I remember the first time I heard La Musica.

It was a terrible day, I had a falling out with my best friend, I’d badly skinned my knee, dad screamed and grounded me for playing with fire again. I was sulking in my room when Mom came in.

She didn’t scold me, she didn’t yell, she merely laid my head on her lap and sung the soft melody of an angel. It removed my pain, dulled my anger and left my heart full as I slowly drifted to sleep.

It was the first…and last time I heard her sing and even now in my darkest moments, I hear that melody making every better, even for a moment.

From pain and heartbreak, through anger and strife, to lust and even unbridled joy, our entire lives are but one song that we conduct but according to one man, it was never meant to be this way.

Only his hand chosen few, those who represent the emotions in singular ways were meant to echo out very specific melodies. From Wrath to Lust to Jealousy to Love…and even the blackened screams of Death itself, all divine sirens tasked with following his every word and singing an enternal, singular song. Until something happened and someone replicated your melody.

And thus La Musica was born into Arcadia, song flowing through every living being as even the Gods themselves would be shaped by the crescendo echoed out through their every action. But there’s an issue with that fate because in a world where everyone’s song is heard, the sound is no longer divine but merely common tongue.

So you sacrificed your own pawns, using a broken sadistic doctor as cover before finally taking back the last tune from the lips of your Mariachis. Now it all belongs to you, to give out as you see fit, the master conducter who chooses how and who utters his symphony.

A god who demands fealty, but no one is bowing to you ever again.

Because it’s not just a simple melody that you ripped away

It’s the silky sweet love song flowing through two linked by fate,

the confused skwarks of a man unsure of his own destiny,

the agonised screams of a woman taunted by her twisted past

And even the dulcet tones of a radiant angel imparting wisdom to a fragile, lost child.

La Musica was never yours, you just adopted it into something brutal and twisted.

The very ideals of La Musica have always flowed through humanity because it is and has always been ours.

And it’s about time you heard my song El Grande.

The people will watch as I break you down, show them even a God can bleed and tear off that mask to reveal the broken coward underneath,

Song will return to Anestheria but on our terms.

My song is about to play for you El Grand Mariachi, can you hear it?

Not the silence of a pathetic would be god

But the song of betrayal, the song of pain and misery, the song of Vengeance.

The Symphony of Arcadia

And The Melody of Your Demise.