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

thick bar of illusory silver bronze Earth Force thinned out, becoming

hammer of a piano landing, almost

to sound like a flute, I simply don't

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

illusory Earth Force, causing it to vibrate and release

only as limited as your imagination. If I want you to hear a hundred different instruments with nothing more than a single strike, it wouldn't be difficult for

I'm guessing the mallet isn't

strongest battle form, bringing out a pen or a mallet isn't possible. Though, I guess if you want to play around a bit, it wouldn't be impossible

attainments, or else you would just end up embarrassing

of his nephew trying to strike the

really was too much like his dad. If he wanted love, it seemed

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

of your heart guide the stroke of your spear. Your mallet and the music of your heart guides the

his gaze becoming sharper and sharper as he lowered it to the unfurled

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

sounds of sharpening blades to resonate through the room. A hundred strokes forced these blades to take form, circulating around Montez. A thousand strokes made the blades sing, the canvas shimmering with a blinding