In the wake of Cramie's demise at the hands of Quintin, Tobio Reeche gazed upon another completed painting. Even divided by a great distance, mere moments were all that separated them in this instance. Never before had he come closer to figuring out the faceless man's identity than now.

Surreal was the tersest way to describe it. The art depicted a triumphant victor's downfall. It happened to the grand amusement of bizarre people with fists full of angry paper. Tobio recognized the environment as a half gambler's hall, half Colosseum of sorts. The characters were all betting on the outcome of a wheel of fortune. It spun round and round behind the oblivious champion, too caught up in her celebratory pose.

The mysterious man knelt beneath the Goatwoman in defeat. She felt truly alive in these times of absolute domination. The crowd's vulgarity only seemed to spur her on further. Their hands overflowed with greed and anticipation—no doubt prayers for wishes at the circular beast's leisure.

Where sand in the arena would be, and in absence of carpet, a [Starless Void] of darkness dwelled. It squirmed like an ocean of insects in a glass container. Though try as it might to escape, only a speckless view of those above was achieved.

Tobio felt himself being drawn into the scene as comprehension dawned; he had a role to play at this moment. When he entered the world within, everything went still. Standing before the game of chance, he observed the audience with their blank expressions. Even the champion stood with frozen, victorious arms in the air. Her eyes beheld the faceless man down below. The figure knelt amidst the [Starless Void], with a resolve bordering on madness. The man's mechanical hands reaching out for Cramie's legs to drag her down with him. Yet, no matter how much he tried, the pure-black fur of the goat woman remained unruffled.

How Tobio wound up inside, was a product of his job [Paint-Slinger of Death]. His paintings were always accurate, sometimes so much so that he could interact with them as an astral body. He was still an outsider, the events all set in stone and unable to be altered. But rarely, very rarely he could affect the shown outcome.

An occasion much like now, where the painting stood motionless as if it waited for his input. And he knew just what everyone wanted here. The great wheel was much larger than first appearances, with hundreds if not thousands of bone-ribs along the outer edge. Slim, triangular wedges with pictures, and sometimes just a word, filled up their inner bounds. The colors on those slices were green, red, and black. A majority of them green, then next red, and finally black represented only ten slots.

He knew the black results were worst because only one frightful word stood out - Calamity. The red ones had a basic rendering of unimaginable lifeforms, while positive or relatively benign outcomes came from green zones. Of course, he failed to recognize some of them, but for the most part, he understood.

Tobio put his hand upon the game wheel in a calm manner. Unless he made it spin, he would remain stuck here in the meantime. That was the reason he came, for the painting had been given a mind of its own. Even if he was its creator, the scene held no sentiment for artistry. Besides, it depicted a scene that had likely already happened, or would in the near future.

After touching the rib handhold, his skills and abilities became unusable. Even so, he took the effort to activate them one by one; none did, though nothing ventured, nothing gained. Sucking in a last, steadying breath, he put all of his strength into his arms and exerted downward force on the handle. With a blast of absurd pressure, the wheel of fortune sprang into motion.

And with it, the gambling arena erupted into polyrhythmic turmoil. The people in the stands went wild, bright machines spoke in dings and dongs, obscenities, and barking laughter. Time stretched for seemingly hours in the acrid, smoke-scented environment as the wheel continued. It was a chaotic mess, but also ordered into two distinct categories; the winners and the losers.

At the last second, before the monstrosity of chance wound down to a complete stop, the champion finally caught on. Her astonished eyes becoming even wider as she looked back with trepidation. The final click of the wheel was a silent moment for all. Cramie's shock traveled from the result, down to the syringe stuck in her abdomen, and back again. Her speech pattern was incoherent, yet Tobio managed to pick out Nyathamon's name from the jumble. Everything else was too broken up to find meaning in.

Everyone's attention spun to the wheel of fortune. They were all surprised except for Tobio, who somehow knew it would end like this. 'Calamity', the worst black tile.

With his job now over, the scene no longer needed his presence. Just like he entered, so too did he exit back to reality. The scene of the painting had disappeared. More accurately, it had been taken over by [Starless Void]; the darkest color his magical palette was able to conceive.

Tobio caught his beath. Never able to forget the look on his friend's face as the realization of death dawned on her. He had sent her on a routine errand. The only special place laid in the man behind the mission, Nyathamon. But he had had full confidence in Cramie to at least escape should events spiral out of control.

He guarded his thoughts as another bright patch of colors appeared on the sleeve of his robe.

"Release Cramie's menagerie into the Nagelroot Hills. And have those two territory lords kick up some dust around Groanmarket. Mayhaps we'll catch a rat," Tobio intoned with more zeal than usual.

"Odds are dead, a wild card has no place in my painted world," the piercing starlight in his eyes directed towards the grand mountain range in the distance.

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