Painter Of The Night Novels & Stories

“In their castle beyond night Gather the Gods in Darkness, With darkness to pattern man’s fate. The colors of darkness are no monotonous hue- For the blackness of Evil knows various shades, Full many as Evil has names.” Karl Edward Wagner

“Ang lalim yata ng iniisip mo?” Nilingon ko si papa na nakatayo sa may pintuan. Hindi ko narinig na lumapit pala siya. Ngumiti ako. “Gabi na, ’pa. Bakit gising pa kayo? Maaga pa naman kayo sa palengke bukas.” Umupo si Papa sa tabi ko at nakangiting tiningala ang buwan. Maging ako ay napatingala. Kumikislap ang mga bituin sa madilim na kalangitan. Ang buwan naman ay nagliliwanag sa sobrang ganda.

“I upgraded your evening. You’re welcome.” Velvet-covered stools circled easels, each one set with a folded plum silk apron and a canvas already sketched with a woman’s silhouette under a full moon—tonight’s muse. At the front, a tall man dressed head-to-toe in black, silver rings on every finger, stood before a master canvas. “Welcome, queens,” he purred into the mic. “Tonight, we don’t paint pictures. We paint moods.” Laughter rippled through the room. People sipped, settled in, the mood effortlessly chic.

Yet he could feel the vibration through the floor, as if the whole city were stomping in rhythm with his words. A guard passed by, muttered under his breath, “You lit the fuse, kid.” Rico stared at his hands. They trembled not with fear, but with the weight of what he’d unleashed. He knew the bosses were cornered animals now—and cornered animals bite hardest. But somewhere deep, a flicker of satisfaction burned. For the first time in his life, the city wasn’t their stage. It was his. On the tallest rooftop in the city, graffiti artists worked by flashlight. They painted across the night, their strokes huge and furious until the letters screamed visible even from blocks away:

I pause and look out into the horizon. “Who are you?” I whisper into the night. There’s no answer. Only the pull of the tide. In. Out. In. Out. Like breathing. Like waiting. I return to the cabin just before midnight. The windows glow warm. I leave the painting turned against the wall. I can’t look at it again tonight. I slip into bed, still in my long dress. The sheets are cool against my skin. I close my eyes. I try to think of nothing.

EDWARD'S SILENT DEAL NATHANIEL'S POV. I did my very best to execute my torture without getting my clothes stained. I didn’t want to start answering questions as to how I spilled paint on my body. The phrase, “A painter can’t paint a wall without getting stained.” Was something I totally disagreed from. I could paint a whole building without getting stained so long I took my time. I took the phrase as an experiment executing it on the bloody man that was right in front of me.

Jon mumbled. "And that undisclosed buyer is me," said Dante smiling widely, his sharp teeth glistening in the dim room. "Let's see if you can guess who painted the next one." Dante walked eagerly to the next painting, his cane tapping on the wooden floor like a one-legged giant insect. He likewise turned on the pin lights and the painting exploded in colors of bright red and burnt sienna. "This painting is something I really like. Tell me what you think?" The second painting showed a half-naked man with eyes opened wide as if in a crazed state. In his hand was something that looked like a severed human arm while blood was seen dripping from his mouth. He appeared to be in a desert and faint

“You painted this?” He nodded. “When?” I croaked. “Parts of it over the years.” I stepped closer to the canvas. “But this last part…” He gave a nervous little laugh. “That was tonight.” “You painted tonight before tonight happened?” “Not exactly.” He gave a small laugh. “I just painted the possibility.” I looked back at the canvas. He came closer, but he didn’t touch me. “I didn’t know if you’d ever come back,” he said. “I didn’t even know if you would ever want to see me again. But I kept thinking about what it would look like if you did. So I painted it.”

"I just want to talk so I would appreciate it if you stop turning me around like a fool." He observed me carefully, something moved in his expression especially after I mentioned Caelen's name but it shut down before it became readable. "I have nothing to say to you." He waved his fingers. "Then explain the painting." I pressed on.. "The one in your main gallery that has a road, a car and a woman at night. You told your visitors you painted that scene eleven times. That it's the night that changed everything for you." I blinked. "That's my birth you've been painting and putting on public display. I think that earns me a conversation."

“But tonight, I have a surprise of my own. A debut, as a new artist.” She pulled away the cloth behind her. A gasp swept through the crowd. It was drowned out by the sudden silence where my heart used to be. It was First Light in an Endless Night. My soul on canvas. The story of being pulled from one darkness, only to be thrown into another, deeper one. But now, in the bottom right corner, the signature read: “Isabella.” “The core concept of this piece is ‘the hope of a new beginning’…” Isabella droned on, explaining the painting to the crowd.