Wiliam looked at his friends, all injured and tired. They were sucked into this battle when they were travelling through the land. The mimic monster Carlos, their necromancer, picked up in a dungeon, helped their dad, supplying him with death magic they seemed to share. Wil's older brother, a warrior with a rare blood magic blessed by yet another god, was coated head to toe with the chrimson. His little brother had to stay back. And he wasn't supposed to be here either. Their cleric was back at camp with other healers.

"Wil, what are you doing here?!" His brother yelled, and he just looked at him with blank eyes.

"I am ending this useless fight." He said, his voice slowly shifting into magic as he grabbed his guitar from his back. The first few accords started pulling attention from the soldiers, heads turning towards him. From the edge of his vision, he saw Carl collapse, white hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. Wiliam saw his brother and the mimic rush to the necromancer's side, fretting over him. The undead slowly falls apart and joins the millions of corpses under the ground.

Wiliam can't afford to look away now. He opened his mouth and started singing. He felt magic sheep into his words, spreading through the field painted in red.

Many think Bard magic only makes one more charismatic. Many think it's weak.

Many know it's dangerous.

A bard's magic is similar to the call of a siren. It creeps into one's soul and plants its roots deep into it, grabbing and never letting go, only when the caster wants it to.

Bard magic is difficult, and you have to be gifted with a naturally good hearing. You have to be open to music.

He felt the invisible strings tugging on hundreds of thousands of souls. He cut the ones connecting to his friends. They should never fall under a Bard's siren call.

A call for death and murder. The enemies lined up before the necromancer, killing themselves one by one. Panic evident in their eyes, but they can't resist. Carl slowly gains energy back, along with his adopted. They feed from death because the goddess blessed them. His brother's eyes dialate, as the blood, fresh and red, slowly moves towards him, swirling and existing in a manner that is not normal. It glows, as the last bits of manig is sucked out of it, fueling his brother.

The tables turned as the enemy army slowly, one by one disappeared, Wiliam's voice slicing through the silent air.

A murder of crows wach them from the trees, waiting for the feast.