The music changed.
It wasn't a smooth transition. It was **rupture**. As if the very fabric of reality had been torn and stitched with the wrong thread.
The choir of distorted voices disappeared, replaced by something worse. Much worse.
**Crying.**
Not one cry. **Hundreds** of them. Overlapping, desynchronized, creating a cacophony of despair that seemed to come from inside the players' own skulls. Children begging. Women screaming names. Men sobbing without control.
Sounds of people who had lost everything. Sounds of broken souls.
Julia felt her stomach churn. Her hands trembled so much she could barely hold the sword.
The Maestro floated above, baton raised, conducting that symphony of horror with delicate, almost **affectionate** movements.
— **It's time** — the voice echoed, soft as velvet over broken glass — **to end this beautiful musical orchestra.**
The baton traced a complex pattern in the air. The grimoire **exploded** in 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, making eyes hurt to look directly at them.
Ten emerged. Twenty. Thirty.
They fell to the ground silently, rose with wrong movements — joints bending at angles that human bones didn't allow.
Then the mirrors under the five players **disappeared**.
The paralysis broke instantly.
Julia fell to her knees, gasping. San staggered, leaning against a destroyed wall. Jessica remained motionless, staring at her own trembling hands. Esteban floated backward, breathing irregular.
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. **Appreciating**.
Something broke inside him.
It wasn't a conscious decision. It was an **explosion**.
— **YOU SON OF A BITCH!** — the scream tore through his throat, voice breaking in pure fury.
Josh charged.
The adaptable class changed instantly — **[SWORDSMAN]**. The sword appeared in his hand, glowing with light that seemed fueled by rage transformed into energy.
He ran faster than should be possible. The world became a blur. Only the Maestro existed — single target, absolute focus.
One of the hooded figures jumped in front of him.
Josh didn't even slow down.
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 fixed 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 together but separated, revealing an interior that should have been hidden. Blood flowed — so much blood — soaking her clothes, dripping on the ground in puddles that spread.
But she was **alive**.
Her eyes were open. Focused on him. Her mouth moved, blood dripping from the corners.
— Josh... — she whispered, voice broken, painful. — Why... why did you kill me?
The world disappeared.
There was no village. No Maestro. No other players.
Only Gena. Split. Bleeding. Looking at him with an expression of absolute betrayal.
— No... — Josh's voice came out strangled. — No, I didn't... I didn't mean to...
The sword fell from his hands, hitting the ground with a metallic sound that echoed like condemnation.
He ran to her, falling to his knees, hands extended but trembling too much to touch.
— Gena, I'm sorry! — tears flowed without control. — I'm sorry, I didn't know, I didn't—
— Shh... — she whispered, raising a hand. — It's okay...
The hand touched his face. Cold. Wet with blood. But **real**.
Josh felt something break in his chest. He sobbed, embracing her body carefully, as if he could put the pieces together, as if he could undo what he had done.
— Everything will be okay — Gena murmured against his shoulder. — I forgive you...
Josh felt relief exploding like a wave. He cried harder, squeezing her.
— Thank you... thank you...
That's 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 ignited simultaneously.
Josh tried to scream. No sound came out — only wet gurgling as blood filled his trachea.
He pulled away staggering, hands going to his throat.
He saw Gena's arm — still extended, holding a dagger studded with blood.
And the smile.
It wasn't hers. Never had been.
The face began to distort, skin melting like wax, revealing **nothing** underneath — only black and pulsating void.
Josh fell to his knees. The world spun. Blood gushed between his fingers, hot, abundant, **unstoppable**.
He tried to crawl. Toward the others. Toward help he knew wouldn't come.
Every movement was agony. Every breath impossible.
His eyes found Julia — standing, paralyzed, watching.
*Help me. Please.*
But no sound came out.
The world darkened at the edges. Then in the center.
Then **everything**.
**[REMAINING PLAYERS: 4/10]**
---
Esteban floated a few meters above the ground, watching Josh fall.
The body convulsed one last time. Then went still.
Digital particles began to float.
*Shit. Shit. We need to get out of here. NOW.*
He turned, preparing to shout for the others to flee—
Something **pierced** his back.
The pain was absolute. Immediate. Passing through from stomach to emerge from the front, blade emerging covered in red.
Esteban looked down, incredulous.
Blood dripped from his mouth. He tried to use telekinesis, but concentration **vanished**, dissolved by pain that occupied every thought.
The sword withdrew.
Esteban fell, landing heavily, levitation failing completely.
He rolled onto his back, gasping, hands pressing the wound uselessly.
A figure approached.
Elderly woman. White hair in a bun. Wrinkled but kind face. Warm smile.
**Impossible.**
— Grandma...? — the voice came out broken, incredulous.
— It's been so long, my grandson — she said, voice exactly as he remembered. Soft. Loving.
She knelt beside him, running her hand through his hair as she did when he was a child.
Esteban felt tears burning.
— I'm sorry... — he whispered. — Sorry for not visiting you... for not being 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 descended again.
Pierced his chest. Went through his 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.
**[REMAINING PLAYERS: 3/10]**
---
Jessica stood, trembling, watching Esteban dissolve into particles.
*Three. Three remain. We need to—*
Hands grabbed her ankles.
Pulled.
Jessica fell face-first, chin hitting the ground with force that made teeth clatter. She tried to kick, turn, anything—
More hands. On her wrists. On her arms. On her legs.
Dozens of them.
They pulled her, turned her onto her back.
And she saw the faces.
**Humans.**
Not monsters. Not creatures. **People**.
Men. Women. Young. Old. All looking at her with pure hatred.
— We want our salary — said a man in a suit.
— **We want our salary!** — repeated a woman.
— **WE WANT OUR SALARY!** — the chorus exploded.
Jessica tried to speak, voice coming out high-pitched, desperate:
— I'll pay! Please, let me go! I'll pay all of you! With interest! **PLEASE!**
But they didn't let go. Only squeezed tighter.
Through the crowd, she saw.
A man approaching. Older. Worn suit. Holding a knife that gleamed under the distorted light.
He stopped before her.
Leaned down.
— Remember me, Jessica? — 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 sound, torn, **animal**.
Snakes.
**Hundreds** of them.
They covered the ground around him, bodies intertwining, forked tongues flicking out, hissing filling the air like an infernal chorus.
He was in the center, spinning, slapping himself, trying to get rid of things that weren't really there but **felt** real.
— GET OFF! **GET OFF!** — he cried, voice breaking.
He fell to his knees, hands covering his face, body contorting.
His mind was breaking. Completely. No return.
---
Above it all, the Maestro conducted that symphony of suffering.
The baton rose and fell gracefully. Each movement synchronized perfectly with each scream, each plea, each **break**.
— **Perfect** — he murmured to himself. — Simply... **sublime**.
Then he turned his attention.
To the only one who hadn't completely broken yet.
— **So, little knight?** — the voice echoed, soft as always. — **Do you still find all this exciting?**
Julia was motionless.
She didn't respond. Didn't move.
Just observed.
San contorting. Jessica being dragged. Josh and Esteban's bodies dissolving.
*I need to do something. I need to help. I need to—*
Her fists clenched.
*No. ENOUGH.*
She began to run. Directly toward the Maestro. Sword raised. No plan. Just **rage**.
His voice echoed, almost amused:
— **Ah, I have a gift for you too.**
Julia ran faster—
— Julia...
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 took a step forward.
— Why did you abandon us, Julia?
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 — her **little** sister — looked with teary eyes.
— You promised you'd come back...
Julia fell to her knees.
There was no strength. No will. No **nothing**.
Only guilt. Crushing. Absolute.
*They're right. They always were. I abandoned them. Why? To play hero? To pretend I was special?*
Tears flowed silently.
*I don't deserve to live. Not after what I did.*
She accepted it.
Waited.
For the end she deserved.
---
Above, the Maestro watched, satisfaction overflowing.
— **Perfect** — he whispered. — This is **the** ending I wanted to see.
The baton rose for the final movement—
Then he saw it.
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 bastards always arrive at the best moments.
He assessed quickly. Three remaining targets. Light approaching. Insufficient 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 **disappeared**. Julia's family dissolved into mist. The hands holding Jessica released, the figures evaporating.
The Maestro descended slowly until visible to the three survivors.
— You were **very lucky** today — he said, voice carrying genuine irritation for the first time. — **Too** lucky.
The baton spun between his fingers.
— But every good performance deserves an **encore**. And I **always** return to finish my compositions.
A giant mirror materialized behind him. The surface rippled, reflecting not the village, but something **beyond** — darkness moving like a living thing.
— See you soon, little **broken notes** — he whispered, taking a step back.
And disappeared through the mirror.
The structure dissolved. The fog began to dissipate rapidly, as if something was pushing it away.
Natural light returned. Weak. Gray. But **real**.
The village revealed itself completely.
Absolute destruction. Shattered houses. Inhabitants' bodies scattered. Blood covering streets, walls, everything.
And in the center, three figures.
San curled up, arms around his knees, trembling violently.
Jessica sitting, laughing. Sound loud, hysterical, **broken**.
Julia on her knees, staring at nothing, tears streaming silently.
---
Footsteps.
Three pairs.
From the depths of the dissipating fog, they emerged.
Blue cloth armor. Cloaks of the same color with golden traces embroidered on the edges. The symbol of a goddess — circle with internal flames — glowed discreetly on their breastplates.
**Soldiers of the Church of Nellis.**
The first was a tall man, short blue hair, serious expression carved in stone. He wielded a longsword that still glowed faintly 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, deep voice carrying weight.
The second was a woman with blonde hair to her shoulders, loose but disheveled by wind. Relaxed expression, almost casual, but her eyes showed deep sadness. She whistled low seeing the destruction.
— Wow... the Maestro really outdid himself this time.
She was already conjuring healing before even asking, hands glowing warm gold.
The third was a man with messy black hair, curious expression studying everything around. He examined a fragment of broken mirror, turning it, eyes gleaming analytically.
— Emotional reflection magic... quite sophisticated — he murmured.
He stopped when he saw Julia. His expression softened.
The blonde woman approached San. Extended her hand to touch his shoulder—
He **attacked**.
Pure reflex. Dagger appearing from nowhere, cutting the air where she had been.
She blocked with unnatural ease, hand glowing, deflecting the blade gently.
— Hey, hey... — calm voice, reassuring. — 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 Jessica, preventing her from hurting herself while she laughed.
— I'll pay... I'll pay... how much do you want? — she repeated between guffaws.
— Nobody wants anything — he said firmly. — You're safe.
The black-haired man approached Julia slowly. Knelt in front of her, respecting distance.
— Can you hear me?
Julia didn't respond. Just stared through him.
When the blonde woman tried to help her stand, Julia **recoiled** violently, falling backward.
— **Don't touch me** — the voice came out dead. Empty. Without any emotion.
The woman retreated, hands raised.
— Okay. I won't touch you.
The blue-haired man stood up, observing the three survivors.
— You were **lucky** to have survived — he said simply. — Thank the Goddess Nellis.
There was no grandiosity. Just fact.
San didn't respond. Jessica kept laughing. Julia stared at nothing.
The village inhabitants began to wake from the trance. The first screams began when they saw the bodies.
Chaos returned.
— We need to get out of here — the blue-haired man said. — **Now**.
They helped the three to stand — San supported by the blonde woman, Jessica held by the curious man, Julia walking alone but staggering.
They walked through the destruction.
Passed by shattered houses. Inhabitants' bodies. Puddles of blood already coagulating.
Julia looked at everything without seeing.
*Half. Half died.*
*And I did nothing.*
The group left the village behind.
The daylight — gray, weak, but **real** — received them.
But none of the three survivors felt it.
They just walked.
Living bodies.
Broken souls.
And behind them, in the silence of the devastated village, the distant echo of a music that never really ended.
It just... **waited**.