The air in the Middle-Rim of the Ink-Bottle City was suffocatingly sweet. Unlike the chemical smog of the Sump or the charcoal dust of the Sketchlands, this level smelled of expensive oils, pressed lilies, and the ozone of "High-Resolution" lighting. Here, the glass walls of the city weren't just transparent; they were magnified, making the distant stars look like jewels within arm's reach.
Vane Varkas walked along the polished marble promenade, his every step ringing with the weight of a being who had forced his way into reality.
He was no longer the flickering smudge that had crawled through the gates. Thanks to the Illegal Palette, his "Resolution" had stabilized into a terrifying, matte-black density. He wore a suit of "Liquid-Silk" scavenged from Caspian's hidden stores—a garment that shifted between deep navy and obsidian, hiding the swirling chaos of the stolen pigments beneath his skin.
Behind him, Lyra and Mía followed, disguised as "Attendants." Lyra wore a veil of silver mesh that masked her Void-Hound features, while Mía was tucked into a high-end "Spirit-Carriage"—a floating bassinet that masked her heartbeat as a mechanical hum.
[Ding!]
[Location Entry: The Gilded Gallery (Middle-Rim).] [Current Rank: 10 (The Stain of Reality).] [Social Status: 'Foreign Merchant' (Assumed).] [Warning: The Middle-Rim is under the 'Eye of the Critic'.] [Description: A Rank 15 Security System that scans for 'Aesthetic Flaws'. Do not show weakness.]
"Master," Lyra whispered, her voice tight with anxiety. "The people here... they look so 'Perfect'. I feel like if I blink too fast, the guards will notice I'm a fake."
"Don't blink, then," Vane said, his violet eyes fixed on the massive spire at the end of the promenade: The Aurelian Auction House. "In this world, perfection is just a high bit-rate. We aren't here to fit in, Lyra. We are here to be the 'Luxury' they can't explain."
Vane reached the entrance of the auction house. Two guards, Rank 12 Ceramic Knights, stood at the door. Their armor was made of white porcelain, etched with gold filigree that pulsed with the city's central power. They raised their halberds, the blades glowing with "De-Saturation Light."
"Identification and Invitation," the lead Knight droned.
Vane didn't reach for a pass. Instead, he reached into the "Void" of his sleeve and pulled out a small, crystal vial. Inside the vial, a single drop of the Indigo-Chaos he had consumed in the Sump swirled like a trapped storm.
"I don't have an invitation," Vane said, his voice a smooth, dangerous baritone. "I have a Contribution for the Great Portrait Project. I was told the Middle-Rim was looking for 'The Color of True Solitude'. Is my information... unrefined?"
The Knight's lens-array zoomed in on the vial. The blue light turned a deep, respectful gold. In the True Canvas, "Rare Pigment" was more valuable than blood. A drop of raw, emotional indigo was enough to buy a dozen jars.
"A-Apologies, Honorable Merchant," the Knight stammered, his porcelain joints clicking as he bowed. "The 'Eye of the Critic' confirms the quality. Please, enter. The Grand Auctioneer Selwyn is currently preparing the final lots."
Vane stepped inside, the heavy doors closing behind him with a sound of finality.
The Auction of Souls
The interior of the Aurelian House was a cathedral of consumerism. Hundreds of high-tier Residents sat in floating velvet chairs, their faces hidden behind masks of porcelain or jade. They weren't bidding on furniture or gold; they were bidding on "Concept-Lots."
"Lot 402!" a voice boomed from the central stage.
The Auctioneer, a man whose skin was literally made of gold leaf, gestured toward a glass cube. Inside the cube, a miniature world of tiny, screaming people was being slowly crushed by a descending hammer of light.
"The 'Despair of the Fallen Kingdom'! Captured from Jar #412 during its final purge! A perfect base-note for any painting focusing on 'Justice' or 'Divine Might'! The bidding starts at 500 Gold-Flakes!"
Vane watched as the wealthy Residents bid on the suffering of a world. To them, the "Despair" was just a texture, a way to make their own personal "Canvas" look more sophisticated.
"They're buying 'Agony' as if it's a spice," Mía whispered from her carriage, her voice trembling.
"That is the law of the Canvas, Mía," Vane said, his hand resting on the hilt of the hum-pole hidden in his coat. "The 'High' exist only because they harvest the 'Low'. They don't see people; they see pigments."
"Next Lot!" the Auctioneer shouted. "A rare find from the Sketchlands! A 'White Marble' fragment, potentially a relic from the Era of the First Stroke!"
Vane's eyes sharpened. That was his marble hand. The "Auditor" at the gate must have sold it to the auction house the moment Vane entered the city.
"But wait!" the Auctioneer continued, his golden face splitting into a wide grin. "This is no ordinary marble! Our experts have detected a 'Hollow-Core'—a space designed to hold the most precious of spiritual liquids. We believe it was once part of the Throne of the Architect!"
The room erupted in whispers. The price skyrocketed.
"5,000 Gold-Flakes!" "10,000!" "A 'Pure-Red' Heart-Core!"
Vane felt a dark amusement. They were bidding on a piece of trash he had used to hide his sister. Their "Experts" were so blinded by the desire for status that they were hallucinating divinity in a piece of discarded rubble.
"I bid... The Silence of the Abyss," Vane's voice cut through the shouting like a cold blade.
The room went silent. The Residents turned their floating chairs toward the back of the hall. Vane stood there, his "Liquid-Silk" suit absorbing the light of the chandeliers, making him look like a hole in the room's reality.
The Auctioneer squinted. "Stranger, we only accept 'Liquid Pigment' or 'Core-Matter'. What is this... 'Silence'?"
Vane walked down the aisle, the air around him vibrating with a frequency that made the jade masks of the Residents crack. He reached the stage and held up the vial of Indigo-Chaos.
"This is the 'Silence' that comes after a world is deleted," Vane said. "It is the 'Void' that exists between the stars. If you add this to your 'Great Portrait', the God you are painting won't just look powerful... he will look Eternal."
The Auctioneer's golden eyes bulged. He reached for the vial, but Vane pulled it back.
"I don't want your marble hand," Vane said. "I want the Catalog of the Seven Painters. I know you have it in your vault. The directory of every 'Jar' currently in production."
The room gasped. The Catalog was a state secret. It was the "List of Harvests"—the schedule for when every world would be destroyed.
"You... you ask for heresy!" the Auctioneer hissed. "The Catalog is the property of the High Artisans!"
"And this pigment," Vane said, his violet eyes glowing with a terrifying, abyssal light, "is the property of the man who is going to burn this house down if he doesn't get what he wants."
The Ambush of the Critics
The "Eye of the Critic" overhead suddenly turned a blood-red color.
[ALERT! ALERT!] [Anomaly Detected: 'Subject #001' confirmed.] [Saturation Audit: FAKE.] [Initiating 'Standard Deletion'!]
The Ceramic Knights at the door shattered their own porcelain skins, revealing bodies made of raw, white-hot energy. At the same time, four figures descended from the ceiling—the Collectors. They were Rank 15 "Art-Inquisitors," each holding a massive pair of "Editing-Scissors" made of silver logic.
"The Smudge has returned to the bottle," the lead Collector said, his voice a mechanical drone. "You were supposed to rot in the Sump, Varkas. To think you'd walk into the Aurelian House and offer us our own waste as payment."
"Your waste?" Vane laughed, his "Stain of Reality" Rank flaring to its limit. "This isn't waste. This is the Bill for your Crimes."
"[SOVEREIGN SKILL: THE UNWRITTEN REBELLION]!"
Vane didn't wait for them to attack. He smashed the Indigo vial against the floor.
The liquid didn't spill; it Erupted.
The "Emotions" of a thousand failed worlds filled the room. The Residents screamed as the "Screaming Red" and "Crying Blue" pigments latched onto their expensive clothes, melting their "Permanence" like acid. The floating chairs plummeted to the ground. The cathedral of art became a slaughterhouse of colors.
The Collectors lunged at Vane, their silver scissors snapping at the air.
"[Art-Physics: THE FINAL CROP]!" one shouted, swinging the massive blades at Vane's neck. The scissors were designed to "Cut" the thread of life-force, a Rank 15 attack that bypassed all physical armor.
Vane didn't dodge. He caught the silver blades with his bare hands.
CLANG!
"You use scissors to cut paper," Vane hissed, his violet eyes turning into bottomless pits. "But you can't cut the shadow that paper casts."
"[RENDER: THE VOID-FRACTURE]!"
Vane's hands turned into liquid ink, flowing around the scissors and into the Collector's arms. He didn't just drain the man; he Rewrote him. He used the "Echo of the Jar" skill to force the logic of the Fourth Ocean (Light-Gravity) into the Collector's body.
The Collector's "True Matter" couldn't handle the simulation-logic. His arm began to float upward while his legs were crushed by 100x gravity. His "Permanence" shattered like glass.
[Rank 15 Entity Erased.] [Experience Gained: +1,000,000 XP.] [Rank Up! Rank 10 -> Rank 12 (The Reality-Glitch).]
"HE'S EATING THE INQUISITORS!" the Auctioneer screamed, trying to run for the vault.
Vane blurred, appearing in front of the golden man. He grabbed the Auctioneer by his gilded throat and slammed him against the vault door.
"The Catalog," Vane whispered. "Give it to me, or I'll turn your 'Gold-Leaf' into 'Lead-Dust'."
The Auctioneer fumbled with the locks, his golden fingers trembling. The vault hissed open, revealing a single, massive book made of black iron and starlight. The Great Directory of Harvests.
Vane grabbed the book, but as he touched it, a "System Message" flashed in his mind—one that didn't come from his Abyssal System. It came from the World-Logic itself.
[Warning: The Directory is 'Soul-Locked'.] [Only the 'True Architect' can read the entries.] [To break the seal, you must provide the 'Heart of a Creator'.]
Vane looked at the Auctioneer. "You're a high-ranking official. You have a 'Creator's Spark', don't you?"
"No! Please! I'm just a middleman! I don't create! I only sell!"
Suddenly, the floor of the auction house began to hum. A massive, blue-and-white portal opened in the center of the hall, and a figure stepped out.
He was ten feet tall, dressed in robes of pure, unblemished white. He held a brush that was dripping with "Original Gold."
This wasn't a machine. This wasn't a Scrapper.
This was a Junior Artisan of the Fifth Tier. A Rank 20 "Creator."
"Enough of this 'Abstract' nonsense," the Artisan said, his voice echoing with a divine authority that made Vane's Rank 12 form shiver. "Subject #001. You have caused a 'Color-Imbalance' in the Middle-Rim. Your presence is no longer 'Fascinating'. It is Tiring."
The Artisan raised his brush.
"[True Art-Physics: THE WHITE-OUT]!"
He swept the brush across the room. A wave of pure, blinding white light—far more powerful than anything Lord Solari had ever used—erased the Indigo-Chaos, the Auctioneer, and the wreckage of the hall. It was moving toward Vane, Lyra, and Mía, turning everything it touched into a blank, featureless void.
"Lyra! Get Mía into the 'Void-Space'!" Vane shouted, his wings unfolding as he prepared to meet the wave of White-Out.
"Master, you can't stop that! It's 'Original Matter'!"
"I'm not going to stop it," Vane said, his violet eyes glowing with a desperate, final light. "I'm going to 'Stain' it."
Vane reached into his own heart, touching the Obsidian-Core. He didn't pull out ink. He pulled out his Memory of the Trench. He took all the pain, the cold, and the "Nothingness" of his ten years of slavery and threw it at the White-Out.
BOOM!
The White-Out hit the "Nothingness." For a second, the universe held its breath. The "Perfect White" and the "Absolute Black" collided, creating a "Grey-Zone" of pure static.
In that moment of instability, Vane grabbed the Directory and his companions and dived into the "Grey-Zone"—the only place the Artisan's brush couldn't see.
The Epilogue of Chapter 14: The Hidden Page
They collapsed in a dark, cramped maintenance tunnel between the Middle and Upper Rims.
Vane was bleeding black ink from his eyes and ears. His Rank 12 form was cracked, and his "Resolution" was dangerously low. But in his arms, he held the Black Iron Directory.
Mía crawled out of the carriage and touched the book. Her "Static" aura reacted to the starlight pages, and for a second, the "Soul-Lock" flickered.
A single page opened.
Vane looked at the entry. It wasn't a list of jars. It was a Family Tree.
[Entry: The Varkas Bloodline.] [Source: The Origin-Canvas (Tier 7).] [Status: Failed Experiments in 'Spontaneous Void-Generation'.] [Note: Two survivors were placed in Jar #009 for long-term observation.]
Vane's breath hitched. They weren't just "Statics" born in the trench. They were Exiles from the highest world. They had been "Ditched" into the jar because they were too dangerous to keep in the "True Reality."
"Vane..." Mía whispered, her eyes wide. "We weren't made in the jar. We were Discarded into it."
Vane looked at the stairs leading to the Upper-Rim. The Artisan's "White-Out" was still humming below them, but Vane's heart was now a furnace of cold, calculating fury.
"We weren't 'Trash' they made," Vane said, standing up, his shadow stretching across the pipes like a predatory beast. "We were the 'Errors' they couldn't fix."
He looked at the directory. He now knew where the next "Harvest" was scheduled.
"Lyra, prepare yourself," Vane said. "We aren't just escaping anymore. We're going to find the other 'Failed Experiments'. We're going to build an Army of the Unwritten."
The "Great Canvas War" had just reached a new level. The Jar-Breaker was now a Prince of the Void, and he was going home to claim his inheritance.