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

of illusory silver bronze Earth Force thinned out, becoming as thin

piano landing, almost as though Montez had pressed a key rather

to sound like a flute, I simply don't

becoming thicker. But this time, when Montez swung down, his mallet hit

resonated with the hovering illusory Earth

hear

the

nothing more than a guide. When you are in your 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 to deal with

attainments, or else you would just end up embarrassing

trying to strike the air with a mallet, only to be cut in half by a sword, seemed quite

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

Somehow, the air he gave off now

mallet and the music of your heart guides the core principle of

he dipped the brush, his gaze becoming sharper and sharper as he

foundation. A hundred strokes sets a tone. A thousand strokes decides the

to take form, circulating around Montez. A thousand strokes made the blades sing, the canvas shimmering with a