Chapter 25 – When the Music Dies
The music changed.
It wasn’t a smooth transition. It was **rupture**. As if the very fabric of reality had been torn and stitched back together with the wrong thread.
The chorus of distorted voices vanished, replaced by something far worse. Much worse.
**Crying.**
Not one cry. **Hundreds** of them. Overlapping, out of sync, creating a cacophony of despair that seemed to come from inside the players’ own skulls. Children begging. Women screaming names. Men sobbing uncontrollably.
Sounds of people who had lost everything. Sounds of broken souls.
Júlia felt her stomach churn. Her hands shook so badly she could barely hold her sword.
The Maestro floated above, baton raised, conducting that symphony of horror with delicate, almost **tender** movements.
**“It’s time,”** the voice echoed, soft as velvet over broken glass, **“to bring this beautiful musical orchestra to an end.”**
The baton traced a complex pattern in the air. The grimoire **exploded** into purple flames that didn’t burn—they only consumed the surrounding light, creating deeper darkness.
**“Angels of Fear.”**
The mirrors pulsed violently.
And **they** began to emerge.
Hooded figures. Black hoods completely covering their faces. Tattered robes dragging on the ground. In their hands, axes that seemed made of absence—too black, absorbing light, hurting the eyes to look at directly.
Ten emerged. Twenty. Thirty.
They fell to the ground silently, rose with wrong movements—joints bending at angles human bones shouldn’t allow.
Then the mirrors beneath the five players **disappeared**.
The paralysis broke instantly.
Júlia dropped to her knees, gasping. San staggered, leaning against a ruined wall. Jéssica stood frozen, staring at her own trembling hands. Esteban floated backward, breathing unevenly.
Josh vomited violently, his entire body convulsing.
When he finally stopped, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Raised his face.
And saw.
The Maestro. Floating. Watching. **Savoring**.
Something broke inside him.
It wasn’t a conscious decision. It was **explosion**.
**“YOU SON OF A BITCH!”** — the scream tore through his throat, voice cracking with pure fury.
Josh charged.
His adaptable class shifted instantly—**[SWORDSMAN]**. The sword appeared in his hand, glowing with light that seemed fueled by rage turned into energy.
He ran faster than should have been possible. The world blurred. Only the Maestro existed—single target, absolute focus.
One of the hooded figures leapt in front of him.
Josh didn’t slow.
The sword cut in a perfect arc. The creature’s body split vertically, the two halves falling in opposite directions.
He kept running, stepping over the remains, eyes locked on—
“Josh…”
The voice came from behind.
Weak. Familiar. **Impossible**.
Josh stopped. His entire body froze.
No. It can’t be.
He turned slowly.
And saw.
**Gena.**
Split in half. The two halves of her body still joined but separated, revealing insides that should have been hidden. Blood poured—far too much—drenched her clothes, dripping onto the ground in spreading pools.
But she **lived**.
Her eyes were open. Focused on him. Her mouth moved, blood trickling from the corners.
“Josh…” she whispered, voice broken, painful. “Why… why did you kill me?”
The world vanished.
No village. No Maestro. No other players.
Just Gena. Split. Bleeding. Looking at him with absolute betrayal.
“No…” Josh’s voice came out strangled. “No, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…”
The sword slipped from his hands, clanging against the ground like a condemnation.
He ran to her, dropping to his knees, hands outstretched but shaking too much to touch.
“Gena, I’m so sorry!” Tears streamed uncontrollably. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I didn’t—”
“Shh…” she whispered, raising a hand. “It’s okay…”
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The hand touched his face. Cold. Wet with blood. But **real**.
Josh felt something shatter in his chest. He sobbed, hugging her body carefully, as if he could put the pieces back together, as if he could undo what he had done.
“It’s going to be okay,” Gena murmured against his shoulder. “I forgive you…”
Josh felt relief explode like a wave. He cried harder, holding her tighter.
“Thank you… thank you…”
That was when he felt it.
Something cold touching his throat.
Then **piercing**.
The pain exploded instantly. Not as he had imagined. Worse. Much worse. As if every nerve had been lit at once.
Josh tried to scream. No sound came—only a wet gurgle as blood filled his windpipe.
He staggered back, hands flying to his throat.
He saw Gena’s arm—still extended, holding the blood-covered dagger.
And the smile.
It wasn’t hers. It never had been.
Her face began to distort, skin melting like wax, revealing **nothing** underneath—just pulsing black void.
Josh dropped to his knees. The world spun. Blood poured between his fingers, hot, abundant, **unstoppable**.
He tried to crawl. Toward the others. Toward the help he knew wouldn’t come.
Every movement was agony. Every breath impossible.
His eyes found Júlia—frozen, paralyzed, watching.
*Help me. Please.*
But no sound came out.
The world darkened at the edges. Then in the center.
Then **everything**.
**[PLAYERS REMAINING: 4/10]**
---
Esteban floated a few meters off the ground, watching Josh collapse.
The body shuddered one last time. Then went still.
Digital particles began to float upward.
*Shit. Shit. We need to get out of here. NOW.*
He turned, preparing to shout for the others to run—
Something **pierced** his back.
The pain was absolute. Immediate. Passing from stomach to front, the blade emerging covered in red.
Esteban looked down, incredulous.
Blood ran from his mouth. He tried to use telekinesis, but concentration **vanished**, dissolved by pain that occupied every thought.
The sword withdrew.
Esteban fell, landing hard, levitation failing completely.
He rolled onto his back, gasping, hands pressing the wound uselessly.
A figure approached.
An elderly woman. White hair in a bun. Wrinkled but kind face. Warm smile.
**Impossible.**
“Grandma…?” his voice came out broken, disbelieving.
“It’s been a while, my grandson,” she said, voice exactly as he remembered. Soft. Loving.
She knelt beside him, running her hand through his hair the way she did when he was a child.
Esteban felt tears burning.
“I’m so sorry…” he whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit… I wasn’t there when you… when you…”
“Shh,” she interrupted gently. “It doesn’t matter.”
The smile widened.
“We’ll be together soon, my grandson.”
The sword came down again.
It pierced his chest. Through the heart.
Esteban saw her face—still smiling, still kind—as she twisted the blade, destroying organs, **finishing**.
The last thing he saw was that smile.
**[PLAYERS REMAINING: 3/10]**
---
Jéssica stood frozen, trembling, watching Esteban dissolve into particles.
*Three. Only three left. We need—*
Hands grabbed her ankles.
Pulled.
Jéssica fell face-first, chin slamming the ground hard enough to make her teeth clack. She tried to kick, twist, anything—
More hands. On her wrists. Arms. Legs.
Dozens of them.
They dragged her, turned her onto her back.
And she saw the faces.
**Human.**
Not monsters. Not creatures. **People.**
Men. Women. Young. Old. All looking at her with pure hatred.
“We want our pay,” a man in a suit said.
**“WE WANT OUR PAY!”** a woman repeated.
**“WE WANT OUR PAY!”** the chorus exploded.
Jéssica tried to speak, voice high and desperate:
“I’ll pay! Please, let me go! I’ll pay all of you! With interest! **PLEASE!”**
But they didn’t release her. They only squeezed tighter.
Through the crowd, she saw.
An older man approaching. Worn suit. Holding a knife that gleamed under the distorted light.
He stopped in front of her.
Leaned down.
“Do you remember me, Jéssica?” he asked calmly. “You said I was **disposable**.”
Her eyes widened.
*No. NO.*
The knife rose.
“Now…” he whispered “…you are.”
---
San was **screaming**.
Not words. Just pure, raw, **animal** sound.
Snakes.
**Hundreds** of them.
Covering the ground around him, bodies intertwining, forked tongues flicking, hissing filling the air like an infernal choir.
He was in the center, spinning, slapping at himself, trying to fend off things that weren’t really there but **felt** real.
“GET OUT! **GET OUT!**” he cried, voice breaking.
He fell to his knees, hands covering his face, body convulsing.
His mind shattered. Completely. Irreversibly.
---
Above it all, the Maestro conducted that symphony of suffering.
The baton rose and fell gracefully. Every movement perfectly synchronized with every scream, every plea, every **break**.
**“Perfect,”** he murmured to himself. “Simply… **sublime.”**
Then he turned his attention.
To the only one who hadn’t completely broken yet.
**“And you, little knight?”** the voice echoed, soft as ever. **“Still think all of this is exciting?”**
Júlia stood motionless.
She didn’t answer. She didn’t move.
She just watched.
San writhing. Jéssica being dragged. The bodies of Josh and Esteban dissolving.
*I need to do something. I need to help. I need—*
Her fists clenched.
*No. ENOUGH.*
She began to run. Straight toward the Maestro. Sword raised. No plan. Just **rage**.
His voice echoed, almost amused:
**“Ah, I have a gift for you too.”**
Júlia ran faster—
“Júlia…”
The voice came from the side.
Soft. Familiar. **Beloved**.
Her legs stopped on their own.
No. Please, no.
She turned her face slowly.
And saw.
**Three figures.**
Mother. Father. Sister.
Exactly as she remembered. The faces. The clothes. The way they stood.
Her mother stepped forward.
“Why did you abandon us, Júlia?”
The world collapsed.
The sword fell from her hands.
“I…” her voice failed. “I didn’t…”
Her father shook his head, disappointed.
“We always knew you’d choose this over us.”
Her sister—the **little** sister—looked at her with teary eyes.
“You promised you’d come back…”
Júlia dropped to her knees.
There was no strength. No will. **Nothing**.
Just guilt. Crushing. Absolute.
*They’re right. They always were. I abandoned them. Why? To play hero? To pretend I was special?*
Tears streamed silently.
*I don’t deserve to live. Not after what I did.*
She accepted.
She waited.
For the end she deserved.
---
Above, the Maestro watched, satisfaction overflowing.
**“Perfect,”** he whispered. “This is **exactly** the ending I wanted to see.”
The baton rose for the final movement—
Then he saw.
On the horizon. Distant but **unmistakable**.
Light.
Not ordinary. **Sacred**.
Golden-white. Pulsing. Rising from the ground like a pillar connecting earth and sky.
**“Damn it,”** the word came out sharp.
Those damned fools always arrive at the best moments.
He assessed quickly. Three targets remaining. The light approaching. Not enough time to finish.
*I can’t risk it. Not against them.*
The baton lowered.
The music **stopped**.
The silence that followed was so absolute it hurt physically.
The snakes around San **vanished**. Júlia’s family dissolved into mist. The hands holding Jéssica released, the figures evaporating.
The Maestro descended slowly until he was visible to the three survivors.
**“You were very lucky today,”** he said, his voice carrying genuine irritation for the first time. **“Far too lucky.”**
The baton spun between his fingers.
**“But every good performance deserves an encore. And I **always** return to finish my compositions.”**
A gigantic mirror materialized behind him. Its surface rippled, reflecting not the village, but something **beyond**—darkness moving like a living thing.
**“Until next time, little broken notes,”** he whispered, stepping backward.
And disappeared through the mirror.
The structure dissolved. The mist began to dissipate rapidly, as if something were pushing it away.
Natural light returned. Weak. Gray. But **real**.
The village was fully revealed.
Absolute destruction. Houses torn apart. Bodies of inhabitants scattered. Blood covering streets, walls, everything.
And in the center, three figures.
San curled up, arms around his knees, trembling violently.
Jéssica sitting, laughing. Loud, hysterical, **broken** sound.
Júlia on her knees, staring at nothing, tears streaming silently.
---
Footsteps.
Three pairs.
From the depths of the dissipating mist, they emerged.
Blue cloth armor. Cloaks of the same color with golden embroidered edges. The symbol of a goddess—a circle with inner flames—glowed discreetly on their breastplates.
**Soldiers of the Church of Nellis.**
The first was a tall man with short blue hair, expression carved in stone. He wielded a long sword still faintly glowing with residual sacred energy. Perfect military posture.
He approached Josh first. Knelt. Closed the body’s eyes with respect.
“We arrived too late,” he murmured, voice heavy with weight.
The second was a woman with shoulder-length blond hair, loose but tousled by wind. Expression relaxed, almost casual, but her eyes showed deep sadness. She whistled low at the destruction.
“Damn… the Maestro really outdid himself this time.”
She was already casting healing before even asking, hands glowing warm gold.
The third was a man with messy black hair, curious expression studying everything around him. He examined a fragment of broken mirror, turning it over, eyes gleaming analytically.
“Emotional reflection magic… quite sophisticated,” he murmured.
He stopped when he saw Júlia. His expression softened.
The blond woman approached San. Extended her hand to touch his shoulder—
He **attacked**.
Pure reflex. Dagger appearing from nowhere, slicing the air where she had been.
She blocked effortlessly, hand glowing, gently deflecting the blade.
“Hey, hey…” her voice calm, comforting. “It’s over. You’re safe now.”
San looked at her. Then at his own trembling hand.
He dropped the dagger. Began to cry.
The blue-haired man held Jéssica, preventing her from hurting herself while she laughed.
“I’ll pay… I’ll pay… how much do you want?” she repeated between giggles.
“No one wants anything,” he said firmly. “You’re safe.”
The black-haired man approached Júlia slowly. Knelt in front of her, respecting distance.
“Can you hear me?”
Júlia didn’t answer. She just stared through him.
When the blond woman tried to help her stand, Júlia **recoiled** violently, falling backward.
**“Don’t touch me,”** her voice came out dead. Empty. Without any emotion.
The woman stepped back, hands raised.
“Okay. I won’t touch.”
The blue-haired man stood, observing the three survivors.
“You were **lucky** to survive,” he said simply. “Thank the Goddess Nellis.”
There was no grandeur. Just fact.
San didn’t respond. Jéssica kept laughing. Júlia stared at nothing.
The village inhabitants began to wake from the trance. The first screams started as they saw the bodies.
Chaos returned.
“We need to leave here,” the blue-haired man said. “**Now**.”
They helped the three stand—San supported by the blond woman, Jéssica held by the curious man, Júlia walking alone but staggering.
They walked through the destruction.
Past shattered houses. Bodies of inhabitants. Pools of blood already coagulating.
Júlia looked at everything without seeing.
*Half. Half died.*
*And I did nothing.*
The group left the village behind.
The daylight—gray, weak, but **real**—greeted them.
But none of the three survivors felt it.
They just walked.
Living bodies.
Broken souls.
And behind them, in the silence of the ravaged village, the distant echo of music that had never truly ended.
It was only… **waiting**.
