The flowers bloomed the color of destruction.

  Acryl threw himself away from Kaspar as the flowers exploded. Waves of casting crushed onto him as he felt Josh again. Though he couldn’t sense where Josh was exactly, he was sure that he was fine. It did not bring too much hope, but still made Acryl ever so slightly more optimistic. He tried to avoid that thing that fell from the ceiling as he fought Kaspar, and he could notice the same for that Auderheimian man.

  Kaspar did not seem to be exhausted at all, The explosion threw him away from Acryl as Acryl used the last spark of his Realm-art to create a stream of colors around him. He breathed deeply as he held his chest full of pain.

  He could feel a few broken ribs, bruises, and debris shot into his muscles. Acryl could barely move.

  Despite the pain, his head was clearer than ever before. Troubled, but focused. Fresh air poured into the battlefield as the ceiling was broken. Acryl still could not figure out what Kaspar’s side effect was, but he was sure that neither did Kaspar notice his pain when casting. He gasped as Kaspar regrouped his body and stood up from the ground.

  Anything…anything I can see in him…

  Flowers bloomed again as Acryl wobbled toward Kaspar, and so did Kaspar, cracking his neck and shoulder. So far, he could only notice the immense interval in his shots, but nothing else. Kaspar was intentionally hiding his true powers, though Acryl couldn’t see a reason for it. Despite having Josh here, Kaspar was still hiding it too deep.

  What is he worrying about? It is not me, not Josh…unless…

  Kaspar threw a punch at Acryl before it reached him. Acryl deflected it with the creation of his Realm-arts. Another punch came as Acryl felt Kaspar’s casting suffocating him, as he was distracted by it, Kaspar punched his stomach, and Acryl grabbed Kaspar’s wrist.

  “What is it you are hesitating?” Acryl whispered weakly as his colors wrapped Kaspar’s wrist. He didn’t know how long he could hold before Josh or anyone arrived, but Acryl had to try. Acryl whipped his arm onto Kaspar’s face, it jutted him more than he did to Kaspar, before he could blow another hit, Kaspar kicked his leg. Acryl almost lost balance, but his bond with Kaspar kept him standing.

  Kaspar didn’t respond. His eyes looked away, toward the direction of that thing, the thing that fell out of the roof. Acryl’s pain became numbing as he was in a bind with Kaspar; at such a distance, Kaspar would lose his advantage, but Acryl was on the brink of breaking. The constant pain from his Realm-art was breaking him, yet waking him like a sword above his head. Acryl’s head surged with thoughts, none of them seemed realistic, but one came to his mind:

  Every war has its victims, everything is a war.

  Acryl pushed with all his might onto Kaspar as he felt the flow of Josh’s casting. Flowers bloomed around the gap Acryl created between him and Kaspar. White bell-like blossoms heated up as Acryl staggered to take cover. He limped while the flow of Realm-art concentrated on the tiny patch of flowers. Right as he slid behind a larger rubble, it exploded. Acryl panted as he struggled to remember the prayer to the Starseeker. The dust created a chain reaction as heat scorched Acryl. He wanted to execute his idea, but the time had not come.

  The mastery of one’s Realm-art determines the victory…but what happens when one can’t cast? In Existence’s name…I really don’t want to risk it…

  He peeked out, his Realm-art all drained, now he could only wish for Josh to buy him more time. Acryl panted for more air. That amalgamation of flesh and mask stayed idle there, a piece of an Existence, sealed away, away from its body like a lost, amputated limb.

  Acryl could feel the power contained within it, a power that strained his soul to even attempt to sense it. The waves of casting from Kaspar emerged again. Though it was inconsistent and unfocused as before, it still smothered him. Unpleasant, as if Kaspar shoved his head into a pond of dirty water. Light painted the shadows darker, darker than Acryl’s pain.

  This time, he felt he didn’t even have the strength to dodge. Josh’s Realm-art emerged again as Acryl heard a series of footsteps, groans, and blades slashing in the air. Despite that, the flow of Realm-art was still there, still flickering and emerging. Yet it bought Acryl time, time to roll the dice that had all faces written the word “risk”, a dice that he might only roll for once and never again, despite all that, he whispered sincerely:

  “Thee who lights the dark nights, the ruler of the night velvet, the mover of stars. A desperate soul prays to thee, to grant me strength, I ask for not to undo the mistake, but a power to work wonders from it…take anything from me, for I must protect my dear ones.”

  The battlefield suddenly silenced. The waves of casting stopped, and the pain was gone. Only his heartbeat echoed. The heartbeat spelled out rhythms, rhythms that Acryl couldn’t understand, his vision fell dark and empty. A night sky, a night sky devoid of stars that he was seeing before him, away from the battlefield and everything he was familiar with. His heart beat at that rhythm, that pace that made his gut wrench as he regretted what he had done. Acryl was falling, up and down, left and right, was a foreign concept now as he felt he was falling with his feet down, yet his head reaching to that sky.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  An empty sky that he was falling into. No comfort from the night, no more peace from solitude. Only horror from the void, only chaos from the loneliness.

  He stared into the void of all terror and curiosity as his nose was invaded by the unbelievable, uncanny smell that reminded him of burnt plastic and a silent night where no birds chirped and only the tempest howled. His eyes were fixed on them. Staring deep into it as he felt the nothingness talked to him in tongues he couldn’t understand.

  The void took something from him. Something he couldn’t touch or feel. Perhaps he organ, perhaps an emotion…or a curse.

  Whispers entered his head, scratching his skull as Acryl felt his gut twisted and the void changing shape- Like a flame beyond the color spectrum, beyond the mundane temperatures and dimensions of This World. Shapes upon shapes, distorted in such a way that no mathematician can claim it to be a form. The Starseeker took something from me…

  He was falling again, this time, in a more familiar way he fell. Emptiness scorched him in ways that were not possible, as if thorns unseen cut him. Acryl fell and fell, until he reached the ground, reached the battlefield before he fell forever into that void.

  The Existences never care, but why did the Starseeker answer my prayer?

  He gasped for air again, his pain all gone as he felt the implant filled with powers. Powers that were not familiar, nor gentle. A raw and untamed power. Acryl raised his arm with ease as he felt the strain and pinch gone, like blown away into the night, but something was missing. The drive for stopping Kaspar was there, the drive to find Canvas, and the truth was there, fueling him like a furnace, essential like runes to an aircraft.

  Yet he was bothered by it, he had lost something permanent for something ephemeral, like the Faustus in legends. Before he could search for what was lost, his ears were blasted by the clashing and explosions beyond the rubble he hid. Acryl felt the smaller, less concentrated surges of Realm-art from Kaspar and a more aggressive, but well-structured casting from Josh.

  Realm-art: Pure-white palette

  The colors roared from the ground, and lifeless inorganic color strands of deep blue and dim purple grew as the following structures broke, with the parts exposed showing complex circuits of seals and runes. Acryl didn’t have the time to pay attention to them as he quickly joined the battle to aid Josh. The old messenger was swinging his sleeve blade as he used his flowers to create smaller bursts of Realm-art for distance control. On the other hand, Kaspar changed his strategy, using smaller and more dense fires rather than long-winding, powerful strikes.

  “My friend! You have acquired the secret of this manor! How does it feel to be blessed by an Existence? Na ja, mustn’t be pleasant for a non-believer!” Kaspar said, his head bleeding as he parried the sleeve blade with his straightened palm.

  Acryl didn’t respond, he let the great brushstroke of his Realm-art fall between Josh and Kaspar as Kaspar let out a rainfall of bullets. The colors then chased after Kaspar as he ran toward the thing covered by masks. Acryl followed him while he felt the strain in his soul when he approached it. His creations followed in his footsteps as they stroked to Kaspar.

  The colors turn into blades, carpet onto the floor, reaching for Kaspar like a water grass tangling a swimmer’s feet. Acryl’s heart beat as he felt horror from this blessed power, but there was no going back. Contrary to his fear, Kaspar let out a burst of laughter, not humiliating, but the kind of laughter a satisfied comedy critic would let out, and then he bowed like a curtain call.

  “Well done, my friend, you are welcome to the School of Faust, we shall meet in Auderheim,” he said, hand on his chest, blood stained his face as if it were the stage masks of Siyuese operas. His jacket and shirt were torn and burnt, stained by blood, yet it was all so artful, Acryl had to admit it.

  Kaspar shot himself.

  Before Acryl could realize what happened, before the enchanted and blessed Realm-art crashed onto Kaspar, the ray of light, the very power of Kaspar’s Realm-art, passed his skull, leaving no splatter of blood or a lament and scream, and Acryl could no longer sense him. And the utterly nameless and incomprehensible thing that smelled like nothing stayed there, idle. As if it did not care for this battle. His eyes were fixed on them. Staring deep into it as he felt the masks talking to him in the voices of many men, singing songs, and chanting.

  From the voices that could only be found in a mental asylum and the screeching of the darkness of the Remnant zone, despite all that, Acryl recognized the song- “Mice’s Blanket”- a nursery rhyme that Canvas used to put him to sleep.

  Mice, mice, where’s your blanket

  In my bed, in my bed, warm and soft

  Mice, mice, are you sleeping, are you sleeping

  When the cat comes, you’ll be running, you’ll be running

  The voices singing the song did not comfort him. By the rhythm of the song, a series of footsteps came near him. Acryl heard three people, two coming from one direction, one from another. They came like the rain, the falling, drumming rain from that day when he got lost on the outside of the Grand Dome when Canvas took him to sketch from nature. A voice joined the choir. It was a man’s voice, deep, soothing, and comforting like shuffling his hand through a book that helped him through the lonely nights searching for Canvas, like the rough hand that wiped his tears, taught him to hold a brush, to frame a painting.

  And then the voice said: “You can rest for a while now, Acryl. Help is coming.”

  Acryl felt a warmth bursting out of his stomach, from his head, and heart. Aching burned in his heart as he felt a thousand words coming out of him, words of exhaustion and despair he went through, and the words were happy for the reunion, but he was too tired, like Suiming said; over-casting needs rest. His hand shook as he felt tears flooding out of his eyes.

  From the broken lens of his tears, Acryl saw where Canvas was looking. His weathered face, unshaven and with messy stubble, stood out like a dried, uncared paintbrush. He couldn’t tell what happened, but only that a lot had changed. Canvas was not the father he knew, not the Canvas who ran between buyers and buyers. Acryl felt Canvas’ callouses in his hand, they were comforting, yet unfamiliar, the way Canvas held his hand.