Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 1169

"I've told you," Jenkins said, shaking his head, "I never share my memories." His eyes remained glued to the painter's canvas.

With a few deft strokes, the painter completed his work: a blood-red humanoid figure pinned to the wall by a web of veins—or perhaps, its own veins were scaling the wall. The creature opened its pure white eyes and unleashed a piercing shriek, only to be obliterated by a dark figure that shot out from behind Jenkins, exploding into fragments with a strange beeping sound.

Plaster rained down. The easel and canvas nearest the wall were caught in the blast, and even the easels further away toppled over in rows, knocked down by the shockwave.

"See? Trapping me here is just going to wreck your studio. Why don't you let us go? It'd be better for everyone."

The painter ignored Jenkins, his brush flying across a new canvas. Suddenly, the light in the studio dimmed, and whispers rose from behind him.

He spun around to face the massive floor-to-ceiling window. Outside, in the crimson world, the brilliant yellow moon had vanished. A faint shadow flickered in the sky, and with a deafening roar, a small black dot materialized where the moon once hung. It grew rapidly, resolving into an enormous black cat that plunged from the sky, hurtling toward the window.

To call it a black cat wasn't quite right. It was more of a giant, feline-shaped monster. No cat could possess such a grotesque and bizarre appearance; its form seemed conceived for the sole purpose of offending the human eye.

The painter added a few more strokes, and suddenly, the crisp click of high heels echoed from beyond the closed door. The sound stopped just outside. A sharp knock rang out, and a sudden pain lanced through Jenkins's heart. Strange, irregular gray phantoms flickered at the edges of his vision.

"You see? I merely painted a few of my fears, and without laying a hand on you myself, you've been reduced to this. Mortals are always so foolish. Had you simply surrendered at the start, we could have all avoided this... unpleasantness."

The painter stood and began to turn. Jenkins, groaning as he clutched his head, instinctively raised his eyes, desperate to see the artist's face. Would it be the featureless void he imagined? A grotesque patchwork of organs? Or, somehow, the back of his head again?

But he never got the chance. A sharp tearing sound ripped through the air, coming from the canvas before the painter. The artist froze mid-turn. He and Jenkins both stared at the painting, where a small hole had just appeared in the sky, right over the monstrous black cat.

The hole in the canvas trembled, its edges vibrating erratically like a steam bomb on the verge of detonation. A black shadow erupted from its center, flaring out like a dark flame. An invisible force tore the canvas to shreds, and the fragments were tossed into the air as if in a violent tantrum.

"Oh, my masterpiece!"

The painter let out a groan, batting at the air in a desperate attempt to catch the floating fragments of his work.

As the canvas fragments scattered, the dull thud of bodies hitting the floor sounded from near the window. Jenkins turned to see Miss Eyes, now covered in feathers, and Mr. Stone, who had all but stopped breathing.

He rushed to their side. After a moment's hesitation, he chose to heal Mr. Stone first, who was hovering on the brink of death. The treatment was instantaneous. The man's breathing steadied, and the dreadful pallor of his face began to fade.

A small head poked out from between the buttons of Jenkins's shirt. The cat glared menacingly at the painter, who was still frantically snatching at the airborne scraps of canvas before his blank easel. It had been the cat who'd intervened. It had felt insulted. While it didn't mind being the subject of a painting, it certainly did not consider itself to be so hideous.

The cat's soft meow startled Jenkins, who only just now realized his pet had followed him in. He gently pushed its head back inside his shirt, and his gaze fell upon a silent, white portal of light standing amidst the toppled easels.

Grabbing Mr. Stone with one hand and Miss Eyes with the other, Jenkins cautiously edged toward the portal. Seeing that the young painter was still preoccupied with trying to piece together his ruined canvas, he took a leap, pulling his companions through the exit with him.

The tranquil studio was bathed in the red glow of the world outside. The painter muttered to himself as drops of ink began to seep from his canvas face. It was his blood.

"Who did I offend? Why destroy my art?"

He still couldn't comprehend his mistake. As his injuries worsened, he finally pitched forward, collapsing onto the blank canvas before him. The instant he made contact, his body dissolved into a splash of multi-colored paints that splattered across the cloth. Follow current novels on novel·fire·net

And so, a new image appeared on the canvas. It was a painting of the young artist, standing in his quiet studio, forever pondering the question to which he would never find an answer.

The easel holding the oil painting of Jenkins's memory was one of the few in the studio that had remained standing after the Twin Demon's explosion. Outside, the tranquil yellow moon had reappeared, its light spilling onto the canvas, making the ferocious, mist-wreathed angel within seem startlingly alive.

A phantom wind swept through the studio, lifting the painting from its easel. It drifted on the current and vanished into the white portal.

On a silent, snowy plain, a white arctic hare stared out at the endless expanse. Its long ears twitched, and it bolted into the distance. An instant later, three figures materialized out of thin air where the hare had been. The moment his feet touched the ground, Jenkins ignored his companions, dropped to his knees, and vomited onto the pristine snow.

He never could get used to spatial transference. The earlier trip from Nolan had already left him on the verge of being sick.

Hearing the strange retching, the cat inside his shirt poked its head out again for a curious look. First came the twitching ears, then its entire head emerged.

Its curious expression instantly morphed into one of disgust. The cat, thoroughly repulsed, quickly retreated back into the shirt.

He felt much better after getting it all out. As he wiped his mouth, Jenkins wondered if his current weakness was related to the... exertions of the previous night. His thoughts drifted to Hathaway and her fiery red hair, and he silently hoped the girls wouldn't be too heartbroken by his absence.

He dragged Mr. Stone and Miss Eyes a safe distance from the mess before trying to wake them. He needed them to point the way—or at the very least, tell him where they were.