There were no traps or traps under the cave where Jenkins had fallen, just a round opening that glowed white. At the moment of entering the strange world, Jenkins was not surprised, but felt that it was a matter of course.
"It's so hard for me!"
Having gone through two space shifts in a row, Jenkins can barely keep himself from vomiting. He was lying on his side on the cold marble floor. Apart from feeling the cat in his chest wriggling and trying to escape, he could only see the strange red world and the yellow moon outside the huge French window in front of him.
He now knows that the delusion comes from the world of the masters, so the phantom outside means that when the master who owns this place achieves himself, there is probably only the most primitive yellow moon in the night sky of the material world.
"Are you OK?"
Jenkins wasn't ready to sit up yet, and big hands wrapped around his arms. Looking back, there were already two companions waiting here. The one who helped him to sit up was a sturdy middle-aged man in a thick cotton coat. His skin was dark, and there was an obvious tear mole in the corner of his left eye; not far away Looking around was a young woman in a mink coat, taller than Jenkins and the strange man.
Judging from her clothes, she looked like a lady, but even more so from her temperament.
"Where is this? Is it the custom here that the nobles have to personally participate in the adventure of the strange land?"
Jenkins couldn't figure it out, but he felt his head clearer, so he thanked the man who helped him up. But his complexion is still ugly, and the sequelae brought about by the space movement have not completely disappeared.
Afterwards, the three briefly introduced that the two strangers were companions, and they also set up warning signs there to warn passers-by not to be curious. Out of caution, the three of them did not introduce too much about their actual identities, but only briefly talked about their abilities.
No one gave their name, and the strangers called themselves Mr. Stone and Miss Glasses, and Jenkins called himself Mr. Cat, because he actually had a cat.
Then, get ready for the adventure.
Judging from its surroundings, the room with its large floor-to-ceiling windows is clearly a studio. Drawing boards and oil paintings can be seen everywhere here, and easels are arranged irregularly around the room, so that only the position near the window can be vacant.
All the easels have panels and canvases, but most of them are blank; the few canvases with content mostly depict some weird and spooky scenes or creatures.
These paintings cannot be seen often, otherwise there will be the illusion that the things in the painting have stepped out of the canvas and an inexplicable sense of panic. This reminded Jenkins of the first monster he destroyed, the painting that could reflect his inner desire.
Now that I think about it, that was half a year ago.
In addition to Jenkins and the two strangers, at the other end of the open space in front of the window, a young painter with his back to the three of them holds a palette in his left hand, his thumb goes through the hole in the palette, and in the other hand Paint on a blank canvas in front of you with a paintbrush.
He was wearing an exaggerated red dress with intricate fringe and lace decorations even on the back, a fluffy beret on his head, and a pair of brown lace-up leather boots under his feet. He really looked like a painter.
Because the distance was very close, the three of them could clearly see what he drew. It was the three people in front of the window, and even the cat with its head sticking out from between the buttons was drawn by him. The painter's brush is always on the canvas, but he can paint the color he wants at will.
Not paying attention to the eyes of the cat looking at the yellow moon outside the window, Jenkins looked at his companions, seeing that they were unwilling to speak proactively, so he coughed and said:
"Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt your serious creation. I want to ask, how can we get out of here?"
The sound echoed in the huge and empty studio, and the echo made people subconsciously uneasy.
"Draw three paintings and you can leave. It doesn't matter whether it's one for each person or other distribution plans, as long as you can draw and complete the painting."
The painter turned his back to the three and said, his voice was tired and indifferent, and he was very dissatisfied that Jenkins interrupted his thoughts.
Jenkins nodded, looked around but couldn't find what he was looking for, so he looked at Mr. Stone, this time it was his turn to ask.
The middle-aged man did not shirk, he understood what Jenkins meant, so he said:
"So, if it's convenient, can you lend us some paints and brushes."
"The paintings here don't need paints and brushes, what they need is emotion! It's memories! Those of you who have no talent will not understand."
All three of them felt that they were despised, but they couldn't beat the painter who turned his back on them.
But at least now the general situation has been clarified. Unlike the anticlimactic doomsday that Jenkins experienced last time, the rules of this trick are obviously much simpler.
The three of them who became companions for a while moved away from the painter who was unwilling to turn back, and then began to discuss coping strategies in a low voice. Jenkins was pleased that none of his companions had been in the Unreal for the first time, so no one wanted to force others to try first.
"Instead of wasting time, it's better to be simpler. We use lottery to arrange the order..."
The woman suggested this, and then looked at Jenkins:
"You will make the lottery, and we will draw."
This sounds fair, but the abilities of the Bestowers have always been weird, and Jenkins is not sure whether the other party has the ability to control the lottery or something. But at least the result was good for him, because he got the third pick, Miss Glasses second, and Mr. Stone first.
"[Stage of Destiny] is a passive ability, and I can't do anything about it."
He apologized to his companions in a low voice in his heart. Mr. Stone couldn't hear what Jenkins was saying, so he could only look at the note with 1 in his hand and kept sighing, but he didn't mean to regret it.
There's a lot of blank canvas around, so there are a lot of options. Mr. Stone looked around and chose the outermost one on the left, because it was the closest to the three of them.
He looked back to see what the woman was about to say, but closed her mouth as soon as she opened it. Shaking his head, he walked to the canvas alone, looked at his empty hand, and then, under the gaze of the two people behind him, stretched out his right index finger and pointed at the center of the canvas.
The man's body swayed violently, and then centered on that finger, the thick oily color spread like **.
At the same time, the same uneven traces of oil paint appeared on the walls of the studio. With the spread of those colorful colors, the space of the studio gradually became blurred.