The Greatest Showman - Battle of Momentum
"Now, it is time to define our true selves! Are we fighting for justice, or are we fighting for the pleasures of the opera?"
His words reverberated through the hall, his piercing gaze reaching into the depths of every listener's soul. Marius, under the scrutiny of that unwavering stare, felt an unrelenting force press upon him. His own uncertainty twisted within him, forcing his gaze downward in contemplation.
The world was crumbling. Society was in upheaval, the people in anguish, and the nation teetering on collapse. What did home mean when the very foundation of the country lay in ruins? Enjolras and his comrades, once heirs of privilege, had chosen to cast aside their gilded pasts in favor of revolution. This was not a game. The tides of history surged forward, demanding their place in its wake.
Who were they? How would history remember them? What color would they paint their legacy?
The moment of decision had arrived.
Marius hesitated, his silence met with murmurs and chuckles from their comrades. Yet, Enjolras was unfazed. The fire in his eyes intensified, his soul ignited with righteous fury. He surveyed them all, his gaze heavy with disappointment. His head shook, the movement slight but laden with sorrow, a ripple spreading through the gathering.
"Have you ever asked yourselves," he challenged, his voice a steady blade, "what price we must pay for this battle?" His body tensed, his disappointment palpable. His eyes closed for a fleeting moment before reopening, sharper than ever. "Is this just a game for young men with wealth to spare?"
They had to understand the gravity of their choices. War was not a stage for reckless indulgence. If their fight was born of amusement, they had no place here. The battlefield demanded blood, not fleeting passions.
Marius met Enjolras' gaze, and in those burning eyes, he saw a storm. He saw the weight of duty, the burden of sacrifice.
Enjolras' voice cut through the tension. "The world changes color every day."
His eyes turned toward the distant horizon, his voice firm and unswerving. "Red—the blood of the people's anger! Black—the darkness of the past!"
The melody carried his words through the theater, each note a resounding drumbeat. His intensity mounted, unrelenting. "Red, the world as it shatters! Black, the endless night that must come to an end!"
His conviction swept through the room, his words a relentless tide pulling them toward an unavoidable reckoning. The sheer force of his passion electrified the space, its momentum a tidal wave crashing into their very souls.
Enjolras stood, his back rigid, his muscles taut with frustration. His eyes lingered on Marius, filled with an unspoken plea. Then, with a final, weary shake of his head, he turned to leave.
Marius, however, would not let him go. His hand shot out, gripping Enjolras' arm. The two stood face to face, their shoulders squared, their resolve clashing like steel against steel.
"If you had seen her," Marius murmured, his voice laced with reverence, "you would understand."
His words dripped with tenderness, his gaze a shimmering lake reflecting love's quiet beauty. His song, soft yet insistent, trembled with the weight of newfound devotion. "It strikes like lightning, overwhelming, inescapable!"
But Enjolras did not waver. A mirthless chuckle escaped his lips, his disappointment deepening. His smirk barely concealed his disdain, a veil of superiority draped across his features. Marius, however, would not surrender. He stepped closer, pressing forward with undeniable fervor.
"If you had been there," Marius implored, "you would see! This world changes with just a spark!"
His passion flared, clashing against Enjolras' unwavering resolve. "What was once right feels wrong! What was once wrong now feels right!"
His voice soared, brimming with unrestrained ardor, his heart ablaze with love's intoxicating force. His melody swelled, trembling with emotion. "Red, the fire that burns inside me! Black, the world without her!"
The tempo shifted ever so slightly, the pulse of the music slowing just enough to let every syllable breathe. Each word, each note carried the full weight of his devotion, bursting forth in an explosion of joy and longing.
"Red—the brilliance of desire! Black—the abyss of despair!"
Marius tilted his head back, his voice stretching toward the heavens. In that moment, he embodied the depth of love's ecstasy, the sheer magnitude of its power.
Only those who had truly loved, who had felt their souls tremble in the wake of passion, could understand. Love was a force beyond reckoning, an eruption of euphoria and agony intertwined. A single glance, a touch, a moment—each held the power to reshape the world.
Marius' every note was soaked in longing, his every phrase a plea for Enjolras to understand that love, too, was a cause worth fighting for.
Enjolras' expression hardened. His lips curled into a bitter smile, but his eyes burned with conflict. His fingers curled into fists, his body tense with restrained fury. He turned away, willing himself to abandon the argument. And yet—
He faltered.
In a sudden burst of movement, Enjolras spun back to Marius, the air around him trembling with intensity. His voice, sharp as a blade, cut through the silence.
"Marius, you are no longer a child! I do not doubt your sincerity, but we have a greater purpose!"
Marius opened his mouth to protest, but the fire in Enjolras' gaze stole his words. There, within those eyes, lay the weight of war. The devastation, the sacrifice, the endless sea of blood. Enjolras had seen the future they marched toward, and it was not kind.
"Who cares for your lonely soul?" Enjolras' voice rang with thunderous force. "We fight for something far greater! Our lives—our small, insignificant lives—mean nothing!"
This was not a game. This was war. The cost was their very existence.
Enjolras' voice exploded like a battle cry, his conviction rolling through the space with the weight of history itself. Marius, staggered by the sheer force of it, took a step back. His breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding with realization.
This was the price of revolution.
And Marius was not alone in facing it.