Capture him alive.

Finally. After Logan’s latest report, Emperor Sharidan had finally given the order to do something. Three simple words. That was all Logan needed to feel useful again.

The tracker he had placed on the Mad Painter failed when the madman phased out of this dimension – apparently, he was able to do that – so now it was up to Logan to find him. The closest place to catch a flight back to Fortram was Skyward. If the Painter wanted to get back to his place of power as fast as possible, it was a safe bet that he would pass through here. If the Painter didn’t want to get back to Fortram, well … Skyward was still the most likely destination for him.

Tonight would be the opening night of the High King’s ball. The Mad Painter was a madman, but he was an ambitious madman; he wouldn’t miss an event like this. Damn right he wouldn’t. Emperor Sharidan had finally acknowledged what Logan had been telling him all along; the Mad Painter was like a hurricane that swept over the field, rearranging the pieces before storming on to the next target. He had turned Fortram on its head within months. He had to be stopped before he uprooted Skyward too.

The specifics were much less certain. The Mad Painter was too much of a wildcard to guess what his next move was going to be, but Logan was resolute to deny him the opportunity. He had his orders. He had the location where the madman would show up. He had his Abilities, his Player gear, his service relics, and his Emperor’s powers. The Mad Painter had very little chance against him. But, just to make sure nothing went awry, Logan went out of his way to add one more tool to his arsenal: allies.

After all, the Painter had already escaped him once. His Domain was able to negate all magic around him, and even though Logan was prepared for it this time … he had to make sure the Painter didn’t slip the noose. Logan was no fool. Embarrassing as it was, he knew that he needed help—and he wasn’t beyond asking for it.

“Arthur, I’m not asking for a favor. I received a direct order from the Emperor, which I’m relaying to you. It is our duty to stop the Mad Painter.”

Logan had intercepted Arthur at the opulent entrance of the Governor’s mansion. The elaborate gates were just a hint of what lay beyond; perching on the topmost roots of Skyward, this place was a sunlit wonder built by the city’s finest architects and carpenters. Logan had shown up early, which left him plenty of time to enjoy the scenery while waiting for Arthur to arrive.

Logan had worked with the blonde knight on a particularly nasty Quest a couple of years ago. Even then, Arthur was a popular presence in Skyward—and he had grown into some sort of local celebrity since. Such a pity. Arthur would have been an excellent Scarlet Hand candidate, but his taste for fame and glory made it unlikely that he would ever join them.

“I understand,” Arthur said, running a hand through his artfully messy hair. He wore formal clothes instead of his usual shining armor; a silk garment with wide sleeves and a flaring collar, mellow and creamy colors from head to toe. Anyone else would have looked like a misshapen flower in those clothes, but Arthur somehow made them work.

“So?” Logan bluntly asked. “Why are you hesitating?”

“I understand, but you must also understand that I’m busy tonight. This is my night, for gods’ sake! People are excited to watch me seal the villain’s scythe—and to hear the High King pass a sentence on her. It will be death, most likely, with me carrying it out. I can’t just disappear in the middle of it to chase another lunatic!”

“So you’re saying that your image is more important than the safety of Skyward’s people.”

“No,” Arthur said, his face darkening. “I’m saying that my social obligations are more important than chasing shadows at your whim. You don’t even know for sure whether this Mad Painter is here at all! Logan, you know that I respect the Emperor’s orders as much as the next guy—but be reasonable with me here. Can’t this hunt wait until after the ball?”

“If my suspicions are correct, it can’t.”

“That’s—”

“But,” Logan cut him off, “I know that I won’t be able to convince you. Attend to your social duties, but keep your eyes open. Stay close to the High King and watch out for anything suspicious.”

“The High King has his own guards for that purpose.”

“I believe you’re more competent than those guards.”

“That’s … high praise, coming from a Scarlet Hand. Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it.”

Arthur seemed as if he wanted to add something else, but then he just shook his head.

“Alright,” he said. “It’s been nice seeing you again, Logan. Will you stand vigil out here, or will you join the party with me?”

Logan grunted. “I’ll have a look inside.”

He wasn’t planning to waste the night with all those perfumed rich people, but scanning the area where the Mad Painter was most likely to show up was always a good idea. Logan had already warned the guards who to look out for, but the madman was basically guaranteed to slip in anyhow.

Logan followed Arthur into the Governor’s courtyard, absently nodding at the gatekeeper while scanning the surroundings. Frankly, the place didn’t look the most impressive. Not for a man like Logan, who had been stationed at so many World Seed cities. Yet there was no denying that this was a masterfully built residence, considering the challenges that Skyward posed.

The ground was even. The courtyard and the mansion with its three wings were completely level with each other. That in itself had to be hellishly difficult to achieve; Skyward’s twisted roots were constantly shifting and growing slowly but surely. Any structure built upon them required regular maintenance. The courtyard’s perfect green lawn and cobbled walking paths looked effortlessly pristine and level.

“Done with the Reaper talk, darling?”

Arthur’s wife rejoined her husband, pointedly ignoring Logan. That was most likely for the best; she tended to get mouthy with people who involved Arthur in dangerous Quests. Any Quest, really. Logan was only too glad to fall further behind the couple as they approached the nearest group of people. Many lingered in the courtyard, chatting and drinking, warming up before the true attractions began. Skeleton servants wearing animal masks were weaving their way carefully around them, serving refreshments. Off to the side, where the crowd was the thickest, some kind of light show was taking place with a cleverly arranged set of Light magic runes. Logan sighed, then decided to circle around the other way.

He stood out in his armor. Expressions often soured when people saw him; he wasn’t welcome here, but his presence would not be questioned. Same as always. He was used to it. The weather was nice, though. Low-hanging clouds were said to be a problem up here, but today the sky was clear. Although the sun had already dipped below the crown of roots, the courtyard had plenty of lamps and lanterns to deal with the shadows. Shadows in which madmen could have lurked. Logan took only a couple of steps on the cobbled path before stopping abruptly. It couldn’t be…

There was a commotion in the entrance behind him.

“Improper clothing?” asked an all too familiar voice. “What do you mean improper clothing? I’m a Reaper; we wear whatever we want.”

Logan turned around and set off toward the entrance. Could it be? Could it be this simple? Arthur – noticing the commotion too – extracted himself from his wife and followed Logan.

“Fine, fine, I’ll change into my armor,” said the voice. “There. Is this better?”

“C-Certainly, sir,” the nervous gatekeeper replied. “But I’d still like to see your letter of invitation.”

“Why? I’m a Reaper. We go wherever we please.”

At that moment Logan reached the entrance and saw the Mad Painter—though he almost didn’t recognize him at first glance. The dirty shirt and shorts the madman wore were gone; an elaborate dark armor encased the Painter’s wiry frame. His head was uncovered, except for the pair of sunglasses shading his eyes. It seemed like an odd match with the black armor, making him look like some sort of cheesy villain.

“I-It’s standard procedure, sir,” the gatekeeper attempted to explain. “I just need to make sure—”

“You haven’t done so with the other guests,” the Painter said, then pointed at Logan without even looking at him. “I saw that you didn’t look at his invitation letter!”

A chill ran down Logan’s spine—the Painter had been spying on him. He had seen him join the ball and yet it hadn’t deterred him. He wasn’t careless; he was fearless. Logan squared his shoulders and approached the madman, at which the gatekeeper seemed both relieved and terrified.

Capture him alive.

“Mad Painter,” Logan said without preamble. “By Emperor Sharidan’s orders, you’re under arrest.”

This, at least, seemed to find its mark. The Painter went still, very still, his cocky demeanor wiped off in an instant. Logan clenched his hands slowly into scarlet fists. Breathed in, breathed out. Steady.

“Why now?” the Painter asked, stirring. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

“The reasons are immaterial,” Logan said. “This is the emperor’s will, and you shall comply—with, our without violence.”

“Ah,” the Painter sighed, looking around. People started to flee upon hearing Logan’s mention of violence. The wind picked up, making Arthur’s clothes flutter as he arrived at Logan’s side. The blonde knight was unarmed, but far from defenseless.

“This is inconvenient,” the Painter said at last, his eyes on Arthur. “I don’t want to make the Terran Empire my enemy, but now it seems I’ll be chased wherever I go—without any explanation as to why! Can you believe this, Sir Knight?”

“I’m sure you’ll get an explanation in due time,” Arthur replied in a guarded tone.

“Well, maybe. But I don’t trust this Scarlet Hand. He’s big and mean and grumpy. If I need to be arrested, I’d like you to do it.”

Logan thrust his right hand forward and activated Emperor’s Grasp, snatching the Painter up with a man-sized force hand and smashing him down against the sidewalk so hard that splinters of wood flew everywhere.

“Logan,” Arthur cried as he shielded his face, “what are you doing?!”

“We don’t negotiate with criminals.”

Capture him alive.

Surely, the Painter wouldn’t die from this much. His black armor shone with a dark protective aura. Logan lifted him up and smashed him down again—then reminded himself not to cause too much property damage. Instead of smashing him into the wood, he started squeezing the madman. The force hand ground against the dark barrier, which began to creak and waver.

“Dude, just let me say—” the Painter tried to speak, but his barrier shattered and Logan’s fist squashed him—or it would have, had he not phased into the Astral dimension. Looking like a pale shadow of himself, he sank into the roots below him. Unless something had changed since Logan’s last Analysis, two more uses of that Ability remained.

“Eyes out!” Logan said, turning to Arthur. “Can you find him?”

“I’ll try,” Arthur replied, then clasped his hands together and muttered a prayer. Warm light radiated out of him, coming in waves, piercing through the surroundings. Logan wasn’t idle either; he focused on his Danger Sense in case the Painter attacked him, though it seemed much more likely that the madman would run.

“So,” the Painter spoke directly from behind Arthur, “I just wanted to—”

A blinding pillar of light struck him from the sky above, silencing him. Arthur spun and jumped back as the light intensified around the Painter, whose silhouette was barely visible through the veil of light. Some of that light broke off and flowed toward Arthur, forming a shield on his left arm and a sword in his right hand. The pillar of light dissipated soon after, revealing the Painter—who was remarkably still on his feet.

An obsidian armor covered him from head to toe, different from what he wore before. Its seamless, form-fitting design reminded Logan of a diving suit—only the helmet looked apart. The material covering the Painter’s head was constantly in motion, shifting and reshaping itself, glowing orange lines pulsing along its surface. It looked like a wolf’s head, then like a dragon’s, then it turned into an Inspector’s mask, then a medieval helmet, and so on. Dizzying to look at. The Mad Painter shifted his stance, orange lines racing all over his armor, and Logan finally realized what he was seeing; the madman had completely enveloped himself in his weapon. He had, in a sense, become the weapon.

Logan raised his right hand but withheld his attack—Arthur had been faster, thrusting his sword at the Painter, his blade shining with heavenly light. He was aiming his strike at the Painter’s side so that it wouldn’t be a lethal one. The shining sword struck with a loud clang, the impact forcing the Painter back a step. Arthur disengaged into a defensive stance, but instead of retaliating the Painter just made a sweeping motion with his arm—as if trying to slap aside the sword he had been stabbed with. He then looked up at the knight, his posture radiating confusion. His helmet stopped changing at the same time, settling on a mask that resembled his face with a frowning mouth and a furrowed brow.

Logan hesitated once more, but Arthur didn’t; he closed the gap with a lunge, jabbing his sword at the Painter’s stomach with the Piercing Trust Weapon Skill. The blade struck true but failed to penetrate the armor, and then the Painter took a step aside as if dodging too late. At that point Arthur had already launched his next Weapon Skill, slamming his sword twice more against the Painter’s armor. The shining blade flared and Arthur’s opponent stumbled back again.

Arthur pressed his advantage, landing blow after blow to keep the Mad Painter off-balance. His strikes had failed to so much as nick the black armor, but his attacks were steadily increasing in speed and brutality. Joints, neck, head; Arthur was no longer trying to avoid a killing blow. He was getting nowhere, however—and Logan wasn’t able to join in, not with Arthur keeping so close to the Painter. Strange; this was going nowhere. Why didn’t Arthur let Logan help?

The answer became clear when Logan saw the onlookers; a small group of people had gathered in the courtyard’s gate, and more were watching them from the road that lead up to it. This altercation with the Mad Painter was holding up the traffic and giving the ball-goers an eyeful—and the blonde knight knew it. Logan scowled.

“Arthur, stand down!”

“I’m just getting started!”

He slammed his shield against the Painter, blowing him off his feet with an explosion of light. He glanced up then, as if seeing the onlookers for the first time.

“Fellow citizens, I urge you to take cover!” Arthur said. “This villain is incredibly dangerous, and though I have this situation under control—”

But Logan was having none of it. He activated Emperor’s Grasp and smashed a force fist down on the Mad Painter—who lay like a statue, his arms raised as if he was still trying to fend off Arthur’s attacks. Arthur yelped, jumping back as the road splintered and broke. Logan pushed his fist down until the thick root beneath the Painter gave away, slamming the madman down into the roots below.

“What are you doing?!” Arthur yelled but Logan didn’t deign to answer. He had safely removed the Painter from the vicinity of possible casualties, but now he had to make sure that the madman didn’t escape. He briefly summoned a Mobile Platform beneath his feet to gain a burst of speed, flying forward and jumping into the crater he had created. Only then did he realize that he might have just made the situation worse.

The roots below formed a half-floor that was full of supporting structures for the Governor’s courtyard and mansion. It wasn’t devoid of people either; servants were scrambling away from the devastation that the Painter had wreaked when he landed in the middle of what seemed like a long wine rack. Logan landed with a heavy thump beside the wreck. Crimson liquid flowed around his feet and he stepped on the remains of an unlucky skeleton maid—but thankfully no living servant seemed to be injured. The Mad Painter looked rather dazed, though; his mask had lost its shape, resembling a cross between a man and a wolf made of melting wax, and he was pushing the debris off him with the clumsy movements of a child. Logan used a tamer version of Emperor’s Grasp to smash him further into the ground.

The Painter’s armor was as tough as ever, but the force of the blow was enough to knock the last of the fight out of him. Logan thrust his arms forward and cast Paralyzing Mist, pouring thick fog from his palms. Even if the Mad Painter was immune to brute force and hadn’t suffered severe bruises and concussion, he still had to breathe. The Mist seeped through the gaps in his helmet—and then a pillar of light struck the Painter from above, blowing away the fog. Logan shot an angry look at Arthur, who was descending with a pair of angelic wings on his back.

“You’re interfering with the hand of the law, knight.”

“What has gotten into you, Logan?” Arthur insolently shot back. “Someone could have been crushed down here when you smashed the villain down!”

“He would already be captured if you weren’t drawing out the fight to polish your good image!”

“What? Do you really think I would—”

“Enough,” Logan said, making a grasping motion at Arthur and snatching him up with Emperor’s Grasp. “You forget who you’re talking to, knight. Interfere with my task again, and I’ll end your life with a single squeeze.”

He tightened his grip around Arthur for emphasis, and the pillar of light flickered. Logan then used his other hand to slap the Mad Painter back to the ground as he attempted to crawl out of the light.

“I—I apologize,” Arthur stammered, gasping for breath. “I made a mistake, Scarlet Hand. Please forgive me.”

Logan released the knight with a grunt, then turned back to the Painter. He was on all fours, growing an extra pair of arms from his chest to help him rise while the pillar of light continued beating down on him. It wasn’t going too well for him; there wasn’t enough strength left in him to push himself upright. Logan knew however that Arthur wouldn’t be able to maintain the pillar indefinitely either.

“Keep him pinned down,” Logan said. “I’m going to seal him.”

“As you will, Scarlet Hand.”

Arthur raised his hand and bright shards of light split from the pillar. Those shards then turned into spears, floating in the air, rotating around until they all pointed at the Painter. Arthur loosed them at once, not aiming for armor but the space around it, wedging spears so close to the Painter that he was barely able to move a finger.

Logan, in the meantime, took the Dimensional Binder off his belt and began to burn it. The relic was an unassuming wooden cylinder of unknown origins, and as its name suggested, it was able to bind entities across dimensions. Logan had only a limited understanding of how these things worked, but he knew for certain that the relic could restrain even shades. Phasing powers too. If the seal closed around the Painter, the madman would have zero chance to escape.

He had to make it count. He had been given only two of these Dimensional Binders – one for the shade and one for backup – and last time the Painter had already nullified one with his Domain. And while technically the same thing could happen again, Logan knew that wouldn’t be the case. The world didn’t work that way. Domains granted Players a second chance—but they wouldn’t grant a third chance, not if the Player was defeated the same way again. Miracles didn’t repeat themselves.

Logan circled around the Painter, pointing the Binder downward and leaving a trail of shimmering runes on the ground. He had to climb over the wreckage of the wine rack, which made the process difficult but didn’t hinder it; the runes appeared on the broken pieces of wood and glass just the same. The circle was closing. The Painter began to struggle in earnest then, though it looked much like a fish flopping out of water. Arthur’s shining spears were more than enough to keep the Painter in place. Encased in his weapon, he couldn’t even teleport away.

The Dimensional Binder glowed hot in Logan’s scarlet hand as he finished the circle, but he kept his focus as the runes glowed even brighter and a dome of light began to rise and close over the Painter. It was now or never. Logan and Arthur waited with bated breaths, watching the madman’s final struggles—his impenetrable armor got more and more misshapen and smudged, and the mouth on his mask opened in a silent scream. Then the dome of light sealed shut over him and the relic in Logan’s hand turned into dust. It was done.

Logan allowed himself a sigh of relief.

“Good job!”

Logan froze. It wasn’t Arthur who had spoken, but someone behind him. A voice belonging to a familiar, annoying, dreadful someone. Logan turned around slowly, feeling his stomach drop. It was him. The Mad Painter stood only a few steps away, balancing on one leg—his prosthetic leg was missing. Glowing veins pulsed beneath his skin, running up his face and even into his mouth, judging by the orange light that seeped through his grinning teeth. A monster. An uncatchable, mad monster.

“So,” the Painter said, his voice slightly slurred, “now that you both got it out of your system, will you finally hear me out?”

Logan cast a lingering look at the seal of his last Dimensional Binder and his heart sank further. The Mad Painter’s armor inside the seal – now too twisted to contain a body – gave him a cheeky little wave, making him feel like the fool he was.

“I’m not asking for much,” the Painter slurred, making use of both men’s silent shock. “I’m turning myself in. I’ve told you already, didn’t I? I’m a law-abiding citizen; I accept my fate. My good behavior is offered on one condition, however: Sir Knight, I want you to throw me in the same cell as the other villain you’ve defeated. You know, the one with the scythe.”

“Um—” Arthur stole a glance at Logan, but Logan had nothing left to say. “We’ll see. Surrender your weapons and come peacefully. You have the right to—”

“Oh, we can skip the formalities,” the Painter said. “What are you, a cop? Just throw me in that cell already.”

“This feels like a trap.”

Eyes unblinking, glowing veins pulsing, the Painter’s grin widened.

“It is. Oh, it’s a trap alright. Just not for you.”

“I—uh. Scarlet Hand? What are your orders?”

Logan felt like he had aged ten years in ten minutes. What were his options? He could keep antagonizing the Painter in spite of his compliant behavior, but what for? Further fighting would risk the citizens’ safety, and even if Logan managed to corner the Painter the Dimensional Binder was gone. He had no other means to keep the madman contained, and so either way he would be relying on what Skyward had to offer.

“Lock him up,” Logan said.

“Yes! Thank you!” the Painter cheered. “Finally!”

“You won’t be thanking me for long,” Logan said through gritted teeth. “Mark my words, Mad Painter. I will get the last laugh.”

“That’s fine,” the Painter said. “You look like you could use a good laugh anyway.”