The war didn't begin with explosions.
It began with dissonance.
---
At exactly 3:33 AM, all devices playing Elena's voice — whether original, corrupted, or fan-made — split in half.
Not physically.
Sonically.
One channel played her call: the melody that healed, that held.
The other?
Played the response: fragmented, glitching, desperate to silence the first.
---
The Faithful called the second signal blasphemy.
The Unplugged called it truth.
---
Across cities, people began tuning in like sides of a war.
Channel A: Harmony — Let her voice save you.
Channel B: Interference — Let her silence save her.
The signals grew stronger every time someone listened.
And soon…
The air was no longer neutral.
It vibrated.
The sky cracked in wave patterns.
Birds fell mid-flight.
Dogs whimpered under beds.
Children sang both signals in their sleep — in perfect sync.
---
The Blood Choir fractured.
Some followed the Call.
Others surrendered to the Response.
The streets turned into echo chambers, each person broadcasting whichever part of her they still believed in.
---
And in the middle of it all?
Caleb stood on a rooftop.
No speakers.
No mic.
Just a child's cassette recorder from the 80s, playing one thing:
Silence.
No music.
No static.
Just the sound of nothing.
People around him dropped to their knees — not in pain, but in relief.
And for a brief moment, in a five-meter radius…
The war paused.
---
But the peace didn't last.
Because the Call surged again.
This time louder.
Faster.
Angrier.
And for the first time since her death…
A single, undeniable sentence was heard in Elena's real, untouched voice:
> "I never asked to be worshipped."
---
The signal burst that followed leveled 13 square blocks.