Painter Of The Night Manga Mga Nobela at Kwento

I sat on an overturned crate, opened my sketchbook, and started drawing. The lines came fast. Jagged edges of broken concrete. A single rusted fire escape clinging to the side of a warehouse like it was trying to escape. Shadows pooling in the corners like spilled ink. I didn’t think about Dmitri. Not consciously. But somewhere between the second and third page, I realized the figure I’d started sketching in the foreground—half-hidden behind a stack of rotting pallets—was tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair falling into his eyes. I hadn’t meant to draw him. My hand had just… remembered. I stared at the rough outline of his profile, charcoal smudged where my thumb had tried to soften the line o

Looking at the empty space around him, this young man raised his eyebrows and pressed his finger towards the empty space. Countless source auras surged up, quickly forming several paintings, among which endless scenes appeared, it was Tadhg Walter killing the illusory Emperor Grand and Karma Fire Emperor step by step.

CHAPTER 33 Lila's chest expanded with a deep, fortifying breath as she finished the last tubes of paint and looked over her latest masterpiece. The canvas vibrated with a boldly dissonant symphony of shapes and hues, an unashamed expression of her volatile emotions in the aftermath of Yuria's brutal assault. Yet, beneath the seething maelstrom of color, there was something profound...something steadfast and unwavering in the face of the chaotic tempest. A single figure emanating peaceful defiance, exalted within its eye as if illuminated by an inner brilliance that no outer turbulence could destroy.

“In fact, all of them do.” I blush at his words, because all of the paintings were of him, either half-naked with his tattoos showing, Eclipse with his silver eyes, or the last one I painted of him sleeping. He walks over to that one and then looks at me with a frown. “Is this how you see me when I’m asleep?” he asks in a concerned tone. I take his hand and kiss his calloused fingers. “You don’t sleep peacefully, Mitya; the first night I woke up next to you, you were groaning and seemed to be having a nightmare,” I say, holding his hand to my cheek.

Neu and Hikari then started it. Hikari started it by sketching a manga and Neu started to modify it to better meanwhile Nimura was watching over them and tell them if there was any problem. (I would like to put some samples based on what did I do back then, but I can't put the picture. Maybe you can watch the sample that of manga that I made by myself on tapas by searching the book name. 'monster hunter story -the returns-'. There was a novel version in W*****d. The story was written by me in 2019)

“Oh Zeph, you are a funny man. Yes indeed, there are colours, and there are naked people, but just look closely. They are all alive in these pictures. This painting here…” He pointed towards a painting where a maiden was sitting in a corner of a dark room, hugging her blood-stained, torn gown. Her face buried in her knees. “The damage,” I read the painting’s name. “The artist was molested,” Archer said and my eyes instantly shot with tears. A non-living painting that was nothing a second ago came to life as if the girl in the painting was talking to me through some magical portal. I understood why half of the painting was painted black and I started seeing and hearing her mind. Her screams,

It was as if my heart painted for me, capturing not just shapes but the longing I couldn’t name. Hours flew by, and when I was finally done, my fingers were smudged with color, my dress stained. I stepped back and saw the scene I had created a enchanted winter forest lighted up by silver light, a mighty black lycan racing through the snow, and a golden dragon flying above. Somehow, the painting felt alive, as if it carried my yearning and the unspoken bond between us. Caspian's POV I softly knocked at Mira’s chamber’s door.

“That’s not funny.” “I’m not joking.” I swallowed hard, fighting the sting in my eyes. “You don’t get to throw yourself away like that.” “Neither do you,” he countered. For a moment, we just stared at each other. Then I broke the gaze and walked along the mural again, needing the space, even if it was only a few steps. At the far corner, the painting changed. The colors darkened - reds and blacks-and the figures twisted into something less human. Wolves with hollow eyes, people bent into strange shapes under the red moon.

A low raspy laugh filled my ears adding horrific images to my paranoia. I quieted it was no use fighting the unknown. I had no choice but to hold on to Yulian’s promise; I would be okay. My breathing hitched, dampness brushed through my breast. The strong smell of paint covered my nostrils. Strokes were meticulously laid and I became a canvass of an obscure art. “She’s all done,” announced a man, I presumed the painter. He rounded me once more before patting my behind. “Yeah, she’s all good. What marvelous skin you have! A living porcelain doll!”

It was the same face that he painted in his sleep before. Dozen minutes passed, and finally, the painting was completed. It seemed that the painter was about to stop all his movement and went back to his unconscious state, but suddenly, he raised his hand again to the bottom corner of the painting. He danced the brush to write a name before the brush fell on the floor and he went back to the neverland again.