Fantasy Metal

Silence. The only thing I could hear was a dull, muffled background noise. Maybe they were voices, shouts, cries, tears. It didn't matter. It simply didn't matter. I couldn't distinguish anything else except the silence. I'm not an idiot, mind you. I knew it wasn't possible to find it in the place I was in. Yet, there it was, that silence that muffled everything. It took importance away from everything except what was in front of me. That small image I had at my feet, that scene that captured every part of my being, like a black hole that kidnapped emotions, sensations, and swallowed them. What I had in front of me was the reason I was there, the reason why all the people around me were there. Maybe that's what made it so unnatural. Another thing in my life that could never have happened in my mind, one of those things that my brain, even though it processed all the possibilities every time, hadn't even noticed.

Her. She was the voice that had moved an entire people, the voice I had followed for the last 2 years. She was the reason why I had renounced my being. Her black hair, until recently long, had been clumsily cut, probably a few hours ago so that they couldn't bother her in battle; now they were scattered on the barren ground, forming an almost perfect semicircle. Her green eyes were closed, her mouth twisted in a grimace of pain. It was when I saw her chest rising and falling, irregularly, that the noises returned, followed by an awareness of what surrounded me.

"Get up, Johna. There's no time, I'll stay here with her," I said.

The man in question turned, meeting my gaze: a man at least two meters tall, his face and body hidden by an armor he was clearly uncomfortable in. He held an axe in his hand, with strange engravings on the handle.

"They've attacked the Fifths, no one can help her, you know. I have to take her to the camp..." he began.

"Johna, no. Take a look around. Outside this tent, there's hell. We're all dead. Her, you, me. We won't come out of this alive. So now you go out there, and you finish what we started. They were smarter than us, they caught us by surprise, there's only one way to end this battle, and you know it. I guarantee we'll hold on long enough to let you get to him. Today, I'll die, but I'll make sure to take as many of those bastards with me as possible."

Johna stared straight into his eyes, analyzing his words. He knew he was telling the truth. They would all die. And he couldn't allow it to be all in vain.

"Today, Johna Iwaae will die. And the White with him. Ah, Paul, if you ever make it out of here alive, take care of my son. Goodbye. May your hell be comfortable and welcoming," he concluded, then turned to give one last look to the woman lying on the ground, before pulling back a flap of the tent and stepping outside, letting in a pungent, acrid smell, followed by the sounds of screams and clashing swords.

The man left in the tent sighed, not knowing what to do. He looked around, then decided to sit down next to the semi-conscious woman.

"The time has come, Jasmine. Thank you for everything," he said. His response was only a faint moan, followed by an involuntary spasm that ran through the woman's entire body.

Paul knew he was about to die. And as much as he had promised himself not to be afraid, now fear invaded his thoughts. He wasn't a soldier. He wasn't a First. It would all be over with the first enemy who entered that tent. He got up, shaking his head and wielding his axe without conviction. He made his way to the edge of the tent and took a small MP3 player from his bag, along with a cord. He then connected it to the speakers attached to the megaphone that Johna used to shout orders to the army and attached his MP3 player to it. He started his favorite playlist, and the music filled the entire camp and part of the battlefield. For a moment, everyone stopped to listen to the melody that preceded the first song. A few seconds. Moments of distraction that might have cost someone dearly. But Paul didn't care. Someone pulled the tent aside and caught the man completely unprepared.

"Hey, Paul, why did you put on music? It distracts the soldiers. And this song is stuff for Satanists, buddy."

Paul laughed, recognizing his younger brother in his rusty armor.

"It's you who doesn't understand anything about music. Today, we're all going to hell, I want to at least do it in style."

"By deafening your enemies? Come on, you can't even understand the words that guy is singing."

Another laugh filled the air.

"We're all about to go to hell. If you think this is music for Satanists, we might get preferential treatment."

This time, the younger man laughed.

Then the tent opened, and the first one arrived. There was a moment of silence; even the music stopped. Then a guitar solo started, just as the axe slipped from Paul's hands.