Dimensional Descent

The music became something beyond just its notes and its resonance. It painted the atmosphere itself, deciding the rhythm of Leonel's heart and plucking the strings of his emotion. It was almost like nothing else mattered but the sounds he was hearing, even what was truly before his eyes no longer mattered.

When the music stopped, Leonel sat in silence for a long while, unmoving. His blood boiled, rushing through his veins like flood dragons. The beating of his heart thrummed like the roar of beasts.

It took him several moments to calm and realize that the music he had just heard sounded nothing like a xylophone. It felt like an entire orchestra was roaring at him.

Strings, brass, wind and wood instruments. It was far fuller than a single instrument could possibly hope to replicate. He couldn't understand how such a thing had been replicated.

When he snapped out of his daze, his brows furrowed as he tried to understand.

"Are you confused?"

"Yes," Leonel replied without hesitation.

In return, he gained a mallet to the forehead. Only when he started rubbing his forehead again, did Montez begin to explain.

"When you create your own instrument, you can make it sound like whatever you want it to sound like. If I want it to sound like a xylophone, I simply strike."

DONG!

Montez struck simply, allowing the metal on mallet sound to resound.

like a piano, I just have to change its

thick bar of illusory silver bronze Earth Force thinned

it sounded no different from the hammer of a piano landing, almost as though Montez had pressed

to sound like a flute, I

string changed form again, becoming thicker. But this time, when Montez

illusory Earth Force, causing it to vibrate

I want you to hear

the

a pen or a mallet isn't possible. Though, I guess if you want

to have strong enough attainments, or else you would just

though he could already imagine Leonel failing. The sight of his nephew trying to strike the air with a mallet, only to be cut in half by

only shake his head. His uncle really was too much like his dad. If he wanted

over, his mallet vanished, and a paint brush appeared after he finished laughing. Somehow, the air he gave off now was far more profound

the core principle of your Absolute Domain. However, it is the brush and dreams of

becoming sharper and sharper as he lowered it to the

line. A dozen strokes sets a foundation. A hundred strokes sets a tone. A thousand strokes decides

through the room. A hundred strokes forced these blades to take form, circulating around Montez. A thousand strokes made the blades sing,