not the only oddity he'd found. Over the years, Ciro had learned much through experimentation and trial and error.
For one, the Second Pillar of Realms, the Noble Guard, became slower and less effective outside the capital. His immortality was likely still guaranteed, though he'd likely stay dead for several moments instead of one fraction of a second before returning to life. For obvious reasons, this was an untested theory.
Meanwhile, the First and Third Pillars appeared to work with his physical location in mind. Even if Ciro was far away from the origin point of his Realm, so long as he was physically close to his targets, he could still use the First Pillar, the Royal Order, to force them to obey him. He could also use the Third Pillar, Divine Knowledge, to read their minds as he'd just done to Tenver.
'In that case...' The Emperor called upon Noble Guard to restore the few scratches that Tenver's exploding arrows had done to his skin, as well as cleansing the more aggravating dirt stains on his immaculate white clothing. 'No reason to hide this from you then, Nephew. But I must ask – if you know I am immortal, what is your grand plan?'
That was another matter bothering him. Even if Tenver knew the truth of the Emperor's Realm, how had he known precisely when to attack in order to interrupt Ciro's Royal Orders?
The Puppet Prince laughed inside his mind. 'Dear Uncle, I don't have to kill you permanently. I just have to slow you down until Adam can win his fight.'
'How would that change anything?' Ciro was genuinely curious. 'Even if the impossible were to bless you, and the Painter were to defeat the Gryphon...what of it? His people are still under siege, and nothing would stop me from personally killing him right after.'
'I don't have the slightest idea,' Tenver admitted.
Ciro blinked in disbelief. 'I'm sorry?'
'Adam and Valeria predicted you would send a detachment straight to Penumbria – something small that wouldn't cost too many Orbs. And though you could have sent a Hangman, there was also the chance that you'd kept someone with the Talent of a Lord in hidden reserve, or that you would merely come here yourself. They were–'
The Emperor didn't need to wait for his Nephew to finish. 'They were afraid that I would discover their plans by reading your thoughts. Thus, they didn't tell you their plans at all, leaving you to defend Penumbria with a protective veil of ignorance. That much makes sense.'
Ciro gaped at the distant city in disbelief. 'But how can you entrust your life to an uncertain plan, knowing nothing of what the future holds?'
'Because I know Adam,' Tenver replied. 'And that...that is enough for me.'
'Ridiculous.' The Emperor shook his head sadly. 'Nevertheless, if this is the stage you have chosen, Nephew, then let us dance! Will your feeble arrows be able to reach me? Will you be able to keep me dead for a few minutes – or will my Talent keep me out of your reach, as fate demanded?'
This, Ciro thought, was downright perfect. He didn't think the rebels would actually benefit from keeping him busy for just slightly longer, but if Tenver truly believed so...then that was just as good, wasn't it? How fitting, that the Puppet and his rebels' cause would fall in an impossible fight! It was poetic, it was natural, it was–
"Rather unfair, don't you think?" asked a new voice.
Ciro spun around in a hurry, unease gripping his heart.
Suddenly, the gnawing dread that had been chipping away at his mental walls crystalized into a tangible, horrible reality. The multiplying ravens had grown so plentiful that they cast a long shadow over the land, smothering its shattered landscape with an ominous sea of black.
And every single one of them was staring directly at him.
One raven in particular, larger and quicker than the rest, settled on a shattered rock before him. It rose its head and locked its red-eyed gaze with his.
"Lacking in sportsmanship, aren't you?" the Raven criticized. "Challenging someone to a fight that you cannot lose."
'It speaks?' Ciro paused. 'Didn't this happen in Tenver's memory too? What is – who is behind this?' He raced through the library of Tenver's memories, trying to find the answer.
The murder of crows and unkindness of ravens did not allow him the luxury of time. "After all...you made sure that one of Tenver's first arrows missed by using your other Talent, didn't you?"
SILENCE!
Ciro glared at his own open palm, and then at the small, compressed carnage where a bird had once been. With heavy breaths, he felt mild shock run through him. His own body had moved without thinking, something close to a raw survival instinct spurring him to collapse the reality around the bird in an attempt to silence it.
Did, did Tenver see it? No, even if he did, he can't have figured out what I–
Another bird spoke up. "I was already fairly certain from Lord Adam's retelling," the Second Raven continued. "But observing your dance to Tenver's tune has made me quite sure."
From behind him, another raven cackled eerily. "Your Talent," said the Third. "You tried keeping it hidden, even as a child, didn't yo–"
STOP! Ciro extended his arm once again, desperately trying to hide the truth in death and blood. Nothing good will come out of people knowing this–stop! DON'T SAY ANOTHER WORD! WHERE ARE YOU?!
But despite his screams, he could not locate the source of the voice.
Neither could he stop the eerie cackling of the Fourth Raven behind him.
This one did more than just laugh. It bowed, as if mocking him, crossing a single wing over its chest and lowering its head as the swarm of crows openly laughed. Then, when its false imitation of respect had ceased, the raven stood up with a flourish, using that same wing to point at him like its feathers were a sharp-edged blade.
"Your Talent, dear Emperor, is GRAVITY, IS IT NOT?" Valeria accused.