The Ink-Bottle City did not look like a city. From a distance, it appeared as a literal, mountain-sized vessel of dark glass, perched precariously on a cliff of hardened pigments. Massive, brass-colored pipes ran from its "neck" into the clouds, sucking in the ambient vapors of the Great Canvas and distilling them into the "Permanent Inks" that fueled the high-tier economies above.
To the inhabitants of the Sketchlands, this was the promised land. To Vane Varkas, it was a fortress of arrogance.
Vane trudged through the grey slush of the outskirts, his body hunched under the weight of the "Antique Sculpture"—the marble hand concealing Lyra and Mía. The canvas coat he had stolen from the Scrapper was heavy with the smell of old copper and sweat, but it served its purpose. It masked the "Flicker" of his Rank 2 existence.
[Ding!]
[Location Entry: The Ink-Bottle City (Outer Rim).] [Environmental Effect: 'The Heavy Atmosphere'.] [Description: The city is protected by a 'Resolution Field'. Your Jar-Born essence will feel 500% more weight.] [Warning: A 'Saturation Audit' is required at the gate. If your 'Identity-Tone' does not match the local frequency, you will be 'Deleted' as Unauthorized Noise.]
Vane stopped at the end of the long, rusted bridge leading to the main intake gate. A line of other Scrappers stood ahead of him, dragging carts filled with discarded logic-gears, half-melted glass souls, and bundles of raw charcoal-wood.
At the gate stood the Auditors.
They were Rank 5 entities, clad in stiff, white armor that looked like polished porcelain. Instead of eyes, their helmets had "Lens-Arrays" that glowed with a clinical, blue light. They held long "Calibration Rods" that they tapped against every person and item that passed.
"Master," a tiny, muffled voice whispered from inside the marble hand. "The air... it's getting tight."
"Be silent, Mía," Vane whispered, his voice barely a breath. "Adjust your breathing to the static. Don't let your 'Tone' rise."
Vane watched the man in front of him—a grizzled Scrapper with a cart of "Copper-Blood." The Auditor tapped the cart with his rod.
Ping.
A holographic screen appeared in the air.
[Object: Recycled Copper-Blood.] [Saturation: 12%.] [Resolution: Low.] [Verdict: Accepted. Pay: 3 Tin-Shards.]
The Auditor then tapped the Scrapper himself.
Ping.
[Identity: Resident #8829 (Permanent-Grade: D).] [Verdict: Pass.]
The Scrapper scurried inside, clutching his tin-shards. Now, it was Vane's turn.
Vane stepped forward, his heart—the "Obsidian-Core" he had stolen from the Overseer—pulsing with a slow, heavy rhythm. He kept his head down, the rusted tin mask hiding the violet fire in his eyes.
"Identify," the Auditor droned, his voice sounding like a recording.
Vane didn't speak. He presented the "Antique Sculpture" first, sliding it onto the audit-tray. He had coated the marble in a layer of "Aged Resin" he found in the junkyard, hoping to fool the sensors.
The Auditor tapped the marble hand.
Ping.
The blue lens-array on his helmet whirred as it scanned the object. Vane felt a bead of cold sweat roll down his back. If the scan went too deep, it would detect the "Empty Space" where Lyra and Mía were hiding. If it detected the Void-Cradle, the entire city guard would be on them in seconds.
[Object: Ancient Sculpture Fragment.] [Material: High-Density White Marble.] [Saturation: 45% (High-Grade Artifact).] [Resonance: Static-Ancient.] [Note: Contains 'Void-Pockets' – Likely used for storing spiritual oils.]
The Auditor paused. "A high-grade find. Where did a gutter-rat like you find a 'White Marble' fragment? This material is reserved for the Second Tier Artisans."
"Found it... under a pile of 'Failed Sun-Blue'," Vane rasped, mimicking the gravelly voice of the Scrappers. "Deep in the Trench of Drafts."
The Auditor looked at the sculpture, then at Vane. He raised his Calibration Rod to Vane's chest.
This is it, Vane thought. If the System detects I'm a Jar-Breaker, I have to kill everyone at this gate in three seconds and run for the vents.
The rod touched Vane's coat.
Zzzzt.
The holographic screen flickered. The blue light turned a cautionary yellow.
[Identity: ERROR.] [Frequency: Unstable.] [Resolution: Blurred.] [Warning: Target's 'Tone' is too deep. Potential Contamination.]
The Auditor narrowed his lenses. "Your resolution is failing, Scrapper. How long has it been since you had a 'Fixative-Injection'? You're starting to look like a smudge."
"Months," Vane growled, his hand tightening on his hum-pole. "Business is bad. I haven't eaten a 'Primary Color' in weeks."
The Auditor sighed, a mechanical hiss of air escaping his helmet. "Another Faded fool. You're lucky this sculpture is worth so much. If it weren't for the high saturation of the marble, I'd send you to the 'Wash-Pools' for recycling right now."
He stamped a glowing, green mark onto Vane's wrist.
[Temporary Pass: 24 Hours.] [Role: Cargo-Bearer.] [Condition: Must report to the 'Refinery' for De-Contamination.]
"Move along," the Auditor said, pushing the marble hand back toward Vane. "And don't lose that piece. The 'Auction House' in the Middle-Rim has been looking for White Marble for the 'Great Portrait' project."
Vane grabbed the sculpture, his fingers sinking slightly into the stone from the sheer tension. He didn't look back. He dragged the marble into the tunnel, passing through the massive, brass-clad gates of the Ink-Bottle.
The Interior: The City of Glass and Ink
Inside the Ink-Bottle, the scale of the world changed again.
The "Streets" were actually massive, circular catwalks that wound around the interior walls of the glass mountain. In the center of the city, a gargantuan pillar of black liquid—the Original Ink—swirled in a perpetual vortex, reaching from the floor to the unseen ceiling.
Thousands of people moved along the catwalks. They were far more "Solid" than the Scrappers outside. Their clothes were vibrant, their movements precise, and their skin had a polished, ceramic sheen. These were the Residents—the people who had earned enough "Permanence" to live inside the safety of the Bottle.
But even here, there was a hierarchy.
The higher the catwalk, the more colorful and detailed the people became. The lower levels, where Vane stood, were populated by the "Base-Tones"—workers in grey and brown overalls who tended to the massive pipes and filtration systems.
"We're in," Vane whispered, leaning against the glass wall. The view through the glass was terrifying—he could see the entire Sketchlands laid out below like a map of grey despair.
He found a dark alcove behind a series of vibrating steam-pipes. He tapped the marble hand three times.
The "Void-Seal" he had painted dissolved, and the stone surface softened. Lyra climbed out first, coughing as she inhaled the thick, chemical air of the city. Mía followed, her small hand clutching Vane's coat.
"It's... it's so loud here," Mía whispered, looking at the swirling vortex of ink in the center. "It sounds like a million people are screaming at once."
"That's the 'Memory-Resonance' of the Ink," Vane said, his violet eyes analyzing the vortex.
[System Analysis: The Central Vortex.] [Material: Grade-S Primary Ink.] [Composition: Recycled souls of ten thousand Jar-Worlds.] [Utility: The 'Life-Blood' of the Great Canvas. Used to 'Define' reality.]
Vane felt a surge of cold fury. The "Ink" that these people used to paint their beautiful lives was made from the "Deletion" of worlds like his. Every drop of color in this city was a tombstone for a billion Statics.
"Master, what now?" Lyra asked, her claws retracting as she tried to look inconspicuous. "The Auditor said we have 24 hours. If we don't find a way to stabilize our 'Tone', the pass will turn red and the guards will hunt us down."
"We need the Underground," Vane said. "In every prison, there are people who know how to hide from the warden. If there are other 'Jar-Breakers' who survived, they'll be in the Lower Sump—the place where the leaks go."
The Sump and the Ghost of the Third Jar
They descended deeper into the city, moving past the roaring machinery of the filtration levels. The "Air" here became a thick, black mist—the Ink-Smog. To the Residents, this was toxic waste, but to Vane, it felt like home. The "Void" inside him thrived in the smog, greedily absorbing the floating particles of unrefined pigment.
[Saturation Increasing: 15%... 18%...] [Permanence: 12%.] [Status: Your form is becoming 'Semi-Solid'.]
At the very bottom of the city, beneath the lowest catwalk, lay a world of rusted pipes and stagnant pools of black liquid. This was the Sump.
There were no porcelain-armored Auditors here. The only light came from flickering "Lichen-Bulbs" that grew on the damp walls. Figures moved in the shadows—broken, "Smudged" people whose bodies were missing limbs or faces, their existence literally dripping away into the puddles.
"Stop right there, Gutter-Rat."
A man stepped out from behind a massive pressure-valve. He didn't look like a Scrapper. He wore a high-collared coat of dark blue, though it was stained and tattered. In his hand, he held a "Drawing Compass" that had been sharpened into a lethal twin-blade.
But what caught Vane's attention was the man's eyes. They weren't the "Permanent" eyes of the Residents. They were flickering with a familiar, digital light.
"You smell like 'Fresh Jar'," the man said, his voice a melodic baritone that had been ruined by the smog. "And not just any jar. You smell like #009. The 'Five Oceans' batch."
Vane's violet eyes narrowed. He stepped forward, letting his "Obsidian Shroud" flare for a split second. "And you smell like a man who failed his own 'Genesis'."
The man froze. He looked at the violet rings in Vane's eyes, then at the "Permanent Lead" glowing in Mía's chest.
"A Sovereign..." the man whispered, his compass-blade lowering. "A Sovereign actually made it out. I thought the Harvesters got all of you during the 'Great Wipe' three cycles ago."
"I don't die easily," Vane said. "Who are you?"
"My name is Caspian," the man said, offering a mocking bow. "I was the 'God of the High Heavens' in Jar #003. A world of floating islands and singing birds. Now... I'm the man who fixes the leaks in the Ink-Bottle's toilet."
He looked at Mía and Lyra. "You brought baggage. That's dangerous. Jar-Breakers usually survive by being alone. Attachments make you 'Heavy'. And in this city, the Heavy are the first to be recycled."
"I didn't ask for your philosophy, Caspian," Vane said, his voice cold. "I need a 'Fixative-Injection' for my sister, and I need a way to reach the Middle-Rim."
Caspian laughed, a bitter, dry sound. "Middle-Rim? You're Rank 2, kid. You wouldn't survive the 'Resolution-Pressure' of the Middle-Rim. You'd turn into a pile of grey mush before you reached the first elevator. This city isn't just made of glass; it's made of Quality. If your soul isn't 'High-Resolution', the very air will reject you."
"Then show me how to increase my Resolution," Vane demanded.
Caspian looked at Vane's hands—the hands that had already begun to "Stain" the rusted pipes with abyssal ink.
"There is a way," Caspian said, his eyes glinting with a desperate hope. "There is an Illegal Palette hidden in the Sump. It's a collection of 'Stolen Pigments'—the colors that didn't make it into the vortex. If you can consume them, you can force your Rank to jump. But..."
"But what?"
"Those pigments aren't 'Clean'," Caspian warned. "They are the 'Agony' of a thousand failed worlds. If you drink them, you might become 'Permanent'... but you might also become a Monster that even the Great Canvas can't define."
Vane looked at Mía, who was leaning against Lyra, her breath hitched with the effort of staying solid. He looked at his own flickering skin.
He didn't hesitate.
"I was born in an Abyss," Vane said, walking toward Caspian. "I've been a monster since the first day I woke up. Show me the Palette."
The Path to the Illegal Palette
Caspian led them through a labyrinth of narrowing pipes, deeper into the "Bowel" of the city. As they moved, the "Ambient Saturation" began to rise. Vane could feel it—the concentrated essence of raw, unrefined life-force. It was overwhelming, like the smell of a million flowers being crushed at once.
"The Artisans think they filter everything," Caspian whispered as they reached a massive, sealed hatch marked with the symbol of a Broken Brush. "But even the most perfect system has 'Sediment'. This is where the 'Mistakes' of the Five Oceans and every other jar end up."
He opened the hatch.
Inside was a chamber that defied the grey gloom of the Sump. It was a cavern of glowing, bioluminescent liquids. Pools of "Venomous Green," "Screaming Red," and "Crying Blue" bubbled in the dark. These weren't just colors; they were Emotions given physical form.
[Warning: High-Concentration Chaos-Pigment.] [Warning: Attempting to absorb 'Unrefined Soul-Matter' will result in 90% chance of 'System Crash'.]
"This is the Raw Canvas," Caspian said, his face illuminated by the swirling colors. "Most Jar-Breakers who find this place die trying to take a single drop. Their souls can't handle the 'Noise' of so many different worlds."
Vane walked to the edge of the largest pool—a swirling vortex of "Deep-Indigo" that felt like a thousand nights of loneliness.
"Vane, don't..." Lyra whispered, sensing the danger.
Vane didn't listen. He looked into the Indigo pool and saw the faces of millions of Statics. He saw their dreams, their deaths, and their "Unwritten" futures.
"They want to be heard," Vane whispered.
He reached out his hand and plunged it into the pool.
BOOM!
The entire Ink-Bottle City shook. A pillar of black-and-indigo fire erupted from the cavern, shooting upward through the pipes and into the very heart of the city's filtration system.
Vane's body didn't dissolve. It Expanded.
The "Abyssal Void" inside him opened like a hungry mouth. It didn't just drink the Indigo; it began to Vacuum the entire cavern. The Green, the Red, the Blue—all the "Failed Emotions" of the universe were being pulled into Vane's obsidian-core.
[LEVEL UP! LEVEL 2... 5... 10... 25!] [RANK EVOLUTION: RANK 10 (THE STAIN OF REALITY).] [New Passive Skill: 'The Echo of the Jar'.] [Description: You can now manifest the 'Art-Physics' of any world you have consumed.]
Vane stood in the center of the now-empty cavern. His body was no longer flickering. He was solid. More solid than the Residents. More solid than the Auditors. He looked like he was made of Solidified Night.
He turned to Caspian, his violet eyes now containing a swirling galaxy of stolen colors.
"The resolution... it's too high," Caspian stammered, falling to his knees. "I can't even look at you! You're... you're a Visual Error in the world's eye!"
Vane looked at his hands. He could feel the Middle-Rim above him. He could feel the "Luminaries" in their glass towers.
"Caspian," Vane said, his voice a chorus of a thousand souls. "You said the Middle-Rim has a 'Great Portrait' project?"
"Yes... they are painting a 'God' to replace the old ones..."
Vane's wings unfurled—now massive, solid blades of indigo and black.
"Good," Vane said. "I've always wanted to be the one who ruins the finish."
The "Jar-Breaker" was no longer just a survivor. He was a Contaminant. And the Ink-Bottle City was about to find out that some stains... are permanent.