Thirsting Brush Wheel of Destiny — Morimens

On the seventh day of his transformation into a ghoul, he moans in agony as his limbs gradually rot. Every slight movement tugs at his sensitive nerves, erupting in tearing pain... mixed with horrifying sparks of inspiration. Yet, the perplexing shadows always loom over this artist—what kind of brush can depict the most extreme reality? Pickman's weak eyes scan the area, from the stones by the mansion to the branches above the graves, and finally, his gaze locks onto the exposed white bone in his shriveled, rotting right leg. As if hearing a sacred summons, Pickman extracts the leg bone, repeatedly rubbing away the adhered flesh and blood, turning it into a hard brush. He sharpens the tip into a menacing fang, but before it can bite into the canvas, it first pierces the owner's bony fingertip. Pickman, in pain, releases his grip, and the brush escapes his control. It dances! It leaps! It twirls! It wildly sweeps across the canvas, carving chaotic lines of madness. The lines proliferate and grow wildly, dragging out a constantly expanding, strangely shaped dark smear that slowly but decisively gnaws at Pickman's throat. A momentary ecstasy pierces his remaining heart like a sharp blade—the swollen organ, in its chaotic form, fills him with tremors of fear, yet revives his waning senses. They directly and sharply signify pain, strangeness, and desire in a disordered manner, erupting with unabashed, shocking power. In this inversion, Pickman seems to draw closer to the sacred realm of 'beauty'. Once everything has calmed down, Pickman extends his clawed hand, now corroded, repeatedly stroking the pale brush. From this still humanoid shell, a more intense and urgent desire spews forth. He will together with this brush, complete the final stroke of that monumental painting.