The world trembled to the rhythm of rising war.
Across the Divine Dominion, the air shimmered—not with heat, but with resonance. A thousand sacred instruments tuned themselves across skybound spires, and golden conductors stirred, awakened by the will of a single man.
Su Tianming.
In the depths of the Harmonic Nexus—his personal sanctum fused with the Divine Symphony Engine—he stood barefoot upon a dais of silver crystal. Each note that rang out from the Engine echoed across every inch of his vast empire. They were not mere soundwaves, but commands. A song forged from divine authority.
Behind him, Aria hovered, her golden hair braided into the shape of a treble clef. In her palm spun the Heavenly Clef Sigil, shining with sacred syllables of the First Melody.
"The tuning is complete, my Lord," she whispered. "Every city, village, and sect across the Dominion is now aligned with your Will."
Tianming opened his eyes. They pulsed like twin gongs struck by the hands of fate.
"Then it begins."
At the border of the newly christened Resonant Realms, stormclouds that hummed in minor keys gathered. Thunder sang in irregular meters. Rain fell as notes, not drops—discordant and off-rhythm.
In the shadows of a black cathedral of collapsed tempo, she emerged.
Melanchora.
The First Abyssal Maestro.
She walked barefoot across strings woven from cursed memories, each step playing a haunting note that echoed through dimensions. Her gown was stitched from the mourning veils of goddesses long dead, and her violin pulsed like a living organ.
Behind her, thousands of Abyssal Cultivators gathered, their instruments broken and reformed into weapons—blades shaped like sick notes, horns that screamed instead of playing.
"He has tuned the world to his rhythm," Melanchora said, placing her ear to her own violin-heart. "Then let us break the melody."
With a sweep of her bow, she played a Funeral Overture that turned birds to ash and sky to ink.
The first performance had begun.
At the edge of the Silver Resonance Wall, the Dominion's new border fortress, Marshal Aurum watched the heavens crack.
"They've sent a performer to match our Conductor," he murmured. "Battle Choir, ready yourselves."
The War Chorus behind him roared as one, then chanted:
"By beat and blade, Our breath, your death. We march with melody. We war in symphony!"
They advanced in four movements, each unit tuned to a different mode: Ionian Knights, Dorian Assassins, Phrygian Shieldbearers, and Locrian Casters. Together, they formed a living song of war.
Tianming stood atop the Harmonic Nexus and extended his hand.
"Echo," he commanded.
The Echoing Silence Blade appeared—shimmering with paradox. A sword of vibrating stillness, forged from a fragment of Nihila's void and Aria's harmony. It sang no sound, but every cultivator nearby felt its cut in their soul.
Nihila entered without knocking, as usual.
"Your first composer duel approaches," she said. "Melanchora plays with regret. Do not allow her melody to infect your will."
Tianming nodded. "I will not be silenced."
Aria touched his shoulder gently. "Then let your first verse ring loud. We shall follow your lead, my Lord."
He raised his hands, and the Divine Symphony Engine surged. The world shifted.
Hours Later – The First Stage: The Broken Choir Grounds
Two vast armies stared across a valley of shattered instruments and bones.
Melanchora stood atop her Requiem Cathedral, bow ready. Her orchestra behind her began tuning.
Tianming hovered over his army in a halo of synchronized light. His personal battle choir—a hundred elite cultivators clad in sigil-woven robes—began chanting the Song of Domain.
Then:
The clash of worlds was not swords... ...but sound.
Melanchora's violin screamed into the void, summoning a tide of wailing spirits. They wept as they charged. Tianming responded with a single motion of his hand.
A bassline of reality itself echoed, shaking the foundations of the battlefield. From the Engine, a Divine Chord was struck—stripping Melanchora's song of its momentum.
But it was not enough.
The spirits burst forth, slicing into the front line of Tianming's forces. His Phrygian Shieldbearers cried out as the weight of sadness pressed down. Some faltered.
"Switch movement!" Tianming commanded.
Immediately, the Dorian Assassins harmonized their movements to cut the spectral sorrowstrings. Behind them, Aria began weaving counterharmonies—soft lullabies turned into piercing disruption.
Yet it was Nihila who turned the tide.
Stepping into the battlefield, her presence silenced the wails entirely. With a raise of her pale hand, she cast Oblivion Pause—a moment of absolute stillness where nothing moved or sounded.
Then, in that void...
Tianming struck.
Echoing Silence Blade cleaved down, erasing Melanchora's overture from the world.
The Abyssal Maestro staggered.
"You conduct well," she murmured, licking blood from her lips. "But the final movement has not yet begun."
With a final shriek of her violin, she vanished into a swirl of broken notes.
Victory... was incomplete.
As Tianming descended to the field, he surveyed the damage. The soldiers—his people—had suffered, but morale held. The performance had shaken the heavens.
He spoke, and the entire realm heard:
"Let all realms know: This Dominion does not kneel. We do not silence our song. We are the crescendo to all creation."
The Engine pulsed.
The war of melodies had begun.