"Where should we change our costumes?" Jade asked as we strolled through the crowded city streets.
I frowned, realizing this was something I should have planned for. Despite my experience across multiple cycles, this particular scenario was new to me. In previous lives at the academy, I''d never engaged in vigilante activities. Post-graduation, I''d been immediately drafted by the government for interplanetary missions—a far cry from costume changes in urban settings.
"Most heroes and villains probably change in their vans, public spaces or perhaps they leave in costumes from their houses," I said after a moment''s thought, recalling snippets from news reports and social media. Honestly, I had no idea. Then, grasping at straws, I added, "Maybe we could also use a public bathroom?"
Jade''s brow furrowed, her expression shifting to concern. "Won''t we look weird walking into one in full costume during the day?"
Oh, now she was worried about looking weird? I thought she liked wearing and looking like a superhero. The irony nearly made me facepalm. Where was this self-awareness when she first pitched playing the hero?
"Let’s see what’s happening first," I said, deflecting the conversation as I pulled out the police scanner we’d acquired. "If there’s any nearby crime reported, we’ll take action then."
We began our patrol, circling through streets and alleyways like planets in an uncertain orbit. The police scanner crackled with bursts of static and urgent chatter, but most calls were frustratingly out of reach—too far to get to on foot before City Protectors or established heroes teams could arrive. Each time we heard a call that seemed promising, we''d do the mental calculations: distance, travel time, likely response window. Most often, we''d have to let it go, knowing we''d arrive too late to do anything but watch the cleanup.
"Anything close?" Jade asked, glancing at me.
"Not yet." I pointed at the scanner. "Most of these calls are either too far or already being handled. Unless we plan on teleporting, we’re stuck waiting for something local."
Jade sighed, adjusting the strap of her bag. "This whole thing feels so… amateur. Don’t real heroes have better setups?"
"They also have sponsorships, vehicles, and government backing," I said, shrugging. "We’re just two people with a scanner and a dream."
She laughed at that—a small, genuine laugh that eased some of the tension. "So, what you’re saying is, we’re the budget version of heroes?"
"Exactly," I said, grinning despite myself. "Budget heroes. No frills, no nonsense, no idea what we’re doing."
We continued our mindless strolling for another hour. Until Jade asked again.
"Anything now?" she asked over my shoulder.
"Not unless you’re interested in a fender bender on Fifth," I replied, glancing at the scanner. "Or a loose dog in a nearby park. Honestly, the dog sounds more up our alley right now."
She groaned. "This city’s supposed to be crawling with meta-crime. Where are all the jewel heists and runaway trains? Isn’t there some villain monologuing on a rooftop somewhere? This is so wrong."
"It''s not like what they painted in comics," she complained, throwing her hands in the air.
"Guess this is the real world. And maybe the villains didn’t get the memo about your big debut," I said, tucking the scanner into my pocket for a moment. "Maybe they’re on vacation. Even bad guys need a break."
Her shoulders slumping further at my reality of my words.
Still, Jade managed to make her superhero debut—though not quite the dramatic entrance she’d probably envisioned. By the end of the day, she had two robberies thwarted, a would-be purse snatcher stopped mid-act, and several pickpockets apprehended in a bustling marketplace.
But the people we faced had such insignificant meta nature that they were basically regular humans.
Yet, I could tell she wasn’t satisfied. The fancy suit, the high-tech weapons, the hours of preparation—it all seemed like overkill for dealing with street-level crime.
“This isn’t what I expected,” she muttered, kicking a stray pebble out of her path. The stone skittered across the sidewalk, bouncing into the gutter where it disappeared with a small plunk.
I glanced at her. "What did you expect? Bank vault lasers? Evil monologues? Giant robots?"
She rolled her eyes. "No, but… something more. I mean, we spent hours planning this, building gear, working out strategies. And for what? Two-minute chases where the villain just gave up and ran?"
"That’s good, though," I said, trying to sound encouraging. "It means they were smart enough to realize they couldn’t win. We stopped them without a fight."
"But that’s the thing!" she snapped, turning to face me. "It didn’t feel like a win. It felt… stupid. Like, what was the point of all this?" She gestured at her sleek suit, the weapons holstered at her sides.
"Would you rather they fought back?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "That they pulled out weapons, or maybe some surprise meta ability, and turned it into an all-out brawl? Because that doesn’t end well—for us or anyone else."
She hesitated, crossing her arms as she avoided my gaze. "I guess. It just feels… small. Like we’re playing dress-up while the real heroes handle the real problems."
I watched her fidget with the utility belt, the way she always did when she was frustrated. Day one of hero work, and already the reality was crushing her expectations.
The quiet afternoon stretched on. Our radio crackled occasionally with routine calls - a shoplifter here, a domestic dispute there. What struck me most wasn''t the crimes we dealt with, but how few serious meta incidents we encountered. The police scanner, usually our lifeline to the city''s chaos, stayed oddly silent about major meta-criminal activity. Either the city''s official protection systems were doing their job better than I''d thought, or something else was keeping the bigger players quiet.
It was nearly evening now, and we’d barely had a dozen instances that could have justified the use of our abilities or the ridiculous cost of our equipment. The rest? Pickpockets, jaywalkers, and the occasional street performer that made me wonder if we were overthinking everything.
My body was screaming for rest. In the past five hours, we''d covered more ground than I typically did in a month—running, jumping, dashing through streets and over obstacles. My legs felt like they were made of lead, each step requiring more effort than the last. And my meta abilities couldn''t help with simple physical exhaustion.
Jade was in better shape than me, thanks to her athletic build, but even she was starting to show signs of fatigue. Her jumps weren’t as high, her landings less precise. Still, that stubborn gleam in her eye hadn’t dimmed—she wasn’t ready to call it a day, no matter how much her body protested.
“Let’s go home,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and steady despite my own exhaustion. “We’ll try again tomorrow.” It wasn’t just a suggestion—it was the only option. I’d hit my limit, and we weren’t equipped for night patrols yet.
She didn’t respond immediately, her jaw tightening as she glanced toward the skyline. The last streaks of sunlight were fading, and the city’s lights were starting to flicker on one by one.
Finally, she let out a long breath, her shoulders relaxing. “Fine. Tomorrow, then.”
I smiled faintly. “Tomorrow.”
The world wasn’t ending today. We had time—time to try again, time to figure things out. As many days as we needed.
Day one passed.
Then two.
By our third day as would-be heroes, I was starting to question everything. Every time I looked at Jade, I couldn''t shake the feeling that we''d somehow crossed a line from heroes to something else entirely, Villains. We''d taken to wearing our costumes from the start of each day, hidden beneath long trench coats. The approaching winter made our attire less suspicious.
Now we sat on a bench along a busy walkway, Jade''s usual energy replaced by a deep despondency that somehow made even the gray winter sky seem brighter in comparison.
Her gloom was contagious. I sat slumped beside her, sharing the weight of it as we silently watched the world move on without us.
To the left, cars crawled through the busy intersection. To the right, the park was alive - families laid out their picnic blankets on the grass, kids raced through piles of brown leaves, couples strolled together, and joggers kept to their paths despite the autumn chill.
But to me, none of it felt normal. Because the space around us had become... wrong. Not in any way I could touch, but I saw it clearly in the patterns of chance and possibility. The usual rainbow patterns that showed me how luck flowed had twisted into something ugly - jagged streaks of darkness that cut through the air like broken glass. It was like watching a whirlpool of bad luck forming right around us, with Jade and me trapped at the dead center.
"Jade," I called quietly, watching the chaos unfold.
"Hmm?" She sounded almost bored.
There comes another unfortunate soul... I thought, spotting a man on his bicycle pedaling hard to cross the intersection. Despite the crossing signal''s clear warning, he pressed on—and nearly collided with a car. He managed to avoid that disaster, letting out a visible sigh of relief that proved premature when his brakes suddenly failed.
The sequence that followed was like watching dominoes fall in slow motion: his speed had decreased enough that the brake failure wasn''t immediately catastrophic, but just as he was beginning to get control of the situation, a ball appeared as if from nowhere, rolling directly into his path. His attempt to avoid running over it sent him sprawling onto the sidewalk, leaving him with scraped arms but nothing a bandaid couldn''t fix.
The colors in my vision shifted and swirled around each incident—oranges and purples dancing together in patterns that spoke of chaos barely contained.
Nothing serious enough to cause real harm, but enough to make me wonder if we were actually making things worse.
My expression was grim. “You’re going to seriously hurt someone,” I said, my tone heavy with concern.
"They won''t die," Jade replied with a casualness that sent a chill down my spine. Her silver eyes tracked each mishap with detached interest, like a child watching ants scatter after disturbing their hill. "Just scrapes and bruises. Maybe a sprained ankle or two."
I felt like I’d inadvertently stepped into the bad company of people with questionable morals. I had only myself to blame for getting involved in these situations. Seeing this side of Jade wasn’t something I’d anticipated, nor did I want to.
A child''s cry pierced the air—sharp and startled. Through my enhanced vision, I watched the patterns of misfortune weave around the swing set just before the little boy tumbled sideways. His red jacket flashed in the afternoon sun as he hit the ground. One more had fallen. Dammit!
Should I knock some sense into her? The thought flickered in my mind as my frustration grew.
Nearby, a flock of birds that people regularly fed had turned into an avian menace. Every time someone approached with bread or seeds, the entire flock would descend like a feathered tsunami, accompanied by an aerial bombardment that left their victims confused and distressed. The bewildered park-goers couldn''t understand what had turned their friendly neighborhood birds into vindictive dive-bombers.
Through my vision, Jade’s Likeness manifested as a sickly swirl of uncountable colors—prominent murky oranges and toxic purples bleeding into each other, representing chaos, uncertainty, and changes.
The pattern spread outward from her like an oil slick on water, tainting everything it touched with fortune and misfortunes. Everywhere the colors reached, small disasters bloomed: coffee cups tipped over, shoelaces came untied, phones slipped from hands.
However, that was usually how she appeared in my vision; the patterns just... existed, radiating outward with a steady, unchanging rhythm. But strangely there were no changes, as she wasn’t controlling this so-called forbidden zone.Strange! So Why? I squinted, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Was I missing something? Or am I reading it wrong?
I was so caught up in my thoughts that I didn’t notice Jade glaring at me until her voice cut through the noise.
"You think I''m doing it intentionally, right?" The words hit me like a physical blow.
Her silver eyes, usually warm with mischief, had turned to frozen mercury. I opened my mouth, closed it, opened it again - but nothing came out. I''d been so certain of my righteous anger that her accusation left me stumbling.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“I thought you knew everything,” she continued, her silver eyes glinting with frustration. “But I guess I was wrong.”
She turned away, staring into the distance, her jaw tight. Disappointed? Angry? Maybe both. And all of it directed at me I felt a surge of annoyance—not at her, but at myself. How could I have been so dense, so quick to assume? Had I really understood so little, despite thinking I knew so much?
Jade’s voice broke the silence again, this time colder, more measured. “Even if they didn’t cover this in class, it’s not exactly obscure knowledge. You of all people should know, given that you’re… unique yourself.”
She let out a short, bitter laugh. “You know, I really thought you’d get it. That you’d understand what it’s like.” Her tone softened slightly, but it carried the weight of someone who’d expected more. Someone who felt let down. “I guess I gave you too much credit.”
The reprimand triggered something in my memory—a flash of lectures I’d attended, articles I’d skimmed, basic knowledge I’d somehow overlooked in my self-righteous haze. I opened my mouth to apologize, but she wasn’t done.
“The Uniques with abstract meta natures are emitters,” she said, slipping into a clipped, academic tone that made me feel even smaller. “We naturally bleed into our surroundings. It’s not something we control. And if it’s spilling out of us, it’s tied to us—to our emotions, our state of mind.”
Her words stung, but they were deserved. A bucket of cold water over my head couldn’t have been more effective.
Of course. How could I have forgotten something so fundamental? The swirling chaos in my vision, the way her presence affected everything around us—it was all textbook emitter behavior.
The chaos wasn’t Jade being cruel—it was Jade being Jade. Her very emotions, tangled with her meta nature, seeped into the reality around her. And right now, that reality was stained with frustration and disappointment—at our failed attempts to be heroes, and now at me, for completely failing to understand her.
I felt shame creep up my neck. Here I was, supposedly experienced across multiple timelines, and I''d missed something this basic. Worse, I''d accused her—however indirectly—of deliberately harming people where she might actually be fighting against her own nature.
Was there something wrong with my memory?
The birds continued their aerial assault on would-be feeders, and people still stumbled more than they should in more than a kilometer of our radius, but these weren''t acts of malice but symptoms of a deeper struggle.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally, the words feeling small but necessary. “I should have known. Should have remembered.” Should have trusted her more, I added silently.
She kept staring into the distance, but some of the tension left her shoulders. "You''re not the first to assume the worst," she said quietly. "People see the chaos and think it must be deliberate, I did it intentionally. It''s easier to blame than to understand.”
I didn’t know exactly how to make her feel better, but I had to try. I’d made a promise to always be there for her, and that meant more than just words. Recognizing my mistake, I knew I had to act, not just apologize.
Turning to her, I decided to take a different approach. “Can your powers help us get to the top floor of one of these buildings?”
Jade’s brow furrowed, and her initial response was almost dismissive. “I can’t fly, North. You know that.”
“I know,” I said quickly. “But maybe you can influence something. Cause a… helpful malfunction?”
Her frown deepened, but then her expression brightened slightly, “Unless you want me to summon a flying dinosaur to break out of the zoo. It would take some time, though. Big commotion, lots of people panicking, probably some lawsuits…”
“Let’s skip the dinosaurs,” I interrupted, my lips twitching at her attempt at humor. “Even though we’re already in a moderate-crime area, once we’re at the top of a building, I’ll be able to better observe the surrounding areas and predict where the next crime might happen.”
She tilted her head, still skeptical. “How exactly does being on a roof help? You think you’ll magically spot a guy with a sack of stolen cash running down the street?”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to overcomplicate things, but she deserved at least part of the truth. “It’s not just about seeing. My meta nature… it''s more than just seeing between dangers and luck.”
Over the time I had learned many tricks such as pattern recognition, and anticipation. After two lifetimes spent perfecting the art of predicting enemy movements on a grand scale, I could read subtle shifts in the environment like others read a book.
Jade’s gaze lingered on me, “So you’re saying you’re a human crime radar?”
“Something like that,” I said, shrugging. “It’s not perfect, but it’s worked before. And right now, it’s better than waiting around for a random call on the scanner.”
“So why didn’t you use your meta nature before to spot crimes? If you’re some kind of walking crime radar, why are we running around aimlessly like rookies?” She accused, almost feeling betrayed by her expression on her face.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “It’s not that simple. My abilities aren’t like yours. They’re… finicky. I can sense shifts, and hidden patterns—but it’s not like a flashing sign pointing to where the bad guys are. It’s more like… reading ripples in a pond and trying to guess where the stone landed.”
Her brows furrowed. “Okay, so it’s vague. But still, it’s better than nothing, right? Why haven’t we been using it?”
I shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “It’s complicated,” I muttered, unwilling to explain further.
Her expression darkened, her arms tightening across her chest. “Complicated? We’ve spent hours running ourselves ragged, and now you’re telling me you could’ve made this easier, but you didn’t because it’s complicated?”
“Do you still want to go to the roof or not?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral, though I could feel her anger simmering. But I, myself was growing frustrated.
She hesitated, glaring at me for a moment before letting out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. Let’s go.”
Her voice was clipped, and the energy from earlier—the fleeting humor and lightness—was gone. I winced inwardly, realizing I’d handled that poorly.
“Let’s take an elevator,” I said, pointing toward a nearby office building. Then, turning to Jade, I added, “Can you make sure it malfunctions and ends up at the top? Can you do that?”
Jade arched an eyebrow, “Fine,” she said after a moment, her voice softening.
We approached the sleek glass doors of the office building, stopping in front of a security badge reader that stood between us and the lobby. The faint red light blinked at us, a silent reminder that we didn’t belong.
But with Jade beside me, obstacles like this felt almost quaint.
She didn’t lift a finger, didn’t make any grand gestures to display her power. Instead, she simply stood there, her presence as calm and composed as ever. Yet somehow, the world around her didn’t share that calm. Within half second, the automatic doors began to malfunction, opening and closing rapidly like they were caught in an electrical seizure. The badge reader’s red light flickered, then went dark, and the overhead lights in the lobby blinked erratically.
“The thing about electrical devices,” Jade said casually, her tone almost conversational, “is that they’re ridiculously easy to mess with. So many circuits, so many connections—and literally countless ways for something to go wrong inside.”
“Is that your way of saying you’re doing this?” I asked as I watched the door spasm wildly.
She shrugged, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “I’m not not doing it.”
Seeing her smile made me feel an unexpected wave of relief. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed seeing that . Thankfully, she hadn’t taken my earlier moment of stupidity to heart—otherwise, I didn’t know how I’d have made it up to her.
As the door swung open again, I gave her a nod. “Let’s go.”
We dashed through during one of the door’s erratic openings, slipping inside before the security system could register the anomaly as anything more than a routine technical glitch. Somewhere, a bored guard might glance at the monitor and see nothing but flickering lights and a dysfunctional door—not two intruders sprinting into the lobby.
I flashed Jade a thumbs up as we jogged toward the elevator, the sound of our footsteps echoing across the pristine marble floor. “Nice work back there.”
“Of course,” she said, feigning nonchalance. “What’s a little chaos without finesse?”
We stopped in front of the elevator bank, and I pressed the button. The light above one of the doors blinked, signaling the elevator’s arrival.
Jade glanced at me, her silver eyes glinting with amusement. “You really think this is going to work?”
I leaned against the wall, catching my breath. “It’s already working, isn’t it? Besides, worst case, we take the stairs.”
Her lips quirked into a wry smile. “I’m not climbing hundred flights. If this elevator doesn’t cooperate, I might actually summon that dinosaur.”
The elevator doors slid open, and we stepped inside. Jade examined the control panel, her fingers hovering over the buttons. “Alright, follow me.”
I couldn''t help but analyze how she wielded her meta nature. There was no visible strain, no sign of exertion—just pure, unbridled chaos bleeding seamlessly into the gaps of reality. Subtle shifts occurred, small changes that rippled outward, altering the trajectory of events with frightening precision.
“Not to rush you,” I said, glancing at the screen, “but I’d prefer not to be trapped in a box when the building realizes it’s been hacked.”
“Relax,” Jade waved. “I’m a professional.”
"And I call this move, Chain Collapse."
I chuckled softly, leaning back as the elevator finally lurched into motion. The numbers on the panel ticked upward, bypassing every button we hadn’t pressed until only the highest floor remained illuminated.
When the elevator came to a stop, the doors slid open, revealing the final stairwell to the roof. Jade turned to me, a triumphant glint in her eyes. “There. No dinosaurs required.”
I stepped out with her, the cool night air rushing in as we climbed the last few steps to the rooftop. “I have to say, your finesse is growing on me.”
“Good,” she said, brushing past me. “Because if your ‘crime radar’ plan doesn’t work, I might need to throw you off this roof for wasting my time.”
We reached the locked roof access door, its heavy metal frame and multiple security mechanisms standing firmly in our way. The kind of door that said, Turn around. You’re not welcome.
"Blast it," I said, waving a hand toward it. Subtlety was clearly not on the agenda anymore, not with her standing there itching to do something destructive.
Jade’s face lit up like I’d handed her the best gift ever. “Now this I can do.”
She pulled her plasma blaster from her bag with a dramatic wave, grinning as she adjusted the settings with practiced precision. The weapon hummed to life, the core glowing a dangerous, electric blue. I couldn’t help but notice how much joy she took in this as she squared her stance and aimed.
The shot was almost silent and a concentrated burst of energy slamming into the metal door. The solid frame stood no chance—molten silver dripped down in glistening streams, pooling into bubbling puddles on the concrete floor. The security mechanisms gave way, the lock twisting and warping until it looked like modern art.
Jade turned to me, her silver eyes gleaming with pride. She spun the blaster once before holstering it back in her bag. “You’re welcome.”
I tried not to smile, but the sheer glee on her face made it difficult. “That was subtle,” I said, deadpan.
I reached for the door''s remaining solid structure and pulled it open, trying not to show how impressed I was by her casual display of destruction. "Let''s go."
“Hey,” she said, brushing past me again. “You said ‘blast it.’ I’m just following orders.”
I glanced at the blaster still on my back—pink and white, bright enough to be mistaken for a child’s toy. I still couldn''t understand why she made me swap with hers. This thing was slightly embarrassing.
We emerged onto the roof, and suddenly the city opened up around us.
The building seemed to pierce the clouds themselves, giving us a view that made the bustling metropolis below look like a toy model.
The wind whipped Jade''s hair around her face as walked to the edge, her boots clicking softly on the concrete.
She stopped, hands on her hips, and gazed out at the city. “This is it,” she said, her tone filled with excitement. “This is what I imagined when I thought about being a hero while reading comics. Standing on a rooftop, looking out at the city.”
“You sound… happy.” I approached.
She turned toward me, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I finally am, I think.”
I approached the edge of the rooftop, and as I did, my vision once again began to shift and expand. The familiar transformation overtook my senses, peeling back the surface of reality to reveal its intricate, underlying patterns. The Likeness—or luck—of everything in view broke down into three fundamental variables: shape, size, and color.
From this height, over a kilometer above the ground, the details of the city blurred into insignificance. Individual people and their actions faded into the grander design, but what replaced them was no less breathtaking. The metropolis below bloomed into a living tapestry of rainbow hues, each one radiating its own significance, its own prediction of past, present and possible futures:
Red pulses indicated danger, violence about to erupt.
Deep blues suggested stability, peace.
Yellow flares marked moments of opportunity.
Green showed growth, change in motion.
Purple signaled confusion or deception.
Orange warned of impending chaos.
Black meant certain death.
This knowledge was only surface level. Each color contained countless variations, each shade further divided into its own story. A blood-red wasn''t the same as a cherry-red—one might mean immediate violence, the other a building tension that could still be defused. The differences between navy blue and cerulean could mean the difference between lasting peace and temporary calm.
The shapes added another layer of meaning: Squares spoke of stability, Circles suggested cycles, Triangles warned of conflict, Spirals meant change was accelerating, Sharp angles indicated sudden changes in fortune, Broken patterns warned of unstable situations, Spiraling forms meant escalating situations, Dots represented isolated incidents, Waves showed rippling effects through time, Meshwork patterns indicated complex social interactions.
These symbols were maddeningly complex, even for me. Without two lifetimes of observation, I doubt I would have deciphered even a fraction of their meaning. And that was saying something, considering how much time I’d spent trying to make sense of them.
Much of my first life had been a living hell because of it.
Forming a meta nature didn’t come with a user manual or clear instructions; it was like being handed a powerful, alien machine and told to figure it out on your own.
And this was only my support nature. My meta nature—well, let’s not even start on that.
Over time, though, something strange happened. Maybe it was because I’d struggled so much, or maybe because of my repeated failures, but my meta nature seemed to adapt, shifting to make itself more interpretable. My human side, stubborn and endlessly resourceful, found ways to organize the chaos. Where once I’d seen random, jagged scribbles in the air—pointy, chaotic lines that twisted and darted without reason—I began to see shapes. Patterns. Often metaphoric ones.
For instance, a pleasant day might manifest as flowers blooming gently around someone. It was elegant, beautiful even. Easier to grasp at first glance. But the metaphors were deceptive—rarely as simple as they appeared. Flowers could mean peace, but they could also mean fragility or fleeting opportunities. Each one carried layers of meaning, evolving into new forms depending on the context. A clear sky one day might turn into a glaring eye the next, watching and judging. The interpretation was never fixed, always fluid.
Sometimes, though, the old chaos—the jagged squiggles and sharp angles—was clearer.
A man walking with a Mona Lisa from the famous painting dancing around him might seem poetic, but how was I supposed to decipher it? I can’t just say the man was Leonardo da Vinci, or that he wanted to meet Mona Lisa in real life. Not that it would be possible.
Thus, sometimes, it was easier to skip the metaphors altogether and read the raw, sharp lines for what they were—messy, uncomfortable, but honest.
Then there was the last variable, the one I liked most: size.
Unlike color or shape, size was simple, direct. It didn’t overcomplicate things with symbolism or metaphor. It told me how significant something would be, how far its ripples would spread. A towering mountain of light might mean an event that would change lives, while a tiny pebble glowing faintly might hint at a small, localized ripple—a moment that would matter to someone, but no one else.
Together, these variables created a vision unlike anything anyone else could perceive.
Basically the Likeness was a painting of varied size, colors, and objects.