The world felt as if an invisible baton had lifted it up.
Without warning, every sound on the battlefield—screams, explosions, sobs, laughter—suddenly fell into rhythm. The marching of the soul-armies became a drumbeat, memories exploding like clashing cymbals, and the torn wails stretched into flute-like notes.
Nothingness proclaimed with satisfaction:"Welcome to the premiere of Death Symphony! Composer: Humanity. Conductor: Despair."
And it really did raise a conductor's baton—an abomination stitched from countless hands. As it swung, broken fingers snapped off, ticking like a grotesque metronome.
—Bang!
The first heavy note struck. A colossal spirit collapsed, its bones cracking apart in a sound that slotted neatly into the bass line. Another fusion of souls detonated, cries and blasts merging into a blaring brass section.
Ethan's eardrums buzzed with the "music." He cursed:"Damn it, even the dead rehearse better than we do."
The accountant muttered dryly:"No, this isn't rehearsal. This is mockery. Even death refuses silence—it insists on becoming a symphony. Tell me, hasn't human absurdity infected the void?"
The performance went on.
A legion of teeth chattered a demented percussion line—clack clack clack—like rain hammering a tin roof.A cluster of eyeball-creatures shrieked, each note a violin screech sharp enough to flay nerves.Half-dissolved souls whispered ghostly background vocals, humming like a haunted choir.
The battlefield had turned into an orchestra of madness.
Every step Ethan took landed on a "beat." He feared that if he kept walking, he'd become part of some twisted choreography.
Then Nothingness announced, like a master of ceremonies:"Next movement—solo! Presenting: humanity's protagonist!"
At once, thousands of souls rushed Ethan. Not to kill, but to drag his screams and flesh into the score.
He roared in fury. The sound tore the air, absorbed instantly into the arrangement—transformed into a booming horn solo. The souls leapt with joy, as if applauding the soloist.
"Shit!" Ethan snarled. "I'm not even dead yet, and I'm already background music!"
The accountant clapped his shoulder with deadpan cruelty:"Don't worry. Once you're dead, you'll get to be the main theme."
—Bang! Bang! Bang!
The tempo quickened, driving the carnage into a manic crescendo. The sky fractured, raining shards that struck the ground like piano keys. The underworld crumbled, yet somehow stayed perfectly in tune.
"When does this piece end?" Ethan asked, exhaustion seeping into his voice.
Nothingness chuckled: "When every soul has played its part."
In other words—when all were dead.
Ethan laughed, brittle and insane."Fine. Let me add my own melody."
He bit his palm and spilled blood onto the ground. The steam rose into a warped aria: his mother's sigh, his comrades' laughter, the regrets he never spoke aloud. It wasn't music but a messy recording—and yet it struck the souls deeply.
They froze. For a moment, the rhythm collapsed.
Nothingness roared, furious:"Stay in tune! This is Death Symphony, not a human funeral chorus!"
But in that brief dissonance, Ethan realized the truth: the symphony wasn't flawless. It relied on human suffering for its melody. Twist that suffering, and the rhythm unraveled.
He chuckled."So even death needs us to keep the beat. Nothingness is just a parasite conductor."
His laughter echoed through the battlefield, mingling with blasts, cries, and illusions, writing a new, chaotic score.
The symphony didn't stop—but its purity was broken. Nothingness raged, souls scrambled, and the battlefield swelled into a grotesque improvisation.
The Death Symphony had spiraled into a frenzied climax.