Act 3, Chapter 98: How the music echoes

Day in the story: 29th January (Thursday), around 1 p.m.—12 hours into the time trial

Maya, the seer

“This is ridiculous, Alex,” I said to the wind, knowing all the same that he’d hear me. I was darting through the sky high above the fight unfolding below me, higher even than the drones sent to monitor the situation.

*He’s going to lose, but that’s his decision to make,* I heard his voice in my head.

“You aren’t going to help him?”

*No. I’m not going to risk weeks of preparation because he wanted to take a chance. I’ll come for him as late as possible. I want EoT to reach them first.*

Understandable, I thought back to him, focusing on one of the machines—a quadcopter right below me.

I still remembered that Beatrice had called Zoe a lousy Seer for not being able to get out of a closed room, which meant that despite being unable to hold onto anything in this form, and still being restricted by the physicality of objects, I could interact with them on some level.

I tried something simple at first and just sat down on the flying surveillance gizmo, moved my cute little bum closer to one of the rotors, and stuck my arm inside. Unfortunately, it did nothing to the metal. Fortunately, it also didn’t cut my arm off.

[The feeling of being restricted by objects must exist solely on your part.]

That’s what I was thinking too, Spidey. I don’t really exist on the same plane as they do in here.

*Try a Shadowlight coating,* Alex’s advice came through and it seemed like a good idea.

I raised both of my silver arms in front of me. I had Authority within me, something I instinctively kept forgetting about in my Seer form. It wasn’t as potent as a mage’s, as it didn’t grant power over a specific subject, and yet all Seers were special enough to be recognized by the Universe and given certain abilities to understand it better. Their Authority was strong enough to oppose a mage’s influence; therefore, it should be active enough to produce the coating.

As if answering my conviction, the shadowlight within me emerged to the surface and covered me in a thin film of rainbow-like light. I pushed my arm through the fast-spinning rotor mechanism once more, and this time the entire thing broke apart and dropped toward the ground in a puff of smoke and a screech of metal.

[Good job.]

One more obvious thing that wasn’t really that easy to figure out scratched off the list.

My personal triumph was, however, not that important in the grand scheme of things, and thus I focused on the battle happening where the sky met the earth, where the music fought off the echoes.

Unbothered by Mason’s blow, Robbie rolled away and pushed his opponent back through the power of the beats that dropped. He immediately switched to something more soothing to heal himself up and threw one arm aside, exposing himself briefly, but also using the stronger, punchier notes of the song to pummel Mason into the nearby wall.

“Fuck,” he said, wiping the blood from his mouth.

That was when a blue-and-gold echo made of pure shadowlight—a worker simply walking by—moved into him, throwing him off balance. Then another appeared and another.

Soon a large part of the yard was covered by illusory people moving toward the building ahead, with Robbie in their path. Mason, earning himself a reprieve from his brother’s attacks, moved closer and hid among the copies, while Robbie punched and blasted them away through the power of his music, trying to orient himself within the crowd.

It was clever, how Mason did that. He must have glanced into the glass of the guard shack and, through the memories of the people reflected there, projected them as echoes onto the battlefield.

He also had something I hadn’t expected him to possess—an artifact of sorts—and I felt its power unfold into the world. It reached through motion itself, weaving through the fabric of the universe. All the energy generated by movement—the steps of the clones, the waves of sound, every shift and impact—it captured fragments of it and funneled them into Mason.

I flew a little closer to localize it around his wrist. A metal band of some kind, set with gemstones that were doing all the work. Each step he took turned kinetic energy into Authority that strengthened his own, rejuvenating his soul’s ability to influence the world.

More than that, it also seemed to siphon some of it away from Robbie and the clones alike. I wondered where he’d found such a device, but it would certainly help him even the odds against his brother, if only a little.

And as if trying to prove my point, he closed the distance and kicked Robbie straight in the chest, bouncing him off one of the clones behind him and back into the echo of the kick itself, which launched the Rhythm through the air in a low arc.

He crashed into a stack of crates against the warehouse wall, scattering mechanical parts across the pavement.

Music shifted into heavy death metal, the singer’s roar sounding as if his throat were tearing itself apart. The violent auditory outburst came with a wave of force strong enough to stop Mason mid-jump, dropping him to the ground as if he had slammed into a brick wall hanging in the air. Waves of shadowlight trailed in the wake of the attack, tracing ribbon-like patterns on the wind as they were hurled away from his body.

Mason leaned forward and raised his arms in front of his face, trying to shield himself from the unholy gale created by the music. It pushed at him relentlessly, trying to throw him backward. He planted his feet and held fast while the Rhythm stood up and brushed debris off himself.

“Fuck this, Malik! Just get the fuck away!” Robbie shouted.

“Nah! You a danger. And you my responsibility. I see that now!” Mason shouted back through gritted teeth.

I glanced toward the city for a second. EoT’s response team was almost here. They’d arrive in a minute or two at most, moving out of their vehicles and into the open, trying to surround the area before advancing. Twenty people in total this time, some carrying equipment similar to what I’d seen the Chinese mage set up before. She was here too, but instead of the biology user, they had sent Adrian Brawn, who moved slowly at the rear of everything, directing the effort.

“Stupid!” Robbie snapped at Mason’s convictions. He reached under his coat and pulled out a handgun, aiming it at his self-proclaimed brother and firing in a violent burst. The bullets struck Mason’s projected clone one after another as he slid backward against the wind-like resistance produced by the music.

Then, suddenly, the entire soundtrack changed. Two songs began playing at the same time. One was Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting, while the other was a strange looping techno track made almost entirely of booming bass drops and rapid beats.

The shift caused Mason to pitch forward without the opposing force pushing against him anymore, but he managed to create a clone in front of himself, bounce off it, and roll to the side.

With the power of the techno track, Robbie struck the recovering man from above, then from underneath while he was still falling, and finally from the side. At the same time, the first song sped Robbie up so dramatically that he appeared above Mason in seconds.

He kicked him once in the ribs, then hauled him up by the collar, lining up a strike to the stomach—only to hit a wall of shadowlight instead. Mason slipped free, left a clone behind, and undercut him with a low sweep.

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Robbie tried to follow with another strike, the echo of his kick trailing after him, but the Rhythm had already swapped places with one of his own afterimages, left in the wake of his rapid advance toward his brother.

Mason decided to follow up with something both brilliant and completely insane and I loved every second of it. He surged toward his brother, moving in time with the music. Two quick strides carried him forward before he planted his feet and generated an echo to absorb the impact of a beat made physical. Then two more steps and another pivot, another echo catching the next strike before it could reach him.

One step closer.Then he projected a fragment of the Rhythm's own body a split second ahead of where it would be. At the same time, he conjured an afterimage of his lower half—nothing but waist and legs—and used it as a springboard. Launching himself forward at full speed, he slammed into Robbie.

The tackle caught him completely off guard. They rolled together across the ground, grappling for only a moment before the next beat drop approached. Right before it landed, Mason triggered another echo and hurled himself clear.

The result was beautiful—Robbie got hit by his own magic. The groan that followed was deeply satisfying and I felt Alex briefly consider joining Mason and helping finish what they'd started, but EoT was already arriving and setting up. Waiting seemed like the smarter choice.

Unbeknownst to all of us, Mason wasn't finished.

The moment Robbie tried to rise, he conjured a duplicate of himself directly on top of him. The golden-and-blue construct pinned the Rhythm to the ground, forcing him to struggle until a wave of sound burst from his body and dispersed the clone.

Then the kung-fu dancing resumed. Robbie immediately put it to good use, accelerating to impossible speeds as he weaved between Mason's echoes. The other music shifted as well, transforming into a heavy metal track dominated by a blistering guitar solo. Each note became a razor-edged slash, appearing directly on top of Mason and forcing him to desperately maneuver so the attacks struck his solidified shadowlight defenses instead of his flesh.

Right then, Edge’s people were finally ready. They triggered the devices they had set up along the fence the moment the fight escalated. A laser-like light connected them one by one, and a dome of illumination unfolded over the entire area, leaving me just outside its translucent boundary—a structure that screamed containment, pacification, and limits in the language of magic.

“Robert Reyes!” Adrian’s voice boomed across the space as his people moved in to form a tightening circle around Mason and his fratricidal sibling. At his side, the Chinese woman pressed her palm to the ground, and shadowlight spilled out of her, transforming the earth into a clean, tiled surface. “—surrender, and we will spare you and your partner’s life.”

“Partner? Spare? What the fuck are you talking about?” Robbie asked, his gaze snapping to the approaching man. Mason spat blood and staggered back, bracing himself against the warehouse wall, as he decided to stand, listen and adjust to the situation as it unfolds.

“Save the talk. We’ve heard enough of this nonsense already. You either surrender, or you die here along with the man who helped you.”

“Of course I want in. The word surrender, though—that doesn’t sit right with me. What the hell, Adrian?”

“You expect a warm welcome after all the shit you’ve pulled?”

“All I did was argue with Jugger right in front of my house. My house man—the same one the Guild blew up, where I damn near died. Ain’t exactly my fault he got outsmarted by a damn bitch dog, is it?”

“You conveniently forgot about all those raids,” Adrian started, exhaled and then raised his hand, turning his head left and right. “I will not lower myself to your level. I gave you a chance.”

“I’m framed!” Robbie shouted, glancing toward Mason, who leaned against the wall to catch a much needed breath.

“Right. Someone copied your magic too.” Mr. Brawn mused, turning almost entirely white as shadowlight flowed over his body.

“Y’all gonna regret this, bud.”

“I don’t think I will.”

The same shadowlight that had engulfed Adrian in a protective armor of light spread like lightning through the tiled floor toward the people he had brought with him, cloaking them in the same protection. They advanced from every direction toward the Rhythm.

Eighteen soldiers clad in both physical and metaphysical armor moved in with swords drawn, ready to strike down their opponents. Mason was among their targets as well—at least a third of that force broke directly toward Malik and Jason’s hybrid, fully intent on killing him.

The Rhythm answered with music once more, but now it sounded faded, as though heard from beneath water—suffocated by the artificial enclosure created by the devices. His attacks against the advancing soldiers were far weaker than he had hoped. Though he managed to push some of them back, he could not stop them entirely.

Mason’s defenses held up better, but only slightly. He projected echoes—his own, Robbie’s, and even those of other people—wherever their appearance might interfere with the assault. To some degree, it worked. A few soldiers stumbled and broke stride, but they recovered quickly and resumed their advance, while the echoes themselves were dismantled through what was the combined effort of the Chinese woman and Adrian. Both seemed to be directing shadowlight infused with their Authority.

And now, in my current form, I could finally understand the flavor of the magic they wielded. She possessed Authority over Feng Shui, and strange as that sounded, it had a very real and tangible effect on the world around her. Much like Robbie, she could project interior design directly into physical space and draw metaphysical properties from what she conjured: like the silence in the library she forced the alleyway to be, when she fought Alex. In this case, she was projecting cleanliness into the area.

Much to Adrian’s benefit, because as I had previously deduced, he commanded Purity itself, and through the immaculate floor provided by his accomplice, he removed both the Rhythm’s attacks and Mason’s almost as soon as they appeared within his aura.

More than that, each soldier had their intentions scrubbed clean of hesitation. Doubt, fear, second thoughts—all of it washed away. Their minds had been narrowed to two singular purposes: kill Robbie and kill Mason.

“Pathetic.” The Rhythm said, and purple shadowlight spilled out of him. In a dome centered on his position, the environment changed. Suddenly, the tiles became studio flooring, while broken CDs, records, and cassette tapes emerged as part of the landscape, turning any impurities, like rocks and debris into items connected to music and soundtracks. Even the air itself pulsed with the rhythm of some unseen beat.

“Projection?” Adrian asked the Chinese woman.

“Seems like it,” she replied.

The attackers' formation broke apart as inside the aura Robbie had forced onto the world—his Domain’s projection—his music hit them like sledgehammers made of pure rhythm and sound. He accelerated like the devil himself, aided by that kung-fu song still playing somewhere within the mix, and wherever he rushed, the alteration he imposed on reality followed with him.

Despite the armor surrounding them, the attackers folded to the ground, weighed down by invisible hands made of music itself. The force followed Robbie’s movements as he passed near them. A sweep of his arm, accompanied by a heavy beat from the song, sent four men hurtling toward the group advancing on Mason. Then the slashes from the guitar—albeit somewhat deflected by the swords held by the men—had their protective layers torn to shreds.

Mason did not remain idle. As soon as those intent on getting to him dropped, he sprinted alongside the warehouse, positioning himself in a way that put Robbie between him and the EoT response force.

The Authority of Purity pressed against the dome around the Rhythm, however, and the projection buckled under its presence, shrinking with every passing second Adrian focused his power upon it.

The mage of Purity dropped to one knee and pressed both hands into the ground, illuminating the floor with his power, while the woman beside him raised sections of the tiled surface into barriers, creating obstacles in Robbie’s path. He came charging forward nonetheless, vaulting over one of the fallen men to seize another by the helmet. With a violent motion, he hurled the soldier against one of the newly raised walls, smashing his head with a wet, awful crunch.

Mason hesitated at first, but joined the fight nonetheless. He began conjuring more clones—copies of the charging men, of himself, and even of Robbie whenever their historical positions could be used to obstruct his brother's advance.

The tactic caught the Chinese woman by surprise. She immediately made a remark about it to Adrian, clearly intrigued by the application of his power against what who they considered his ally. The Rhythm, however, remained unfazed.

He pushed forward with the full breadth of his Authority over sound. Before long, he was manipulating more than just the music around him. He reached for the sounds created by the echoes themselves—the swooshes of movement, the thuds of impact, the subtle disturbances left in their wake—and turned them against their creators the instant they made a move.

Every step, every strike, every summoned duplicate became another instrument in his orchestra of violence. And when all the soldiers already lay battered and scattered across the tiled floor, when his valiant charge seemed all but unstoppable, when the force of the beat he projected shattered the wall of tiles raised in front of him—sending debris hurtling toward the people trying to stop him—it was Adrian who dispelled the music around him.

When the distance between them was merely a few feet, the shadowlight surrounding him erupted like a newborn star, ejecting its mass into the space around itself. It was caught in the gravity of its creator, however, and drawn back toward his body, strengthening him. The light bloomed through the pristine floor in every direction until it met the dome surrounding Robbie and, with the wave it created, stripped it away entirely.

Then the floor itself, directed by the Chinese woman, struck the master of music. Individual tiles unlatched themselves as if guided by some telekinetic force and flew toward him. Robbie realized a second too late that his power had left him.

The first tiles slammed into his knees, stopping his charge and sending him crashing to the ground. Then more were torn from the floor, hurled high into the air, and brought down like porcelain comets onto his back.

Each one shattered on impact with enough force to send ripples through both the body of the fallen man and the floor beneath him.