The scene that followed would be ingrained into Emil’s memory for the rest of his life.

The feelings that he felt in that moment, the dryness of his mouth, the burning in his eyes—he would never forget. The smell that assaulted his nose, affecting his senses as he drifted in what felt like a split world.

It made everything feel like a dream. A very cruel nightmare. And it was one that he was not allowed to wake up from. But it was not his imagination or his subconscious running wild. No, this was reality. There was no disputing these events.

And the worst part would have to be the music.

It was a song that he would not forget—he could not forget. Even if he wished to. It changed his essence, shifting his conscience to darkness and reality.

The song was mournful. The emotion in its note would strike any being down to their core, resonating with feelings they didn’t know they had. A wretched, depressing yet beautiful song.

It brought tears to Emil’s eyes and they fell quietly, burning as they streaked down his cheeks. The glow in his eyes slowly vanished.

Powerlessness.

That was what he felt.

All of his choices had lead him here. Was it out of his free will or had something else controlled him?

Life is a tragedy.

We are born to die.

We are helpless against fate.

Who has the power to alter destiny? I am too weak to even think about it.

Are the lucky ones the ones who die or live?

His throat felt as if it was wrapped with barbed wire, digging and cutting into his flesh.

I am not lucky. I have never been. Like everyone else, I am controlled by fate.

We all are.

There was the sound of their souls.

Blood danced through the air. Bodies contorted and bones snapped. It sounded like piano notes. Mouths were cracked open in screams, but the sound they made was the desolate cry of a violin. Carried with was the sense of hopelessness. Their eyes reflected the harsh realities of the world.

Disordent chords struck, discomfort and cold seizing Emil’s body.

Wet splashed across the boy’s face, dying his clean clothing in crimson. A gloom crept into his heart, coloring his soul in a dreary blue. The world in his eyes began to lose its color, fading to monochrome.

The fallen ones landed in silence. Their bodies still moved oddly on the ground in a twisted dance as if their limbs were tied to an invisible string. They rose back up again, dancing in stiff, rigid movements.

In the center of the chaos, a beautiful man was conducting an unseen orchestra. His arms raised, the baton in his hand flying through the air. Despite the amount of visceral matter flying through the air, not a drop landed on his white suit. Instead, light seemed to center around him, his white-blonde hair glowing in the pinkish rays.

Louder and louder, the music reverberated in Emil’s ears. The voices in his head whispered along with the melody, their ancient words blending in with the rest. What did they say? What were they telling him? And why, why did they not allow him to look away? Emil felt his entire body tingling and his gaze was glued to Ilya’s figure.

This was his requiem.

Ilya’s eyes were closed and a peaceful smile rested on his face as he gracefully moved his baton as if it was a dance.

He was like an otherworldly beauty amongst the chaos.

Decrescendo.

The somber wail of angels echoed, their cry a delicate note as it ended the requiem. Quietness echoed, a silence that rung inside of Emil’s head. The world was so still that it was if time had ceased to exist.

Ilya raised his arms. The corpses raised along with him. He bowed elegantly. They followed, their mangled bodies possessing a puppet-like quality. Cold, dead smiles formed on their now stiff faces. They were like dancers who were proud of their performance.

It was a sick scene.

The baton disappeared.

Everything collapsed.

Emil and Ira fell to the ground, the chairs supporting them having disappeared. Neither of them moved.

Tears streaked their faces and their eyes were vacant, still processing their place in the world. Within a few minutes, everything had changed to them. Both of them had realized something very important.

The smell of blood replaced the scent of evening primroses’. The sky returned to blue, basking everything in a too bright light. Forty-seven corpses littered the ground, cast in a warm glow as if they were being purified.

A pair of clean shoes appeared in front of Emil’s gaze. His turbid eyes rolled upwards.

Ilya gazed down at them, his arms crossed behind his back. “Would you like my advice?” Silence greeted his question and the man chuckled to himself. “Yes… I suppose I should tell you anyway. Consider this a free lesson from this wise.

“Do you feel weak? Do you feel hopeless? Do you feel that nothing is in your control? Have you realized how small you are and how vast this world is? What is power? How do you obtain it? Why are the powerless subjected to the will of others? And most importantly… how do you become an orchestrator of fate? How do you hold this power in your own hands? Yes, yes… I’m sure you’re very curious. I’ll tell you now. Yes, it’s quite simple, really. If you don’t have the resolve--no, if you’re too scared… you should kill yourselves. At least then, you’ll have a choice… or, will you?”

He laughed gleefully, clapping his hands together as if it was very humorous to him. Ilya doubled over, clenching his stomach as he laughed so hard that it seemed his face would split in half. His bright white teeth reflected the blinding light. Within a split second, the man went silent and his expression became a blank slate.

Ilya’s eyes had turned cold and maniacal, a savage light shining from them. Emil felt his entire essence being sucked towards Ilya and could tell that he was rapidly losing strength. His lips stretched, revealing the black abyss once more.

Words filled through the air despite his mouth not moving, “You must devour.”