The transition from a "God" to a "Gnat" was a psychological trauma that few could survive.
Vane Varkas lay face-down in the grey, gritty dust of the Sketchlands. His lungs, which had once breathed the refined resonance of the Fifth Ocean, now burned with every inhalation. The air here was heavy with the scent of charcoal, dry lead, and the bitter tang of industrial "Thinner." It was the smell of a workshop after the masters had gone home, leaving only the waste behind.
[Ding!]
[Warning: Reality Transition Complete.] [Current Status: 'Faded' (Rank 1).] [Identity: Escaped Subject #001 (Jar-Breaker).] [Notice: Your 'Abyssal Void' has been compressed. High-tier skills are currently locked due to 'Insufficient Matter Density'.]
"Locked..." Vane spat a mouthful of grey phlegm. He tried to push himself up, but his arms felt like they were made of lead.
In the Five Oceans, he could move at the speed of light. Here, even the gravity was an enemy. It wasn't the "Conceptual Gravity" of General Gravos; it was the Mass of Truth. In this realm, everything had more "Meaning," and therefore, more weight.
"Vane... Vane, are you okay?"
Lyra crawled toward him. She looked terrible. Her maroon hair was dull, almost grey, and the eye-mark on her forehead was flickering like a dying lightbulb. Behind her, the Void-Cradle sat in the dust, its violet glow barely visible. Inside, Mía was shivering. The "Permanent Lead" Vane had jammed into her heart in the previous chapter was the only thing keeping her from evaporating into the purple sky.
"Don't... don't stand up yet," Vane wheezed, his violet eyes scanning the horizon.
They were in a valley of "Discarded Limbs." Massive, marble hands—failed attempts at sculpting gods—lay scattered like boulders. Broken clockwork hearts the size of houses hissed steam into the murky air. This was the trash heap of the universe.
"We need to move," Vane whispered. "The Harvesters... they saw us fall."
"I don't think the Harvesters care about 'Trash', Master," Lyra said, her voice trembling. "But look."
She pointed toward a ridge of jagged obsidian.
Three figures were descending the slope. They weren't the mountain-sized Artisans Vane had seen in the Warehouse. They were human-sized, but they looked like they were made of scrap metal and tattered canvas. They wore masks made of rusted tin and carried long, hooked poles that hummed with a sickly green light.
The Scrappers.
"Fresh paint!" one of them shouted, his voice sounding like gravel in a blender. "Look at that black one! The saturation is incredible! He must have come from a High-Grade Jar!"
"The girl too," another one hissed, his eyes glowing behind his tin mask. "She's a 'Static-Variant'. The Ink-Masters will pay a fortune to use her as a primer."
Vane felt his blood run cold. In the Five Oceans, these men would have been less than dust to him. But now, as he looked at them through the System's eyes, he saw the terrifying truth.
[Target Identified: Junk-Scrappers (Rank 3).] [Power Gap: Extreme.] [Analysis: Their 'Permanence' is 300% higher than yours. Physical contact will result in 'Contamination'.]
"Stay behind me, Lyra," Vane commanded, his hand shaking as he reached for the abyss inside him.
He tried to manifest his [Abyssal Needle].
Usually, the ink would form instantly, sharp enough to pierce dimensions. But now, only a few drops of black liquid leaked from his fingertips, falling harmlessly into the grey dust.
"The density... I can't shape it!" Vane gritted his teeth. He felt like a painter trying to draw a masterpiece with a brush made of water.
The lead Scrapper laughed, swinging his hooked pole. "[Art-Physics: The Collector's Snare]!"
He threw the hook. It didn't move like a physical object; it moved like a "Line of Intent." It bypassed the air and snapped directly toward Mía's cradle.
"NO!"
Vane lunged. He didn't have his speed, but he had his instincts. He caught the green glowing wire with his bare hand.
SIZZLE!
"AAARRRGGGHHH!"
Vane's hand began to smoke. The green light wasn't heat; it was Thinner. It was a substance designed to dissolve "Jar-Born" entities. Vane's black skin began to peel away, revealing a raw, grey digital static underneath.
"Ho! He caught a Snare with his bare hand?" the Scrapper chuckled. "He's got spirit. Too bad spirit doesn't pay the rent. Reel him in!"
The other two Scrappers threw their hooks, pinning Vane's shoulders. The hooks bit deep into his "Matter," and Vane felt his very soul being pulled out of his body.
[Warning! Structural Integrity: 50%!] [Permanence Level: Falling!] [You are being 'Un-Defined'!]
Vane knelt in the dust, his head hanging low. The Scrappers began to walk toward him, pulling the wires tight.
"Check the girl first," the leader said. "If she's damaged, we'll just melt her down for base-grey."
As the Scrapper reached for Mía's cradle, something inside Vane snapped.
It wasn't a skill. It wasn't a level-up. It was the same primal, "Static" rage that had allowed him to survive the Zero-Depth ten years ago. He realized that in this world, "Logic" and "Art" were the weapons of the strong. To defeat them, he had to be Illogical.
"You want... my pigment?" Vane whispered, his voice sounding like a grinding stone.
The Scrapper stopped, tilting his head. "What's that, smudge?"
Vane looked up. His violet eyes weren't just glowing; they were leaking a thick, tar-like darkness that began to eat the very light around him.
"THEN TAKE THE WHOLE BOTTLE!"
"[SOVEREIGN AWAKENING: THE SPILLED INK-WELL]!"
Vane didn't try to form a needle. He didn't try to form a wing. He did the one thing a "Painting" should never do.
He Liquefied.
His entire body dissolved into a massive, surging wave of absolute black ink. Because he was no longer "Defined" as a human, the Scrappers' hooks lost their grip. The green wires fell through the ink like they were passing through water.
"What?! He's breaking his own form?!" the leader screamed. "He'll turn into a puddle! He'll never be able to reform!"
Vane didn't care. The wave of ink surged forward, moving with a mindless, hungry momentum. It slammed into the first Scrapper, swallowing him whole.
Inside the ink, there was no air. There was no light. There was only the Void.
The Scrapper's "Permanence"—his Rank 3 reality—was being attacked by the "Absolute Zero" of Vane's essence. Vane wasn't just killing him; he was Drowning him in the absence of color.
"GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!" the other two Scrappers yelled, firing their hooks into the wave.
But you can't hook a shadow. You can't chain a spill.
Vane's liquid form divided, turning into dozens of black tentacles that whipped through the air. One tentacle wrapped around a Scrapper's throat, and instead of squeezing, it Injected itself.
The Scrapper's mask turned black. His eyes turned black. He let out one choked gasp before his entire body collapsed into a pile of dark, oily sludge.
[Host has consumed a Rank 3 Resident.] [Processing 'True Matter'...] [Permanence Increased: 1%... 5%... 10%!] [Level Recalculated: Rank 2 (Sturdy Smudge).]
Vane's liquid form began to pull itself back together. It was a slow, agonizing process. He had to "Re-Draw" his own bones, his own skin, his own face. When he finally stood up, he was covered in the oily remains of the Scrappers. He looked less like a man and more like a demon made of wet tar.
The third Scrapper, the leader, was the only one left. He had dropped his pole and was backing away, his tin mask rattling with fear.
"You... you're a monster," the man stammered. "You're not a Jar-Breaker. You're a Blight."
Vane walked toward him, his footsteps leaving deep, black impressions in the grey dust. He didn't use a skill. He reached out and grabbed the Scrapper's mask, his fingers sinking into the metal like it was soft clay.
"Where is the nearest city?" Vane asked, his voice echoing with the stolen resonance of the men he had just eaten.
"The... the Ink-Bottle!" the Scrapper pointed toward the horizon. "Ten miles north! Please... I was just doing my job! We all have to eat!"
"So do I," Vane said.
He didn't kill the man. He leaned in close, his violet eyes reflecting the man's terrified soul.
"Go back to your city," Vane whispered. "Tell your masters that the 'Jar' didn't break. It overflowed. Tell them the Abyssal Sovereign is coming to repaint the Gallery."
He threw the man aside. The Scrapper didn't look back; he scrambled onto his feet and ran toward the horizon as if the devil himself were at his heels.
The Toll of Reality
Vane collapsed the moment the man was out of sight.
The "Spilled Ink-Well" had taken a devastating toll. His body was shaking, and his "Permanence" was fluctuating. He had gained a Rank, but he had lost his "Identity" in the process. His face was slightly blurred, and his left arm felt like it was made of smoke.
"Vane!" Lyra ran to him, helping him sit up against a broken marble hand. "You... you shouldn't have done that. Your soul... it's thinning."
"I had to," Vane wheezed, looking at Mía.
She was looking at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. She reached out from the cradle and touched his blurred face.
"Brother... you're hurting," she whispered.
"I'm fine, Mía," Vane lied, his voice cracking. "I'm just a bit... unrefined."
He looked at the sky. The purple clouds were swirling, and he could hear the distant, rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the Harvester Spires in the distance. They were still cleaning up the remains of the Five Oceans.
He realized then that he couldn't stay in the Sketchlands. This was a place where "Trash" was managed. If he stayed here, he would eventually be found by something much stronger than Scrappers.
"Lyra," Vane said, his eyes sharpening. "We're going to that city. The Ink-Bottle."
"But Master, the Scrapper said it's full of 'Ink-Masters'. They'll see us coming from miles away. We're Jar-Breakers! We have no ID, no Saturation-Papers..."
Vane looked at his hands. They were stained with the Rank 3 blood of the Scrappers.
"We won't go in as heroes, Lyra," Vane said. "We'll go in as Cargo."
He looked at the discarded marble hand they were leaning against. It had a hollow space in the palm, large enough to hide a girl and a hound.
"I have an idea," Vane said, a dark, strategic light returning to his eyes. "In this world, everyone is obsessed with 'Art'. They see everything as a component. Well... I'm going to give them exactly what they want."
The Strategy of the Shadow
Vane spent the next hour using the last of his strength to "Edit" the marble hand. He used his ink to coat the interior, creating a "Void-Seal" that would mask Lyra and Mía's presence.
Then, he did something even more dangerous.
He used the Architect's Brush—the artifact he had stolen from the Overseer. He didn't use it to create; he used it to Camouflage. He painted a "Rank 5 Seal" on the outside of the marble hand, making it look like a high-grade "Antique Sculpture" being sent for restoration.
"Wait, Master," Lyra realized, her eyes widening. "If we're the cargo... who's the merchant?"
Vane looked at himself. He began to wrap his body in the tattered "Canvas Coat" he had stripped from one of the dead Scrappers. He put on the rusted tin mask.
"I am," Vane said, his voice muffled by the metal.
He stood up, his posture shifting from a proud Sovereign to a hunched, desperate Scrapper. He picked up one of the hum-poles. To anyone watching, he was now just another "Iron Scavenger" who had found a lucky prize in the trash.
"We're going to walk right through their front gate," Vane said. "And while they're busy evaluating the 'Sculpture', I'm going to evaluate their 'Neck-Lines'."
Vane began to drag the massive marble hand toward the north. Every step was a battle against the gravity of the True Canvas. Every breath was a reminder that he was a Rank 2 ant in a world of gods.
But as he walked, the "Abyssal System" in his mind began to update.
[Volume 2 Progress: 90%] [Current Objective: Infiltrate 'The Ink-Bottle City'.] [New Main Quest: The Black-Market Ascension.] [Hint: In the True Canvas, your 'Void' is not just a weapon. It is the 'Eraser' that the world has forgotten.]
Vane looked at the distant glow of the city. He wasn't afraid of the Ink-Masters. He wasn't afraid of the Artisans.
He was the "Spilled Ink" that would ruin their perfect world.
The "Five Oceans" were just the tutorial. Now, the real game was beginning.
"Hold on, Mía," Vane whispered into the wind. "I'm going to buy you a world that won't fade."