Argento whimpered. Hell had broken loose just as he had attempted to break out the front door.

It was then when he and his fellow men and women realized that their tactical retreat had failed horrendously.

Twenty bodies littered the ground, and twenty more would surely follow, Argento noticed. In more than one case, he’d seen one of those brave souls fighting it out, only to trip on the body of a different brave man’s corpse.

What followed had already made Argento empty his stomach--twice.

They were all going to die. Few had proper weapons, and even fewer had the ability to counter these monsters assault with just forks and spoons. Panic had consumed them all. They did not defend themselves efficiently, choosing to dodge and flee instead of fighting back. These men and women chose to fight amongst themselves, clawing away as far as possible, attempting to prolong their life by another few seconds than to risk death at that moment. Those who did fight did so with fear instilled into their bones. Their movements were tense, weak, and irrational.

In truth, if each man and women fought with full intention to kill the enemy, there would be a chance to survive, Argento thought as he watched from the backlines.

That was not going to happen. Anyone who fought took the risk of dying immediately, rather than later.

Argento heard the piano then, and so did everyone else, it seemed.

The First Note was a powerful, heavy low-pitched key. It penetrated through every human eardrum. It was a calling.

The Second Note was a high shriek. That was a warning.

The Third Note started low and quiet. It began like a hundred tiny inaudible whispers. Fleeting at first, but gradually accumulating in power, bluntly ignoring how the instrument originally produced its voice.

Then the song began.

The Notes came and left, their tempo seemingly matching each Ghoul strike and Human Counter Strike. The screams continued, and the Ghoul’s assault was undeflected, yet the piano still played.

Through the clutter, ripping of flesh and bone, and maniacal battle cries, the piano followed, its movement subtle. A higher Note here, a fast Note there. Nothing too impactful at first.

But then it blended with the scenery. Argento stared in awe, attempting to observe the phenomenon.

A sturdy man, 6-foot man was pummeling a Ghoul. Three quick punches were dealt to the face, then the man quickly stepped back, barely avoiding a backhanded slash from the battered Ghoul. As that exchange had occurred, Argento noticed the piano had mirrored it, sounding three quarter, low base Notes, followed by a much quicker and higher fleeting eighth Note.

Immediately after, however, the piano sounded a heavy whole Note, half a second before the man counter attacked with a heavy punch, effectively knocking back the Ghoul a couple feet backward and into the ground. The man pounced on the fallen

From his decent set of knowledge concerning music, Argento knew that there were whole Notes, quarter Notes, which were a quarter of the whole Note, and eighth Notes, which were an eighth of a whole Note. Sixteenth Notes followed the same pattern, and although there were even quicker Notes, they were seldom used.

Yet the performance in front of Argento was anything but that. While a whole note lasted approximately four seconds, and a quarter note one-fourth of that, the time allocated to each was different.

What this meant, was that Argento was able to hear a Whole Note that lasted four seconds in the span of one second. Argento did not understand the significance of such a reality-bending technique, but attempting to keep track of its movements was becoming increasingly difficult. It kept attempting to slip out of his conscious, blending in with his thoughts.

The piano, Argento realized apprehensively, was playing in his mind. He gulped heavily, a low-based Note promptly following it. That spooked him even further, adding more nervous sweat and shaking to his already haggard body.

He shook his head. His sad state was not a song he wanted to hear.

To each movement, there was a Note. To each normal strike was a medium Note, and to each physical impact a low-pitched one. Dodging sounded a quick eighth note. Though when Argento focused his senses on the small movements, a tilt there or the further clenching of fists here, a hundred inaudible Notes whispered to Argento.

Expert Musical Hearing Evolved into Intermediate Magical Hearing

That made Argento finally release the whimpers he was withholding. The piss and tears were already there, way before his weeps made their way out.

He had fallen backward in his freight.

To each different interaction, to each different plate which scatters against the ground, there was a Note. Argento could hear it. It was there: Thousand of Notes occurring simultaneously, existing both from the origins of the piano and origins of each object his senses. He saw and heard them, yet he could not comprehend their form. His mind would not register what his senses were feeding him. A chair would turn into tables, into a multitude of triangular heads turning inwards onto themselves, and expanding into shapes and movements Argento could not describe. To each movement, was a sound which followed it, and with each slighter movement, the plains flipped, switched, turned, and altered upon it.

Argento heaved what was left of his stomach for the third time that day.