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.

want it to sound like a piano, I just have

bronze Earth Force thinned out, becoming as thin as

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

I want it to sound like a

But this time,

Earth Force, causing it to vibrate and release a soothing

hear a hundred different instruments with

guessing the mallet

it isn't necessary. Much like your pen, it is nothing more than a guide. When you are in your strongest battle form, bringing out a pen or a

have strong enough attainments, or else you would just end

could already imagine Leonel failing. The sight of his nephew trying to strike the air

only shake his head. His uncle really was too much like his dad. If he wanted love, it seemed he could only rely on

a paint brush appeared after he finished laughing. Somehow, the air he gave off now was

your heart guides the core principle of your Absolute Domain. However, it is the brush

becoming sharper and sharper as

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

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