Though I stood on the loft of the upper stage wherein you control the droplights, I was not there to trick the gamaster.
I only needed to buy ti.
Having left the stage where the gamaster could see , my clothes began to change into different outfits and roles with each second, switching from one to another: chef, doctor, G*ku. It changed rapidly.
Jim, who had yet to be flashed by a drop light, and Kim heeded my simple but ambiguous orders.
"Buy ti."
At the upper stage, I could control the speakers, lights, the works..
I changed what the speaker was blaring into a song by Que*n, B*hemian Rh*psody.
After a pause, the song sounded from the speakers and it echoed and bounced off the soundproofed walls.
I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy.
I heard the shoutings of the ever-loyal Kim and Jim, even from ten ters above.
"Sing along, you bastards!"
"Who are you to force us?" ca the retort of one of Lucas’s followers.
"Just sing!"
My body crawled like a lizard so that I may reach where the control room was. In front of was the gamaster’s disgusting face. We were now on equal footing.
The gamaster finally took sight of .
My clothes imdiately changed into a formal tailcoat, and a magician’s wand conjured in my hand.
No...
[Your role is Conductor]
I tapped the conductor’s baton on the railings.
Then, as though controlling the crowd with my baton, I raised it above then halted.
The song stopped, a beat drop.
Bis—mi—lah—!
When the beat ca up again, I sliced the air with the baton.
My hands whipped the zephyr like an undisciplined slave, overseeing and guiding the people’s tongues.
Subconsciously, the deviln had begun singing along.
What a band Que*n was.
I sculpted the song, my right guiding the tempo and the left, its pitch. Swaying against the air, slicing along the ti signature.
—Reverie Schneider consus the song as most would do with fiction. With focus, he interprets the song, chops off segnts.
I adjusted my hands as I listened. High pitch, low, quiet. I cannot exhale nor can I inhale, for it will destroy the rhythm.
—For once, Reverie erased his past.
—He did not cower at the sight of an audience.
—At that mont, Reverie was not with or among the people.
—He was above them.
I grinned.
Though I did not understand how the Narrator—this system given to for being the first to join the rounds—worked. I knew that it knew well.
Even better than myself.
I must be honest that I did not an to follow through this round.
It was a surprise, even to , to see that screen wherein I had fulfilled my role.
My understanding was that I should not follow the gamaster.
Really. It made wonder who wrote this round. It sure as hell wasn’t .
I was only awaiting a certain soone.
The gamaster looked to be spilling with pus, head swollen and full.
He was coming, I’m sure. It was his cue.
And that statent isn’t directed to the gamaster.
In an instant, a man broke through the theatre roof, shattering it into fragnts like glass, like a missile, stabbing directly into the head of the gamaster.
Yellowish pus and blood squirted everywhere.
Each strand of his red hair glowed in the sun as he landed on the behemoth— the theater had begun to disperse as if it had never existed. His brows were sharp as if a master calligraphist had done the most masterful stroke they could. The iron armor gleaming, his blue cape wrapped around his neck. He was as handso as poison and had the personality of a burning sun, with branches of veins that go from his body and around his neck and the sideburns of his face. Innocent and ruthless all at once.
This particular man, I hold near to my heart.
He is very dear to , so how could I be mistaken?
I took a deep breath and an even greater look at him.
My protagonist.
My son.
Benedict Ian Leyendecker.
-
The theatre disappeared as though it never stood there.
But the corpses dressed in eccentric clothing remained as proof of its once existence.
I walked along bodies, my foot getting stuck on a body’s crevice once in a while.
My clothing had dissolved into what my forr clothing was, a bloodied scrub. I wrote a ntal note to find other clothing as it was getting itchy.
My eyes were yet to get used to the sun after spending ti in the darkness of the theatre.
The disappearance of the theatre unravelled our setting:
The capital of Eisenblad, Eisenblad City.
My return to my hotown did not include the usual blaring of car horns stuck in traffic, drunkards, or begging holess.
What was once a tropolis had turned into a ghost town.
The buildings that surrounded looked to be abandoned with its walls and structure crumbling, algae ford from the dampness of rain clung on the walls, and so did vines.
It made wonder how Eisenblad State Hospital was doing.
Was it as destroyed as the buildings around ?
My apartnt, I thought. Did I still have a house to rest and go ho to?
How about The Federation citizens? Junhan? Art? Johnny? Even Harry, I was concerned for.
The apocalypse really was reality now.
I thought like a fool with my fingernails stamping crescents to my palms.
I looked around to see if Kim or Jim was around. There was no sign of them or other people beside the bodies and Benedict and I.
Amongst the bodies, I spotted a blond boy, barely seventeen, perished. His death had been caused by drowning, and I recalled how he fought back. His face aghast with eyes that were pure white.
A finger of mine touched his pulse and pinched his cheek, just to make sure.
I sighed when I finished, thinking I was stupid to even check.
"Stubborn ’till the very end..." I spat, now standing and nudging his leg. "Lucas Fleming."
Though, I wasn’t able to question him about what he had uttered, I already had a feeling on who was behind it.
There was no need to interrogate a dead man. Dead n tell no tales and all that.
A few ters away from , the gamaster’s body had turned into a rock—or perhaps the rock had always been there. Benedict stood on top of it.
My mouth stretched into a grin.
I sprinted towards him.
[You have earned a new attribute!]
[The rare attribute, Ghostwriter, has been given]
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