The silence that followed was worse than any scream.
Gena's digital particles floated in the air like ashes of something sacred being profaned. They glowed faintly — bluish-white, pulsing in a rhythm that seemed to imitate 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 in the exact place 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 tremble. Not from cold. From something much worse. From slow and brutal comprehension cutting through his brain, destroying every illusion, every 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 looked at the ground. Others at the sky. Cristina covered her mouth with both hands, tears streaming 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 Julia, fists clenched, jaw locked. He wanted to say something — anything — but the words died before forming.
Jessica observed everything with an empty expression. The controlled executive, the self-proclaimed leader, now just... observed. As if her brain had shut off something fundamental to continue functioning.
And Julia...
Julia stood in the center of that horrible silence, longsword pointing downward, the tip of the simple blade touching the earth. The red knight 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 revive. Have respawn. Have...*
There wasn't.
The truth hit like a freezing wave, repeated, relentless.
**There. Wasn'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 beside him, pages turning with sounds that resembled sighs.
The baton spun between his fingers in an almost casual movement.
— **Are you still excited?**
The tone was polite. Curious. Genuinely interested in the answer.
As if asking about the weather.
Julia felt something tighten in her chest. Something cold and heavy descending through her throat, settling in her stomach like a stone.
Everyone waited for her to respond. She felt the gazes — San, Jessica, the others. They always expected **her** to respond. To have energy. To smile. To say everything was fine.
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 in the wrong way, artificial, **painful**.
A smile.
Forced. Broken. A lie visible even to those who didn't know her.
— Yeah... — 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.*
Julia felt the smile falter. 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, 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 Julia 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, hoarse sound, carrying almost... **appreciative** satisfaction.
— **Very good.** — he said, voice echoing softly. — **Very, very good.**
The baton rose again.
— **So 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 — dozens of them floating in impossible positions — began to tremble.
The liquid surfaces rippled violently. No longer normal reflections. Something was moving **inside** them. Shadows. Shapes. Nameless things trying to force passage.
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 ground like breaking bones.
And voices.
**Voices.**
Hundreds of them, singing in a dead language, in harmony that shouldn't exist in the physical world.
Julia 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.
And from **them** they began to emerge.
Soldiers.
Or what **looked like** soldiers.
They had no heads. Where there should have been 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, rippling 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 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 rose slowly, nonexistent heads "turning" toward the group.
As if they could **see** even without eyes.
— Shit... — Leandro whispered, instinctively retreating.
The music got louder. More **haunting**. The vocal sounds intensified — no longer singing, but **lament**. 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!** — Jessica shouted, her voice returning in an instant, pure survival instinct activating command mode.
Her staff glowed intense dark blue. An arcane circle formed under 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! — Jessica shouted, sweat already dripping. — **ATTACK! NOW!**
The group exploded into movement.
Julia was the first.
Something in her **clicked**. Not conscious thought. Pure battle instinct.
The sword rose. Her body spun. And she advanced.
The first soldier passed through the barrier the moment it failed. Julia was already there. The blade descended in a perfect arc, cutting the arm that wielded an axe. The limb fell. The soldier didn't even hesitate — attacked with the remaining arm.
Julia dodged, body spinning like a ballerina. The movement was **beautiful** — not just efficient, but artistically perfect. Feet traced patterns on the ground. 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.
Julia leaped, spun in the air, landed behind it. Strike to the back. The blade pierced through where the heart should be. The soldier collapsed.
Three more approached.
She danced between them. Literally **danced** — ballet steps mixed with fencing, body spinning, jumping, 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 the face...
The 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 Julia 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 Julia. Checking. Making sure. Every death he executed had a single purpose: **keeping her alive**.
Jessica fought differently.
She stayed in the center, staff raised, magic circles spinning around her. Commanded and attacked simultaneously.
— Leandro, **left!** — she shouted.
— Cristina, **cover!**
— **ARCANE BLAST!**
An explosion of dark blue energy detonated three soldiers, throwing them backward. Before they fell, Jessica was already tracing a new rune.
— **Binding Chains!**
Chains of light bound 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 into destruction.
— **FOR GENA!** — he shouted, voice breaking.
He destroyed every enemy he encountered. 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 more.
Cristina and Leandro worked in the synchrony of experienced archers.
— Three on the right! — Cristina shouted.
— Got it! — Leandro responded.
Arrows flew. Six soldiers fell with projectiles piercing through where eyes should be.
Esteban floated above, telekinesis active. Soldiers were thrown against walls. Others against themselves. 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 **too 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 the baton.
Directly at Cristina.
The music **changed**.
All the soldiers — **all** — stopped simultaneously. Turned the stumps where their heads should be.
And looked at her.
Cristina felt it before she saw it. 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 shouted.
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 shouted, retreating, shooting without stopping.
The group tried. Julia ran. San materialized killing two blocking the path. Jessica 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. Fell on her back, bow escaping her hands.
— **NO!** — Leandro shouted, 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 GO OF ME!** — Cristina screamed, voice breaking. — **PLEASE!**
The weapons rose.
Sword. Axe. Spear. Mace.
Descended all at the same time.
**THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.**
Wet sounds. Horrible. Repeated.
Cristina's body convulsed. 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 fired, trying to create distance.
The group tried to reach him. Julia ran. San followed. Josh shouted for him to flee backward.
That's when they felt it.
Something **solid** under their feet.
Julia 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**.
Julia felt her body **freeze**.
Not cold. **Paralysis**. Every muscle locking instantly. Couldn't move her fingers. Couldn't blink. Even breathing didn't seem possible.
*No. No!*
She looked sideways with her eyes — the only movement permitted.
San was equally paralyzed a few meters to the right. Jessica 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**.
Julia 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 aiming. Soldiers came from all sides. Faster. More organized.
He stumbled on an inhabitant'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, searching 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 jumped all at the same time.
Covered him completely. Pile of shadowy bodies moving, attacking, destroying.
Julia couldn't close her eyes. Forced to see. Forced to watch every second.
The sound was worse than the sight. Flesh tearing. Bones breaking. Scream cutting off abruptly.
The pile dispersed.
There was no body. Only digital particles floating where Leandro had been.
**[REMAINING PLAYERS: 7/10]**
Julia felt tears streaming. 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. Jessica 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. Rolled, got up stumbling.
Looked forward.
And froze.
Emerging from the surrounding mirrors, something **different** was appearing.
Not headless soldiers.
**Orcs**.
But not normal orcs.
They were giants. Three meters tall. Body 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 need 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 directly at the orc.
Pierced through the chest. The back. The abdomen.
The orc didn't even slow down.
Kept walking, spears embedded, as if they were irrelevant.
Andressa shouted 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 walked out.
Walking calmly. Fire still burning. No marks. No damage.
As if nothing had happened.
— That... that's not possible... — Zuzu whispered.
The second orc approached from the right. The third from the left.
Surrounded.
Andressa and Zuzu tried to retreat. Backs hit each other.
— We're going to die — Andressa whispered, tears streaming. — We're going to...
— **NO!** — Zuzu shouted. — **I WON'T DIE HERE!**
But his voice broke at the end.
Because they knew.
The orc in front 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 shouted.
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. Convulsed. Went still.
Digital particles began to form.
**[REMAINING PLAYERS: 5/10]**
The paralyzed group watched everything. Julia felt vomit rising but couldn't expel it. San tried to close his eyes but couldn't. Jessica trembled violently.
Josh cried. Tears streaming without stopping. Watching friends — **friends** — die one by one.
The Maestro floated above, observing with evident satisfaction even through the hood.
The baton spun slowly between his fingers.
Then pointed at Julia.
— **So, little knight?**
The voice was soft. Almost affectionate.
— **Do you still think this is cool?**
Julia couldn't respond. 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.**
Julia felt her blood freeze.
*He... he heard?*
— **Nothing is corrupted here.**
Absolute terror pierced through every cell. He could **read thoughts**.
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 a cacophony that seemed to tear 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 under Julia, San, Josh, Jessica, and Esteban **disappeared**.
The paralysis broke instantly.
Julia fell to her knees, gasping, her body finally responding. San staggered, leaning against a destroyed wall. Josh collapsed, vomiting violently. Jessica 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.
Julia tried to stand. Her legs failed. Tried to grip the sword. Her fingers didn't respond properly.
She looked around.
Josh still vomiting. San breathing as if he had run for miles. Jessica staring at her own trembling hands.
Only five remained.
Of ten.
**Half** had died.
And the nightmare still hadn't ended.
The hooded figures kept approaching. Twenty meters. Fifteen. Ten.
Julia finally managed to stand, leaning on her 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 Julia 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**.