VERISM 2.09

“Two. A hero should expect to face many troubles during the span of their journey. When times are dark, recall that dawn always rises after dusk and take the next step forward.”

– ‘Two Hundred heroic Axioms’, author unknown

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I put the palm of my hand on the doorknob and turned it.

For a moment, I debated trying to repair my arm. I was fairly certain I could do it now with no negative consequences. I elected to wait until after the fight. If he interrupted the process, I wasn’t sure how badly it could end for me.

While I was confident there weren’t many people who could kill me, it was likely I could kill myself.

“So you managed to reach the end of this work, but it does not matter. You have canvassed the breadth of but the first of my masterpieces. Allow me to continue to share my wisdom with you.” He declared.

Well, that was ominous.

The door creaked as it opened. Looking inside, I tried not to be too surprised by what I saw.

On the other side of the door was a lake.

Why wouldn’t he have a lake?

That was just how the Arcadian Artist fought. He never fought people directly. Instead, he threw minions or environments at them. Constructs he had created by putting paint to canvas, given life through the strength of his Name. He was in the strictest sense a minion master.

If I actually found him, I would have already won.

Experimentally, I tried modifying the water on the other side. It ran golden as I did so. I didn’t try particularly hard, since I was doing it more to learn where he was than to actually change the environment. As he pressed back, I felt the impression of him further in.

Fine, I’d follow through.

“So you pass through the mountain and arrive at the lake. Do be sure to share your impressions with me while you die. After all, I do value the critique.” It was impressive how he managed to worm further under my skin, considering I already wanted him dead.

My gaze roved, drinking in the vista on the other side.

Pastel blues and greens greeted me. Reeds peeked from the water and the sky itself was clouded over, with a light dusting of snow descending from above. The snow itself looked comical. It looked to be small blobs of titanium white tumbling out of the sky.

Looking back briefly, I noted the progress of the flames. I wasn’t sure if they would follow me from one scene to another. I hoped that they didn’t.

Then, I stepped through the doorway. My feet sunk into the oily water and squelched against the mud below. I was on the outer edges of the lake, where the water level was shallow enough that I could still stand. Checking behind myself once more, I noted that the door behind me had vanished. I was in a new landscape entirely.

Now, where would I find the Artist?

I took a moment to look around. In the middle of the lake, there was a small island that jutted out. A few evergreens had been painted on to it, their roots soaking in the water below. It had the whole mystical rainforest look to it. If this was a story — and it was, since there were Names involved — then that would be my destination.

I eyed the lake critically.

Swimming there was probably a bad idea. I had a hunch that the moment I tried, some sort of monster was going to come writhing up out of the depths. Considering my opponent, it would likely involve tigers. One giant tiger octopus, with tails for tentacles.

Panning my gaze, I tried to find another solution. It didn’t appear there was one.

I wasn’t willing to risk an interrupted teleportation to try to cross the distance, for the same reason I wouldn’t try repairing my arm. Hesitantly, I tried creating platforms in the air. The Artist pressed back, shutting the attempt down.

… I could break through by consuming one of my projections, but I sensed there was a cost associated with it. I didn’t want to pay it if I didn’t need to. Better to search for an alternative first.

Suddenly, I felt a heat from behind me. Turning around, I was greeted by flickering flames. It seemed they had followed me from one scene to another after all. The added urgency was just what I needed to help add some excitement to my day.

Lovely.

I wasn’t about to go swimming in the lake, and I wasn’t prepared to be swallowed by the conflagration either. Shaping my intent, I seized upon the idea of the surface of the lake being solid and pushed. The Artist…didn’t bother to contest my attempt. Ominous.

The change rippled out across the lake from one side to the other. The water was still water, but the surface had become as hard as rock. Tentatively, I put my weight on my ad hoc platform. The effect held. Satisfied, I began to run.

Halfway towards the middle of the lake and my fears were confirmed. Some giant squid monstrosity broke through the surface, its tentacle slamming down in front of me. Max would probably make some crass, suggestive comment at this point. A pang of grief shot through me.

Don’t think of Max right now, you can grieve later.

“Say hello to my pet, Sparkles, isn’t he just the best? He’s very happy to see you, you know.” The disembodied voice smirked.

I leapt, my feet failing to find purchase on it. Stumbling, I fell into a roll on the other side. I glanced at it briefly.

No tiger parts, at least.

Before I could try to do anything about it, it had submerged itself again. Despite its bulk, it moved fast. Another appendage broke through the surface to my right, the “ground” shuddering as it did so. Paint sprayed everywhere.

Suddenly, I found myself hurtling through the air.

Dimly, I realized a tentacle had smashed me from below the surface. My concentration broke and as it did so, the surface of the lake shifted, turning fluid once more. I crashed into it, finding myself submerged.

It seems I am going swimming after all.

Briefly, I caught a glance of an impressionist’s interpretation of a kraken, before I came up gasping for air. The smell of oil was thick in my nose, and it was hard not to retch.

This wasn’t working.

Fire had already made its way into this scene and as dangerous as it was, I considered the kraken to be the larger threat. It was also likely that the Artist wouldn’t fight me on it. He seemed to like watching the world burn. I already knew that flames were effective against these constructs, there was no point in avoiding using them.

The only problem was how to set it on fire without catching light myself.

Treading water, I tried to firm the surface in front of me once more, only this time the Artist fought against it. I switched my focus to trying to create platforms instead. He scrambled to stop the latter, and the water turned solid as his resistance there gave way.

As the surface solidified, I struggled to pull myself out of the paint with only one arm. I rolled to the side as another tentacle aimed at me, then took it as an opportunity, hurling a luminescent ball of flames its way. It struck, and the creature screeched, flailing around. The tentacle danced in the air like it was at a rave, the flames quickly spreading as it did.

The inferno didn’t actually seem to be burning the creature directly, instead it seemed more like the artist was fuelling the creature’s continued existence by feeding it with souls. It angered me just how low the villains of creation could sink.

I took a moment to try to dismiss the thing, just to see if I could. It was like slamming into a brick wall. I suspected that even if I burned a ghost on it, that approach was unlikely to succeed. The Artist had invested most of his efforts into making it as resilient as it was. In theory, that should make it easier for me to act on anything else.

Considering I didn’t actually care if the beast lived or died, I would focus on trying to avoid it. Fighting it was just giving the Artist more time to plot.

I picked myself back up and sprinted for the island.

Coughing, I looked ahead, trying to make out how much further I had to go. It looked to be just a couple of hundred more feet. Unfortunately, covering that distance while dodging the giant squid monster was turning out to be surprisingly hard.

The smoke from the flames was starting to make it hard to breathe.

My eyes were watering and, blinking, I found myself barrelling through the air once more. This time, the sting of flames singed my skin as I went up. The tentacle was on fire, of course.

I need to try something else.

It was risky, but I didn’t want to stay on the surface of the water. Mentally, I visualized what I wanted. Then, with a shove, I told gravity to fuck off.

I was so surprised when my attempt succeeded with no effort at all that I almost lost control of the working. It was so easy to do, too, the Artist barely even resisted my imposition.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

Why is this so easy to do?

… Because the Artist was starting to think smarter about how to fight like this. Block some effects, allow others through. The surprise factor alone could prove advantageous.

A tentacle hurtling towards me broke me out of my reverie. Unfortunately, I had a new problem.

How do I manoeuvre like this?

I had made the attempt at the apogee, when my momentum was near zero. Trying to move, I found, had very little utility at all.

Flailing, I was stuck floating in mid-air. As I did so, the surrounding air became a messy smear. I had seconds to get out of the way. Not knowing what else to do, I let the effect fade. A long blotch of paint swiped past my head, missing me narrowly as I dropped.

Manifesting the same working again, I found to my mounting dismay that I kept falling. I just didn’t fall any faster. I landed in the lake once more.

Perhaps I should have tried to find a way to dispose of the beast, but just outright avoiding it seemed like a more conservative use of resources.

Platforms, I need platforms.

I hadn’t been willing to pay the price before, but I was now.

Hastily, I latched onto the idea. The Artist seemed to like this plan of mine a little less and actively fought back, but it was still something I could do.

Another phantom aiding me disappeared.

A horizontal platform of solid light blazed into existence, floating before me. Climbing onto it, I reshaped the platform as I went. Rapidly, I created a path that continuously sloped higher and higher up.

Keeping an eye out for tentacles, I continued to ascend. I was taking a zigzagged route towards the island. Unfortunately, setting the beast alight had enraged it, and it was now far more proactive than before.

Then, suddenly, I was out of its range.

I looked down on it, taking a moment to catch my breath.

Not so dangerous from up here, is it?

“Really, how rude. Holding yourself above my work like this. And people accuse me of putting on airs.” The Artist called out.

A buzzing noise broke my contemplation. Some very poorly painted geese with snake heads entered the scene. Their feathers were blended together, and the scales weren’t there at all. They hissed as they approached, coming down from above.

The lake below me was a mess of flame, and I saw no reason to do the same for the sky. The inferno did slowly spread up, but it was far more gradual than if I just doused the sky in napalm.

Improvising, I considered what I could do. Fire worked, but what else would?

Suddenly struck by inspiration, I turned towards the geese. They were winging their way through a puffy grey cloud. I focused my attention on it and willed it to change. Shifting from paint to sparkling mineral oil, the clouds started to run. The Artist was so taken by surprise by what I attempted that by the time he started trying to contest me, the mutation was already complete.

The clouds smeared all over the birds. Heartbeats later, and there was nothing left of the waterfowl. I smiled.

Now if only I had come up with that solution sooner.

Turning my attention back to the kraken, I realized that in its panic to escape the flames, it had partially beached itself. Half of its mass was stranded on the island, near where I could sense the Artist. Fortunately, the half that wasn’t on fire was the part which was resting on the land.

It seemed that a direct confrontation with it was almost a certainty.

No matter. I had a weapon that was effective now and didn’t rampage indiscriminately after use. I began to slowly descend. A drop of something landed on my forehead. Looking up, I saw the mineral oil falling from above.

Perhaps this is what people imagine when they say weeping heavens.

Okay, maybe it was somewhat indiscriminate then. At least if applied to the clouds.

That was a problem. I wasn’t willing to fight the thing while the world I was in went to the hells. Killing it might take too long and wasn’t the goal regardless. That meant going around.

Hurriedly moving my platform along, I made my way to the island. Circling around it, I came in from behind. Out of range as I was, the kraken’s ineffectual flailing no longer bothered me. As my feet touched the red ochre soil, I started to run.

More and more, it was becoming clear that the Artist’s creation was breaking down.

Stumbling over a vine, I found myself planted face first in front of what looked to be a staircase descending into the ground. Another underground villainous bunker, great. How likely was it that he had a self-destruct button? At least he probably didn’t have a monster tucked away in a vault, on account of the monster currently flailing around on the beach.

Climbing back onto my feet, I started to make my descent. My feet reverberated on the painted stone tiles below me. I passed through an arched doorway, the keystone engraved with the picture of a brush. Inside was a long passage, torches spread out evenly on either side. They flickered ominously, a dull orange that was barely bright enough to see by.

I tried not to think too hard about whatever it was they were using to light the way.

“The hero scales the cliffs;

And comes upon a lake

But the beast rises up;

And proves she’s but a fake

For rather than fight it;

She then chooses to run

Going down into my lair;

Far away from the sun

Painted into the ground;

A place of dreams most grand

Will the hero succeed;

Or is this her last stand?”

The voice of the Arcadian Artist echoed through his creation. He started loud, boisterous and ended trailing off ominously.

Somehow, he became more and more obnoxious the longer this fight dragged on. It impressed me. Surely not all villains in Creation were this bad? Trapping people in painted worlds where you are free to monologue at them from safety while you hide away should not be allowed.

Not even Coil was this clichéd.

Reaching the end of the corridor, I came to a split in the path. I looked left. I wasn’t sure what was supposed to be down that path. Most of it had been consumed by flames, and the eye of an angry kraken glared through.

Right, not going that way then.

I bolted down the still existing corridor and came to a room with a chequered floor. The tiles alternated between black and white. The light was too poor to make out any of the finer details, but going by everything else, I was willing to bet the floor was trapped. Not willing to engage with this farce any further, I created a bridge of light from one end of the room to the other.

The Artist wasn’t happy with that and fought back, but I didn’t care. Another ghost winked out. I would pay the price later, after the fight was done.

Stepping onto it, I dashed across confidently. Behind me, I heard the roar of the beast and what sounded like the crash of a tentacle against stone. At the other side of the room was another corridor. This one was unlit, the light of the torches dying out a few feet in.

As if this doesn’t scream more traps.

Creating a diffuse ball of light, I cautiously moved forward. Nothing appeared to happen. Slowly, I made my way to the other side, reaching a door. I opened it and blinked as I came face to face with another scene change.

Just how many of these things did he have?

This landscape appeared to be a world painted entirely underground. A sprawling cavern, stretching out for what seemed to be miles into the distance, with a roof maybe fifty feet up. The place was dimly lit by luminescent blue mushrooms that seemed to pulsate in the dark. Leading out from the doorway was a path that trailed towards a bridge across a river.

I sent out another experimental pulse. I felt a return from somewhere close within.

Not caring to spend much longer in the rapidly degenerating painting, I took a step through.

I turned back. Just like the last time, the doorway was gone. I considered what came next. If this was a story, I had fought the monster and cleared the trial. That meant, in theory, all that was left was the confrontation. Which made this scene so odd.

It appeared at first glance to be completely tranquil.

Reaching the bridge, I crossed it. On the other side, was a small field of what looked to be cultivated mushrooms. Up ahead was a small building made out of what seemed to be wood. How would the people living in a place like this get wood? I guessed it was something the artist hadn’t considered when he painted the scene.

I reached the building. After trying the door, I found it unlocked. Opening it, I was met by an almost entirely bland room with a rectangular desk in the middle. Behind it, was a single chair and seated on it was the artist. He looked up at me and smiled condescendingly.

“Welcome to your new home. What are your thoughts on all of your accommodations?”

Not willing to entertain more of his pontification, I attempted to snuff him out. He struck back viciously. My will struck against the full weight of the remaining souls, and I staggered in the process. He winked at me.

Disoriented, I took a moment to recover before I made my next try at killing him. Burning a ghost to do it would be costly, but it was better than letting this drag out. Even with his current protections, I was certain I could find away around them.

I just needed to be creative about how I made the attempt.

“Wasn’t it obvious, my dear, capturing you was the goal from the very start? Your defeat was inevitable the moment you stepped from the threshold going from the second to the third scene. You see, the first two battles were a blending of Creation and my work. The third is my work. Watching you traipse around playing hero and fighting the monster was entertaining, I will admit. A bit of an indulgence on my part. But the very moment you stepped into this scene, I owned your soul.” The Artist monologued.

That…didn’t sound true to me. Ignoring the part where I wasn’t sure if I even had a soul, I found it doubtful that it would be hard for me to escape. For him to protect himself like that, he had to give up on trying to contain me. If anything, it felt like he was trying to buy time. Despite the front he was putting on, he seemed to be extremely nervous.

I examined the room closer as he talked. Briefly, I turned around and looked towards the entrance. Next to it was a doorway hidden just out of the corner of my sight that led into a frozen landscape.

So that was what he wanted.

He was hoping the Fae would bail him out.

I wasn’t willing to risk that fight. So I turned my attention back on him, preparing to kill him and then leave.

That was when it all started to go wrong. Reality contorted, bending around me. Lines stretched out, each drawing towards a point on a canvas. Then all of them collapsed inwards. It was confusing, hard to watch. Everything became a blend of colours and I couldn’t properly focus on the Artist.

I found myself standing in Liesse once more. As I arrived, I briefly glanced around. The building itself was on fire, with most of its front face destroyed. There was no sign of Maxime at all. A pang of sadness welled up.

Deal with it afterwards, Taylor.

Moments later, the Artist appeared as well. Both of us had been forcibly ejected from his construction. I was in the process of preparing to snuff the artist out when I noticed he wasn’t looking at me but was instead looking through a hole in the side of the building.

I followed his gaze.

A chariot slowly descended from the sky, pulled by a pair of pitch-black horses. It was heavily warded, to the point that I couldn’t affect anything on it at all.

The Sovereign of the Red Skies had arrived.

“Well, it seems I’ve found the rapscallions responsible for torching the property value in this neighbourhood,” he announced.

This was more trouble than I had bargained for.