Chapter 24 – The Orchestra of Death

  The silence that followed was worse than any scream.

  Gena's digital particles floated in the air like ashes of something sacred being desecrated. They glowed faintly — blue-white, pulsing in a rhythm that seemed to mimic a heartbeat. Then they began to rise, slowly, as if gravity had forgotten how to work on them.

  And then they disappeared.

  Completely.

  As if Gena had never existed.

  Josh was on his knees at the exact spot where she had died. Hands pressed against the ground, fingers digging into the earth as if he could find something — anything — that proved she had been real.

  — No... — the voice came out hoarse, broken. — No, no, **no**...

  His shoulders began to shake. Not from cold. From something much worse. From slow and brutal understanding piercing through his brain, destroying each illusion, each hope.

  She had been there. Laughing. Talking. **Alive**.

  Now there was no body. No grave. No goodbye.

  Only absence.

  — **GENA!** — the scream tore through his throat, echoing through the destroyed village.

  No one answered.

  The other players were scattered, motionless like broken statues. Some stared at the ground. Others at the sky. Cristina covered her mouth with both hands, tears flowing silently. Leandro just shook his head, denying, denying, **denying** a reality that refused to change.

  Andressa hugged Zuzu, both trembling. Esteban had his eyes closed, lips moving in prayer that no god in that place seemed to hear.

  San stood a few meters behind Júlia, fists clenched, jaw locked. He wanted to say something — anything — but the words died before forming.

  Jéssica observed everything with an empty expression. The controlled executive, the self-proclaimed leader, now just... observed. As if her brain had shut down something fundamental to keep functioning.

  And Júlia...

  Júlia stood in the center of that horrible silence, the longsword pointing downward, the tip of the simple blade touching the earth. The red knight's armor seemed too heavy now — not protection, but prison. Body rigid. Eyes fixed on the point where Gena had ceased to exist.

  *She was here. She was alive. And now...*

  The thought didn't complete. It stalled. Reset. Tried again.

  *But it's a game. Games have revives. Have respawns. Have...*

  It didn't.

  The truth hit like a frozen wave, repeated, relentless.

  **It. Didn't.**

  That's when the voice echoed from above.

  — **Very good, knight girl.**

  All eyes slowly rose.

  Up high, floating above the destruction he had created, the Maestro remained motionless. The black cloak absorbed the surrounding light like a gravitational hole. The grimoire pulsed softly at his side, pages turning with sounds that resembled sighs.

  The baton spun between his fingers in an almost casual movement.

  — **Still excited?**

  The tone was polite. Curious. Genuinely interested in the answer.

  As if asking about the weather.

  Júlia felt something tighten in her chest. Something cold and heavy descending down her throat, settling in her stomach like a stone.

  Everyone expected her to answer. She felt the gazes — San, Jéssica, the others. They always expected **her** to answer. To have energy. To smile. To say everything was okay.

  Her mouth opened.

  Nothing came out.

  She tried again. Her lips trembled. Something hot began to burn behind her eyes.

  *No. Don't cry. Heroes don't cry. Knights don't cry.*

  She forced her facial muscles to move. Pulled the corners of her mouth upward. Felt the skin stretching wrongly, artificially, **painfully**.

  A smile.

  Forced. Broken. A lie visible even to those who didn't know her.

  — It's... — the voice came out too thin, too high-pitched — ...it's just a game, right?

  Absolute silence.

  No one answered. No one agreed.

  Because everyone heard what she didn't say: *I don't believe that. Not one bit.*

  Júlia felt the smile waver. The tears began to burn stronger. She clenched her teeth. Maintained the expression. Because if she let it fall now — if she allowed the truth to hit her completely —

  *I'll break. And I won't be able to put myself back together.*

  San took half a step forward, his hand raising slightly. He wanted to touch her. Wanted to pull her away from that place. Wanted to scream that no, that it **wasn't** just a game, that Gena had been real and now was dead and none of this was normal or acceptable or—

  But he couldn't.

  Because the alternative — admitting out loud that this was real — would make everything **worse**.

  Above them, the Maestro observed Júlia with attention that seemed to pierce skin, muscle, bone. As if he saw something beyond. Something deeper.

  Then he laughed.

  It wasn't a loud laugh. It was a low sound, hoarse, carrying satisfaction almost... **appreciative**.

  — **Very good.** — he said, his voice echoing softly. — **Very, very good.**

  The baton rose again.

  — **Then let's turn up the music.**

  The grimoire **pulsed**.

  It wasn't a soft glow. It was a silent **explosion** of purple-black energy expanding in a wave that made the air visibly vibrate. The mirrors around them — dozens of them floating in impossible positions — began to tremble.

  The liquid surfaces undulated violently. No longer normal reflections. Something was moving **inside** them. Shadows. Shapes. Nameless things trying to force their way through.

  The music changed.

  The soft and disturbing sound that had been playing until then **distorted**. Violins screamed notes too high. Drums beat in irregular rhythm that made the heart race trying to keep up. Metals scraped like bones breaking.

  And voices.

  **Voices.**

  Hundreds of them, singing in a dead language, in harmony that shouldn't exist in the physical world.

  Júlia felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. The smile finally fell, replaced by an expression of growing horror.

  — What... — she whispered.

  The mirrors **exploded**.

  Not literally. But the surfaces tore like fabric being cut, opening holes that revealed **nothing** beyond — absolute void, absence of light, absence of existence.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  And **from them** they began to emerge.

  Soldiers.

  Or what **looked like** soldiers.

  They had no heads. Where there should be a neck, there was only an irregular stump ending in nothing. The bodies were humanoid but **wrong** — distorted proportions, limbs too long, joints bending at impossible angles.

  The skin wasn't skin. It was **shadow**. Black, pulsating, undulating like thick liquid adhered to bones. When they moved, the shadow left trails in the air that took seconds to dissipate.

  And the weapons.

  Each one wielded something different. Broken swords. Rusted axes. Shattered spears. Maces studded with nails. All stained with something dark that wasn't rust.

  Ten emerged.

  Then twenty.

  **Fifty.**

  They kept coming, emerging from the mirrors in constant flow, with no visible end. They fell to the ground with wet and wrong sounds, then slowly rose, nonexistent heads "turning" toward the group.

  As if they could **see** even without eyes.

  — Shit... — Leandro whispered, instinctively backing away.

  The music got louder. More **haunting**. The vocal sounds intensified — no longer singing, but **lamentation**. Crying. Muffled screams that seemed to come from cut throats.

  And then the rhythm changed.

  **Accelerated**.

  The headless soldiers reacted immediately. Bodies contracted, joints cracking in dry and horrible sounds. Weapons rose.

  And they began to run.

  It wasn't coordinated movement. It was **frenzy**. Like zombies — clumsy, stumbling over each other, but **fast**. Faster than they should be. Feet hitting the ground in chaotic rhythm that mixed with the music.

  Converging directly toward the players.

  — **PREPARE YOURSELVES!** — Jéssica screamed, her voice returning in an instant, pure survival instinct activating command mode.

  Her staff glowed intense dark blue. An arcane circle formed beneath her feet.

  — **Arcane Barrier!**

  A translucent wall of blue energy exploded in front of the group, intercepting the first wave. Five soldiers crashed against it with brutal force. The barrier trembled but held.

  — It won't last! — Jéssica shouted, sweat already dripping. — **ATTACK! NOW!**

  The group exploded into movement.

  Júlia was the first.

  Something in her **clicked**. Not conscious thought. Pure battle instinct.

  The sword rose. The body spun. And she advanced.

  The first soldier passed through the barrier the moment it failed. Júlia was already there. The blade descended in a perfect arc, cutting the arm wielding an axe. The limb fell. The soldier didn't even hesitate — attacked with the remaining arm.

  Júlia dodged, body spinning like a ballerina. The movement was **beautiful** — not just efficient, but artistically perfect. Her feet traced patterns on the ground. Her body flowed from one position to another without interruption.

  The sword cut again. Horizontal. Then vertical. Then diagonal. Each strike part of a deadly choreography she executed without thinking.

  The soldier fell in pieces.

  Another was already coming.

  Júlia leaped, spun in the air, landed behind it. Strike to the back. The blade pierced where the heart should be. The soldier collapsed.

  Three more were approaching.

  She danced among them. Literally **danced** — ballet steps mixed with fencing, body spinning, leaping, dodging. The red armor gleamed under the distorted light of the mirrors.

  Each strike was precise. Each movement, calculated. The knight she had always dreamed of being finally manifested.

  But her face...

  Her face was too tense. Eyes too wide. Breathing irregular.

  It wasn't excitement.

  It was desperation masked as competence.

  San had already disappeared.

  Literally.

  The shadows swallowed him like a protective cloak. Only occasionally did he reappear — always behind a soldier, always with daggers already in motion.

  Neck. Spine. Joints. He killed with surgical efficiency.

  A soldier turned to attack Júlia from behind. San materialized between them. Two daggers pierced through the shadowy torso. The soldier fell. San had already vanished again.

  He didn't speak. Didn't shout. Just **eliminated**.

  But his eyes always returned to Júlia. Checking. Making sure. Each death he executed had a single purpose: **keeping her alive**.

  Jéssica fought differently.

  She stayed in the center, staff raised, magic circles spinning around her. She commanded and attacked simultaneously.

  — Leandro, **left!** — she shouted.

  — Cristina, **cover!**

  — **ARCANE BLAST!**

  An explosion of dark blue energy detonated three soldiers, launching them backward. Before they fell, Jéssica was already tracing a new rune.

  — **Binding Chains!**

  Chains of light imprisoned five soldiers, temporarily immobilizing them.

  — Josh! **Now!**

  Josh advanced roaring. The adaptable class had already changed three times in ten seconds.

  **[SWORDSMAN]** — cut two soldiers.

  **[FIGHTER]** — punched through another's chest.

  **[ARCHER]** — fired three arrows piercing nonexistent skulls.

  But it wasn't technique. It was **rage**. Each strike carried fury that had nowhere to go except destruction.

  — **FOR GENA!** — he screamed, voice breaking.

  He destroyed each enemy he found. Without elegance. Without control. Just brute force and pain transformed into violence.

  Zuzu and Andressa fought together, backs protecting each other.

  — **Earth Lance!** — Zuzu shouted.

  Five stone spears exploded from the ground, impaling soldiers.

  — **Black Flames!** — Andressa conjured.

  Dark fire consumed three others.

  Cristina and Leandro worked in the synergy of experienced archers.

  — Three on the right! — Cristina shouted.

  — Got them! — Leandro responded.

  Arrows flew. Six soldiers fell with projectiles piercing where eyes should be.

  Esteban floated above, telekinesis active. Soldiers were thrown against walls. Others against each other. He manipulated the battlefield like a chess board.

  The battle was chaotic but functional. The group moved like a single organism. Decades of gaming experience manifesting as real instinct.

  But there were **many**.

  For every ten they killed, fifteen emerged from the mirrors.

  The music continued. Accelerated. The soldiers became more aggressive. More coordinated.

  That's when the Maestro pointed his baton.

  Directly at Cristina.

  The music **changed**.

  All the soldiers — **all of them** — stopped simultaneously. Turned the stumps where heads should be.

  And looked at her.

  Cristina felt it before she saw. She turned slowly.

  Hundreds of headless soldiers stared at her.

  — No... — she whispered.

  And they began to run.

  Not toward the group.

  Only toward **her**.

  — **CRISTINA!** — Leandro screamed.

  She reacted. Trained archer. Pulled three arrows simultaneously. Fired. Then three more. And three more.

  Nine soldiers fell.

  But **dozens** kept coming.

  — **Help me!** — she screamed, backing away, shooting nonstop.

  The group tried. Júlia ran. San materialized killing two blocking the path. Jéssica launched an arcane blast opening a clearing.

  But there were too many. And they converged only on Cristina.

  Like a black and relentless tide.

  She stumbled.

  Her foot caught on an exposed root. She fell backward, bow escaping from her hands.

  — **NO!** — Leandro screamed, running desperately.

  Too late.

  A shadowy hand grabbed her ankle. Pulled. Cristina tried to kick, scratch, anything.

  Another soldier arrived. Then another. Covering her like a swarm of insects.

  — **LET HER GO!** — Cristina screamed, voice breaking. — **PLEASE!**

  The weapons rose.

  Sword. Axe. Spear. Mace.

  They all descended at the same time.

  **THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.**

  Wet sounds. Horrible. Repeated.

  Cristina's body shuddered. Then went still.

  Digital particles began to float.

  — **CRISTINA!** — Leandro fell to his knees, screaming her name until his voice tore.

  The others stopped, breathing heavily, watching the particles rise.

  **[REMAINING PLAYERS: 8/10]**

  The Maestro laughed softly up above.

  The baton spun.

  Pointed.

  At Leandro.

  — **You're next.**

  The music exploded in intensity.

  The soldiers that had destroyed Cristina turned. Began to run.

  Straight toward Leandro.

  — **SHIT!** — he took off, trying to create distance.

  The group tried to reach him. Júlia ran. San followed. Josh screamed for him to run backward.

  That's when they felt it.

  Something **solid** under their feet.

  Júlia looked down.

  A mirror. Horizontal. Floating centimeters below her.

  — What... — she began.

  The Maestro's voice echoed, calm, almost gentle:

  — **Mirror Prison.**

  The mirror **glowed**.

  Júlia felt her body **freeze**.

  Not cold. **Paralysis**. Each muscle locking instantly. She couldn't move her fingers. Couldn't blink. Even breathing seemed impossible.

  *No. No!*

  She looked sideways with her eyes — the only movement allowed.

  San was equally paralyzed a few meters to the right. Jéssica to the left. Josh, Esteban, Zuzu, Andressa — all frozen in positions they had been in at the moment of the spell.

  And then something **worse**.

  Their heads began to move.

  Not by their own will. By **external force**.

  Júlia felt her neck turning slowly, painfully, muscles screaming in protest but obeying invisible command.

  It turned. Turned. Turned.

  Until she was looking directly at Leandro.

  Forced to watch.

  Leandro ran desperately, arrows flying over his shoulder without aim. Soldiers came from all sides. Faster. More organized.

  He stumbled over a villager's body. Rolled. Got up. Kept running.

  But a soldier jumped from atop a destroyed house.

  Landed in front of him.

  Leandro stopped, panting, eyes wide.

  — Please... — he whispered.

  Another soldier appeared behind. Then from the sides. Surrounded.

  He spun, looking for an exit. There was none.

  The soldiers advanced slowly. Savoring.

  Leandro fell to his knees, tears streaming.

  — Cristina... — he murmured. — I'm going to... going to find you...

  The soldiers all jumped at the same time.

  They covered him completely. A pile of shadowy bodies moving, attacking, destroying.

  Júlia couldn't close her eyes. Forced to see. Forced to watch every second.

  The sound was worse than the sight. Flesh tearing. Bones breaking. A scream cutting off abruptly.

  The pile dispersed.

  There was no body. Only digital particles floating where Leandro had been.

  **[REMAINING PLAYERS: 7/10]**

  Júlia felt tears streaming. She couldn't stop them. Couldn't look away even when the particles disappeared.

  San tried to scream but no sound came out. Josh trembled violently but didn't move. Jéssica cried silently.

  The Maestro's voice echoed again:

  — **I imagine you must be tired of this music.**

  Theatrical pause.

  — **But don't worry. I have much more where that came from.**

  The baton rose. Traced a complex pattern in the air.

  The grimoire **pulsed** violently. The pages turned so fast they became a blur.

  The music changed completely.

  No longer sinister orchestra.

  Now it was **choir**.

  Female and male voices singing in impossible harmony. Not a known language. Sounds that made the mind hurt trying to process.

  And something **new** began to happen.

  The baton spun. Pointed.

  At Andressa. Then Zuzu.

  — **This round is yours.**

  The mirrors under their feet **disappeared**.

  Andressa and Zuzu fell, instantly recovering movement. They rolled, got up stumbling.

  They looked forward.

  And froze.

  Emerging from the mirrors around them, something **different** appeared.

  Not headless soldiers.

  **Orcs**.

  But not normal orcs.

  They were giants. Three meters tall. Bodies made of pure shadow like the soldiers, but **solid**. Impossible muscles rippling under the darkness. In their hands, enormous axes that seemed made of solidified void.

  Three emerged.

  They began to walk. Slowly. Each step made the ground tremble.

  Andressa and Zuzu looked at each other. Absolute terror in their eyes.

  — We... we have to fight — Zuzu whispered, voice trembling.

  — I know — Andressa responded, already tracing a rune with trembling hand.

  The first orc was ten meters away. Then five.

  Zuzu raised his hands.

  — **I WON'T DIE!** — he shouted, more to convince himself. — **I WON'T!**

  — **Earth Lance!**

  Five stone spears exploded from the ground, flying straight at the orc.

  They pierced the chest. The back. The abdomen.

  The orc didn't even slow down.

  It kept walking, spears embedded, as if they were irrelevant.

  Andressa screamed a spell:

  — **Flames of Hell!**

  Black fire — **black** — exploded in a column consuming the orc completely.

  For three seconds, they saw nothing but flames.

  Then the orc emerged.

  Walking calmly. Fire still burning. No marks. No damage.

  As if nothing had happened.

  — That... that's not possible... — Zuzu whispered.

  The second orc was approaching from the right. The third from the left.

  Surrounded.

  Andressa and Zuzu tried to back away. Their backs bumped against each other.

  — We're going to die — Andressa whispered, tears streaming. — We're going to...

  — **NO!** — Zuzu screamed. — **I'M NOT GOING TO DIE HERE!**

  But his voice broke at the end.

  Because they knew.

  The front orc arrived first. Stopped. Raised the axe above its head.

  The other two approached from behind.

  Andressa closed her eyes.

  Zuzu looked directly at the orc.

  — **SORRY, MOM** — he screamed.

  The axes descended.

  The one in front hit Zuzu. Cut from shoulder to hip. Diagonal. Clean.

  One from behind hit Andressa. Horizontal. At waist height.

  Both bodies separated.

  Blood gushed. A lot of blood. Covering the ground. Painting the orcs' shadows bright red.

  The bodies fell. Shuddered. Went still.

  Digital particles began to form.

  **[REMAINING PLAYERS: 5/10]**

  The paralyzed group watched everything. Júlia felt vomit rising but couldn't expel it. San tried to close his eyes but couldn't. Jéssica trembled violently.

  Josh cried. Tears streaming nonstop. Seeing friends — **friends** — dying one by one.

  The Maestro floated above, observing with evident satisfaction even through the hood.

  The baton slowly spun between his fingers.

  Then pointed at Júlia.

  — So, little knight?

  The voice was soft. Almost affectionate.

  — Do you still think this is cool?

  Júlia couldn't answer. Tears streamed in torrents. Her mind screamed a thousand things simultaneously.

  This isn't right. This game is corrupted. What should I... what should I do?

  The Maestro's voice cut through her thoughts:

  — No, little knight.

  Júlia felt her blood freeze.

  He... he heard?

  — Nothing is corrupted here

  Absolute terror pierced through every cell. He could read minds.

  The Maestro laughed softly.

  — It's time to end this beautiful musical orchestra.

  The baton rose. The grimoire spun. The pages ignited with purple flames.

  The music changed again.

  Now it was... horrible.

  There was no adequate word. Sounds of people crying. Screaming. Begging. All mixed in cacophony that seemed to rip sanity directly from the brain.

  — Angels of Fear — the Maestro recited calmly.

  The mirrors pulsed.

  And something new began to emerge.

  Hooded figures. Not like the Maestro. Smaller. More human in form. Black hoods covering faces completely.

  In their hands, axes. Not of stone or metal. Of something black. Absorbing light.

  Ten emerged. Then twenty. Thirty.

  They fell to the ground silently. Rose. Turned toward the paralyzed group.

  And then the mirrors beneath Júlia, San, Josh, Jéssica, and Esteban disappeared.

  The paralysis broke instantly.

  Júlia fell to her knees, gasping, her body finally responding. San staggered, leaning against a destroyed wall. Josh collapsed, vomiting violently. Jéssica remained motionless, trembling. Esteban floated backward instinctively.

  The hooded figures began to move.

  They didn't run.

  They walked.

  Slowly. Axes dragging on the ground. The metallic sound echoing.

  Júlia tried to stand. Her legs failed. She tried to hold the sword. Her fingers didn't respond properly.

  She looked around.

  Josh was still vomiting. San was breathing as if he had run for miles. Jéssica stared at her own hands trembling.

  Only five remained.

  Out of ten.

  Half had died.

  And the nightmare still wasn't over.

  The hooded figures kept approaching. Twenty meters. Fifteen. Ten.

  Júlia finally managed to stand, leaning on the sword like a cane.

  She looked up.

  The Maestro watched. Waiting. Appreciating.

  The baton rose again, ready to conduct the next movement of the macabre symphony.

  And Júlia realized, with terrible and absolute clarity:

  They weren't going to win.

  They never had a chance.

  This was never a test.

  It was execution.