What a beautiful waste, Adam thought of Eric's Canvas.

He was hiding in the ruined battlefield when Solara's Ghost of Flames caught up to him. The new information that the specter returned with was of vital importance, yet even it had to wait for now. There was a different fire that he needed to put out first.

The fire Eric had spawned when unleashing his Hangman Talent.

They were located at an elevated part of Santuario das Chamas. It was high up enough for air to feel thinner, and close enough to the top of the mountain for the dread of the Ancient Dragons to feel most ominous.

Before their duel began, these sacred ruins had already been mere remnants of a once-grand city. Buildings fit for Dragons used to stand tall and proud. Now even those broken stone houses were lit aflame, hardened rock burning as if it was a matchstick covered in gasoline.

Adam had escaped being consumed by the inferno – barely. It was a temporary reprieve. Either the flames would spread and catch him, or Eric's indiscriminate firebombing would.

Have to focus. Can't let him know where I'm hiding. Painting his soul is my best option...maybe my only option.

The one other plan he'd devised was to wait until Eric exhausted himself. But with how the Hangman was furiously rampaging around, that didn't seem to be a reliable course of action. His flames would engulf the entire city long before then.

No. Painting him was a much, much better option – provided that Adam could.

I have to figure out what I'm missing.

What was it that he didn't understand about Eric?

The two of them knew each other extremely well. Better than most people, certainly. Yet if Adam's previous paintings had failed, there had to be something he was missing.

Worst of all, he couldn't even talk to him. Adam was so much weaker than the Hangman that the moment he tried to ask any sort of deep, piercing question...he would die. It wasn't like Eric had the best of tempers to begin with, and near-unlimited power had done little to curb that habit of his.

"WHERE ARE YOU, ADAM?!" Eric shouted. His voice sounded maniacal, deranged, close to inhuman. "C'MON! QUIT BEING A FUCKING COWARD! YOU WANT ME DEAD, DON'T YOU? YOU THINK I'M A BASTARD WHO STOLE YOUR SHIT, DOOON'T YOOOU?!"

The battlefield had become a ruin within a ruin. Eric had destroyed much of the already-broken stone houses with his Talent, as well as killing most of the honor guard Adam brought along, with the few survivors writhing in pain and despairing over missing limbs.

Have to stay hidden until I come up with a plan. It was the best course of action. He knew that. He and Eric had engaged in a Realm Clash earlier that shattered both their Realms and stained their Canvases – neither man would be able to use Realm Laws to achieve an easy, automatic victory.

And without the backing of a Realm...Adam needed to think very carefully about how to fight someone with an absurd Talent like Eric.

Although knowing might be the easy part. Actually doing it is a different story.

"COME ON, ADAM!" The Hangman kicked the wall of a ruined house, sending its foundation tumbling sideways. "Why are you running away now? Weren't you prancing around and agonizing over how you couldn't trust me? Whining about how you didn't want to believe I stole your shit?"

His former best friend laughed and bellowed out, "I FUCKING DID! I STOLE YOUR PAINTING BACK THEN – JUST LIKE NOW!"

Why?

Despite his intense focus, Adam couldn't help but flash back to the many years the two spent together. Was all of it an act? If so, for what purpose? Why would you–

LISTEN TO ME! The Ghost of Flames suddenly shouted in his mind. IF YOU DIE, THEN I WILL DIE TOO, SO LISTEN WELL, HUMAN!

Adam and Solara couldn't communicate freely, distant as they were, but the Ghost of Flames served as an unwilling – if limited – communication method that was faster than even the Grandmaster's crows.

It was Solara who'd come up with the idea. The Painting Talent allowed those bound by 'tattooed' paintings to share their magic with one another, but only until the ink on the person's back vanished.

And since the Ghost of Flames was a package deal with the Talent of Haunting Flames, why not take advantage of that? Once Solara finished her battle, she could simply scrub away the ink and her Talent would revert to Adam – carrying with it a most unhappy messenger.

As for the Ghost's obedience...the Elf and Painter had both agreed on a very simple solution.

Tell me everything now, Adam demanded of the Ghost in his mind. Or else I'll trap you within a dying soldier and let you disappear forever.

The Ghost of Flames didn't need to be told twice. Sola...the Elf has won, it stuttered. Penumbria went as you hoped. Aspreay has declared for you. The Emperor's army has stalled.

Meaning that Eric would be recalled as soon as the Emperor had the chance to order him so. Retreat was no longer an option.

This was the Plagiarist's last chance to kill Adam.

Stay hidden, the Ghost cautioned. The Hangman's Canvas grows more stained by the moment. He wastes much of his Blank trying to find you, destroying buildings indiscriminately. Allow him to tire himself out. He'll weaken.

That was already my plan. I'm not going to run out and risk my life if standing still works fine. I'll win even if I can't trap his soul. Just have to think of a new painting, let Eric exhaust himself, wait for his emotions to get the better of–

Eric lifted up the body of a mangled soldier.

"ARE YOU SEEING THIS, ADAM?!" The soldier was so bloody, and so maimed, that at first the Painter thought it to be a corpse. A moment later he recognized the man to be Diego – the young captain of his honor guard. "IF YOU DON'T COME OUT, I'LL KILL HIM!"

A poor bluff, the Ghost grunted. The soldier is near death anyway; he's missing a leg and bleeding out as we speak. He'll perish no matter what you do.

Yeah. Adam's thoughts slowed as he watched Diego cry out in agony. It would be meaningless to get myself killed trying to save a dead man.

Exposed bone poked out from where the young captain's leg had been, twisted and shattered. I'm weaker and less talented than Eric. When his mind is burning hot, I need to freeze mine cold.

Diego's tormented screams pierced the sky. Being cruel and calculating is my only chance of winning here. I can't afford to get emotional.

Adam was aware of all that.

He honestly, truly was. He had long since prepared himself for the sacrifices he would need to make.

"I'm right here."

Yet when he saw the suffering in the Captain's eyes...the words were already leaving his mouth. He pushed the rubble off from his hiding spot, standing proudly.

"I'm right here...Eric." Every word Adam spoke dripped with a fury that melted away the ice of his plans. He silenced the Ghost before it could even object. "Put him down."

Fire crackled around the two men, their eyes locked in a silent eulogy to their shattered past. Only smoldering shards of their once-precious bond were left now, and all it invoked was motivation to kill the other.

With a careless flick of his wrist, Eric let the Captain's mangled body slip from his grip. Diego's unmoving form hit the ground with a sickening thud. The Hangman's eyes locked onto Adam throughout it all, daring him to react, to break.

"You came here with eleven men," Eric sneered. "And you still failed to fucking beat me. I'd say all twelve of you would leave here in caskets but..."

He gestured to the carnage around him. "Don't think you can find all of your men anymore. Ah, well. Maybe their families will settle for pieces? I think I see a leg over there."

Adam's fist tightened.

Are you insane? The Ghost desperately barked out. He'll kill you – kill us! And for what? The man is dead already!

I might be insane, the Painter thought, but I'm not inhuman. Not yet.

"Your Talent of Hanging is of the Fourth Rank," Adam noted, in a tone dryer than the flame-wreathed air. "And your Talent of Flight..." He gestured at the beautiful featherly wings sprouting from the sides of Eric's boots. "...Is also quite high ranked. Fifth Rank, I believe?"

Eric nodded. "You always were the type to do your homework." His nod turned into a shake. "Just one of the many things about you that annoyed the shit out of me."

"And you never did yours." Adam smiled wryly. "Always preferred to leave it to the end and ask me for the answers."

"Heh. Then answer me this as well – what's your highest-Ranked Talent?"

"Third Rank. Two under yours."

The Hangman nodded again. "And since neither of us can use our Realms, you have no way of bypassing our difference in Rank. Well, no way except Painting, and we both know how much worse you are than me in that regard."

"Yeah, guess that's true," Adam acknowledged with a shrug. "I have no way of killing you outside of somehow managing to paint your soul. My Talents are all weaker than yours, and you can probably kill me within a few seconds. That's all true – I don't dispute any of it."

He took a step forward.

"So I hope you're ready," the Painter told the Plagiarist, in a nonchalant voice. "I hope you're to watch this talentless fuck, the one you stole everything from...take your fucking soul."

In response, Eric also took a step forward.

"Watching you fail is the most entertaining thing in the world," the Gryphon said, a wicked grin on his face. "Come on. Show me what you got. Give me something fun to remember you by, old fella."

Both men slowly walked towards one another, the light taps of their footsteps the only sound to herald their impending collision.

I'm really just too greedy, Adam thought to himself. I know I don't have the talent or genius to match someone like him. Neither Earth nor the Painted World want me as one of the chosen geniuses that can rule over reality itself. But...even recognizing that...

Adam's eyes narrowed as his soul filled with resolve.

I still want everything. I want to win – to save everyone.

Eric's wings fluttered in the wind, flapping harshly and creating a gust of wind, fueling his abrupt flight toward the Painter. Adam's Stained Ink swirled around his arms, wrapping around broken columns and catapulting him forward.

Their collision was set.

"ADAM–!"

"ERIC–!"

And when the two erstwhile friends collided with the strongest of their attacks–

"H–HUH?" Eric screamed as he tumbled down through empty air. The momentum of his flying lunge had sent him rolling onto the mud. "What the fuck just happened?"

Haunted Flames!

–Adam used the Ghost's Talent to hide within the very flames Eric's last attack had carelessly created.

He didn't waste any time answering the Hangman. Instead, Adam leapt from flame to flame, collecting his wounded soldiers and moving them to a facsimile of safety. His body repeatedly dissolved into embers, reappearing elsewhere amidst the burning wreckage.

Each time he appeared, he scooped up a fallen soldier before vanishing again. The heat scorched his skin, but he moved with desperate speed and greater need, valuing expedience over his own safety.

After the last of his men had been moved, Captain Diego's bloodstained hand shot upward. He closed a set of weak, trembling fingers around Adam's sleeve.

"Run," Diego begged. "My lord, our j-job is to guard y–your life. If you escape now–"

Adam shook his head. "Stay alive until I'm done." He grasped the Captain's hand firmly. "That's an order."

Their eyes met through smoke and haze. Diego's body was broken – but his resolve was not. Adam gave him a single, firm nod.

Then, with a deep breath, he hurled himself back into the flames, his vengeance calling him to fight...and his duty calling him to win.

Escaping Eric and waiting until he tired himself out would've been relatively easy. They would lose out on the Grandmaster's Talent for dealing with the Rot, but the Hangman wouldn't be allowed to chase after them now that Aspreay had earned them a reprieve from the war itself.

Diego and the other soldiers would die, as well as many who were taken by the Rot when winter came. However, their cause, their resistance against the Emperor would endure. It would be a victory, albeit a costly one to pay.

To hell with that. I'm done paying for things. I refuse to accept that everything in life has to cost so damn much. I'll get what I want – what we deserve!

To do that, Adam needed to interrogate Eric, figure out the missing piece of his portrait...and not get charred to a crisp. The Gryphon may speak more truthfully when his heart was boiling, but enduring that boiling rage was something else entirely.

How was he to survive something like this?

Doesn't matter. I'll do it anyway. Because...that's the only way I'll be at peace with this. I think I understand myself a bit better now.

You always had that effect on me, Eric.

He emerged from within a burning pyre – and behind the Hangman. "Missed me?" Adam asked, before he delivered a punch to the back of Eric's head.

"YOU BASTA–" he started to scream, but Adam had already hidden himself within the flames long before the Hangman even started to turn around.

I'm not a genius. I can acknowledge that. But...what of it? I'm still self-deluded enough to think that I can get everything I want while sacrificing nothing.

Adam leapt from flame to flame, taking full advantage of the chaotic conflagration Eric had summoned. Time and again he appeared from nowhere, delivering another crushing strike before retreating into the blood-shaded inferno once more.

I gambled Penumbria's safety more times than I can count, because deep inside, I thought I could do a better job than Aspreay. Even today, I risked all of their lives because I was certain my plan would keep them safe.

And you know what the worst part is?

"You're back to hiding?" Eric screamed in disgust. "Fight me like a man, you piece of shit!"

Adam rose skyward from a lone ember burning on the Hangman's jacket. He rocked his chin with a violent uppercut before retreating to yet another flame. His Rank may have been weaker than Eric's, but he wasn't using a Talent to attack – he was simply punching him.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

The worst part is that I was right.

My plan worked. Despite how I've continuously risked their lives, Penumbria is safe right now.

This world is keen on making sure I know my place isn't at the top...but it also fails to punish me whenever I construct a ladder up there.

"You know that you're fucking dead as soon as you fuck up once, right?" Eric shouted, his tone incredulous. "I'm a fucking Hangman! One hit from me and you're dead! When I catch you–"

"If."

The word was Adam's entire objection, punctuated by him delivering another strike and disappearing in the fire yet again.

"If," he repeated, his voice a ghostly echo that simultaneously resounded from every open flame.

Eric looked about ready to rip the hair out of his head. "Stop wasting my goddamn time! You know a failure like you can't beat me, so what the hell are you doing this for?! Either run away or let me kill you – there's no third option!"

If I haven't been punished for reaching above my place in the world...then maybe there is no inherent place in the world. Perhaps 'genius' and 'talent' don't truly mean anything.

...Nah. I don't believe that. Some people learn things faster than others, and some people have a higher ceiling than others. Much as I hate it, I have to accept that as the truth.

But...even so...

Adam considered the state of their respective Canvases. Eric's was far more Stained than his own, but it was a much larger space to begin with. Despite the Painter's taunts, this hit-and-run strategy wouldn't work forever.

Luckily, it wouldn't have to.

Just because I wasn't meant to reach the top, doesn't mean I never planned on reaching it anyway. It's the type of attitude that makes you fly too close to the sun. Then again, I've always been the kind of guy who thought Icarus was admirable.

A faint smile spread across his face. Well...mostly admirable. I also think I could have done better than Icarus.

If Daedalus' wings had melted, then I would've just created my own and basked in the sun's glory.

That malevolent arrogance deep within his soul guided Adam's movements and thoughts. What came next felt as natural as breathing.

214,375 Orbs Spent!

Talent of Painting upgraded from Craftsman to Lord!

He took the Orbs he had assigned for Penumbria's survival...and used them to increase his Painting Talent.

It would be fine. They'd obtain more Orbs as recompense from the Emperor for his 'false' war.

All he needed to do was to win.

It's strange, isn't it? I have this fatalism that humans are born with an inherent talent that I lack...and an unwavering belief that I can overcome that regardless. That contradiction doesn't matter to me most of the time. I can push it down, lock it in, focus on the here and now.

But sometimes I can't quite reconcile those beliefs in my heart. Sometimes...sometimes I think this stubbornness is just a little rebellion. My last self-destructive challenge against the overwhelming fear of my own limitations that rules over my soul.

And it gets worse when you're standing before me, Eric.

Adam withdrew his tablet from his jacket. He started painting within the flames, adding lines of color in-between his attacks. His assault against Eric didn't waver; he couldn't allow the Hangman to realize that he was preparing something.

Because when I see your talent, I want to slap your back and tell you how cool you are. I want to stand by your side and bask in a view only you can create. I want to see how far my best friend can go, supporting him all the way.

Most of all, I want to see you put in actual effort. Not just running away and protecting your ego by telling yourself that you don't even want to bother trying.

Because when I see your laziness, I want to grab your shoulders and shake you until you wake up from your self-inflicted coma. I want to tell you not to give up simply because things have gotten hard. I want you to stop laughing at the idea of working hard at something, and instead dedicate yourself to whatever passion spurs you onward.

Most of all...I really want to surpass you.

Adam had never wished to rely on improving his Rank. The Orb cost was, in a word, steep. But as he hadn't been able to settle things within the Realm Clash earlier, he was left with no choice but to rely on this.

The depths of his soul answered his hunger.

Multiple evolutions triggered within him at the same time, each derived from a different source. Talent from his Rank, abilities from his experience...and strength from his desire.

The Shape of the Self

Ah, dear Adam...you are now a Lord of Painting! Shape your own Canvas as you have shaped many others in the past. Decorate the emptiness! Unleash what is imprisoned! Show him–show the First–show ME–THE COLOR OF YOUR SOUL!

He spawned out of the flames, striking Eric with a hatred that burned far hotter than the inferno blazing around them both.

"When I'm around you...I understand myself better, you know?" Adam said aloud. Even now, he couldn't help but try to open up and extend a hand to his former friends.

He wasn't surprised to see that hand slapped away. "Why the fuck are you yapping?" Eric spat out blood, his featherly wings fluttering with mounting irritation. "This isn't the time to talk!"

He wasn't surprised...although it did sadden him, a little.

But not as much as it motivated him.

Adam dodged an attack of near-instant death by vanishing into the very flames that had once almost killed him in Gama. "Probably not," he admitted, his voice an inhuman echo that rang out from everywhere on the battlefield. "But it's our last chance to talk."

Do you know why I feel this burning desire to surpass you, Eric?

It's not because I want to encourage you to be better. It's not because of how upsetting it is that you're wasting your talents. It's not because I want you to be proud of me.

It's because while I don't have much in the way of talent...I refuse to lose to someone who won't even TRY. Someone who's too much of a COWARD to risk defeat. Someone like that – someone like YOU – doesn't deserve to stand on the same stage as me.

I guess that's the source of my ego. This small fire that I call pride.

Today isn't the day where I can call myself the greatest in the world. Not yet. But there will never, NEVER be a day where I call myself weaker than a genius who cares so little for his blessing.

The Lord of Penumbria barely dodged Eric's counterattack. The Plagiarist was reckless, cocky, and lacking in strategy...but his Talent was still far stronger.

As things stood now, Adam saw no possible path forward. Not as he currently was, at any rate. The best he could manage was an incomplete win where he failed to steal the Rot-absorbing Talent from Eric.

And with the way his heart burned in that very moment...Adam wouldn't settle for anything less than a perfect, all-encompassing victory.

Which meant there was still one more portrait he needed to finish before painting Eric's soul.

Inside the roaring flames, Adam set his focus onto his art. He couldn't take too long, or else Eric would start impatiently attacking everything around him again – including the wounded Penumbrian soldiers that were already knocking at death's door.

Fortunately, the image that came to his mind wouldn't take too long. If anything, it felt like cheating.

Barely painting at all – more like highlighting.

You know, I...I remember when I fought against the Ghost of Waters. More specifically, I remember when he visited my dreams. Visited my Canvas. Back then, he commented on how 'unpainted' my Canvas looked. At the time, I didn't understand.

Now, though? I think I've come to see what he meant.

For the longest time, I didn't have any real dreams of my own. No desires, no aspirations...no sense of self. Even my love of art was something I stole from you. Which I suppose is why I didn't actually mind that you stole my painting.

I minded that you betrayed me.

If you had just asked, man...I'd have given you anything. Everything.

But you didn't.

It left me more hollow than ever before. Just like that, I'd regressed to that unloved kid with no desires or passions. My soul was a white nothing – a blank, empty canvas.

And slowly...

Adam smiled as he dragged his tablet's paintings onto one another.

His mind wandered to the day he'd first arrived in this world. When a Stained Creature attacked him – and with no knowledge of his new Painting Talent – he had manically put his full focus into what he thought would be his final portrait.

Only a few hours later, he nearly died because he decided to sketch the city he'd come to know as Penumbria rather than find food.

Shortly thereafter, when meeting Solara for the first time, he took the time to paint her rather than prepare for their imminent deathmatch.

Slowly...I remembered that I really do love art.

It's not just something I did to stay close with you. Even if nobody is watching me, the person I am in the dark – more than anything else – is someone who truly loves art.

But that's not all.

Adam thought of himself and Tenver standing before a cliff, the knight holding his blade in a clumsy grip, begging for the Painter to surrender for his own sake. 'I don't want that to happen to my very best friend,' Tenver had shouted, through a haze of tears.

I'll add a gold outline to this part. While it didn't really match the shading of the rest of the painting, that was fine. It fit Tenver.

Adam thought of himself and Solara speaking of their past, and how to move past from it. He remembered her gently picking up his tablet, then laying it across his lap. 'Do not throw away that which is already part of you. Take what you can. Embrace what you need. And let go of what you must.'

Green...she should be green. This too made a mess out of the painting's color scheme, and this too was just fine with him. He would rather it be incompetent than lifeless. Solara would've agreed – green was her favorite color.

Dozens of other thoughts flashed through his mind. The days he spent drinking with Tenver, the sleepless nights he'd spent painting Espada-de-Guerra figures with Solara, their group game session that ended with Tenver outraged and Solara laughing...

That unpainted hollow of mine that I called my soul...my canvas...

I never managed to really give it life. It stayed as a blank painting that only let me see the world through a faint blue filter. Never could pick those colors myself.

Think that was my mistake all along. I have things I love, things I want to do, things that make me who I am...

But I needed other people to give me the colors to paint the full picture.

I don't know exactly how this portrait is going to end up, Eric. But I'm having a lot of fun painting it. A bit more gets added each and every day. I wish you were part of it – yet I also know it's better for me that you're not.

This is who I am. In this picture, that is what I've tried to convey.

I wonder. Will you be able to pick up on all of that, just from this single painting of myself?

Of course you can. You're a genius. If you bother to put in the effort, you're able to understand anything in no time flat. Then again...

Guess that means you won't get it at all, huh?

Adam leapt out from the flames. He unfurled his tablet as if it were a hidden knife – one that he'd pointed at himself.

And for perhaps the first time in his life, he felt proud of what he'd made. Not because he thought others would find it beautiful, or that it would improve his life in some material fashion.

But because it meant something for him and him alone.

This painting was the king of all arrogance, by and large the least professional, yet without fail the most intimate work he had ever crafted. On one side was an empty white rectangle, and on the other, it displayed a hastily colored-collage of his previous works – of the paintings he'd created of Solara, Tenver, and many others.

The Unpainted Journey

"WHAT IS IT NOW YOU–"

Eric's curses were cut short. A dazed, befuddled expression was plain on his face as he soared through the air. It took him a moment to parse what had transpired.

He'd been sent flying by a Talent's ability.

Crackling blue sparks of hostile, barely-visible electricity surrounded the Lord of Penumbria. Both painters immediately recognized what that meant.

Adam's painting had been a success.

Eric, naturally, was aware of this. His Talent of Painting was high-ranked enough to have access to this ability as well. However, he'd never possessed the level of self-introspection necessary to look inside his own soul and paint a picture of who he was as a person.

And thus, Adam alone was blessed by art.

He had come to terms with the shape of his soul and committed it to Ink. In return, this world had granted him physical abilities on par with a Hangman...

To an extent. Even if he could match their speed and power, Adam instinctively knew that his Talent was still weaker.

"You – you still can't kill me," Eric threw out like a shield. "The fuck does this matter? Oooh you can run away faster now! I'm so, so scared! Whatever shall I fucking do?"

He laughed and spat on the ground, sounding more like a hyena than a person. "Nothing has changed! So long as my Rank is higher than yours, you can't–"

"Easy there with the numbers. Math was never your strong suit." Adam cracked his neck. "Or learning, for that matter. But class is in session – so for once in your life, shut up and pay attention."

Despite their difference in Rank, the Hangman's Canvas was far more Stained, and shaded with a lesser number of washed-out, solitary colors. He had dirtied it too much during his rampage, then worsened it when trying to chase the Painter out of the flames.

In this state, Eric was weaker. The disparity in their speed and power had shrunk considerably.

Adam smiled. "I needed to become strong enough that you couldn't kill me in an instant." His Stained Ink swirled around his sleeves, holding up his tablet for him as he stood with his back straight and a pensive hand on his chin. "This way, I can stand here and talk to you. So that I can understand you better...for the last time."

He wielded his Stained Ink with such precision that a tendril of Ink held his pen against the tablet. "So that I can finally do what I promised, and take your soul, Eric."