Chapter 173: The World Went White

Hours later, Malik stood alone.

High above the clouds, far beyond where any ordinary soldier could follow, he floated in open sky, staring at a familiar floating sphere hovering a short distance away.

A recording device.

Transmitting this exact moment, live, to every corner of Devil’s Maw.

Malik wore dark robes trimmed with orange, the fabric shifting slightly in the thin wind at this altitude.

In his right hand, Spine Splitter. In his left, Old Cane, worn and weathered but steady in his grip.

On his pointing finger, the Stranger’s Ring caught faint light.

Around his neck, the Stranger’s Necklace rested cool against his skin.

He had never been more ready for a fight in his life.

After a long, tense silence, Malik finally opened his mouth.

"Peace be upon you."

And with that, his third address began.

"O noblest, most honorable, and purest of people."

The words flowed easily now, familiar grooves worn smooth by repetition, the same cadence his people had come to love and trust.

***

In the palace, his wife sat very still before the projection that carried his image, her hands folded in her lap so tightly her knuckles had gone pale.

She had listened to the first address with fear, and the second with a kind of weary pride, and by the third she had learned, or rather confirmed, that the calm in his voice meant very little.

He had always sounded calmest when he was farthest from safe.

Beside her, their daughter had climbed onto the cushions with her knees drawn up to her chest, eyes fixed on the small figure floating against the endless sky.

"Is Father cold up there?"

"Perhaps a little."

Layla reached over to smooth the girl’s hair, though the gesture was as much for her own hands as for the child’s.

"He never complained about the cold."

Amal nodded slowly and went on watching.

Neither of them looked away.

***

"Today is yet another day where Devil’s Maw hangs in the balance."

Hakim stood at a window of the old family house with his back to the room, unwilling to let anyone see his face.

His son was one who’d left home too young and returned too changed, and he’d never once found the words to say what he actually felt about the man that son had become.

Now the whole kingdom could hear that son speak, and Hakim, who had spent his life being certain of everything, found himself only afraid.

He thought of everything he’d done, everything that had driven Malik away in the first place, and felt the familiar weight of guilt settle heavier than usual.

Hakim had no right to pride. Not really. But watching his son stand alone against an impossible war, voice steady, back straight, it swelled in his chest anyway.

’You’re stronger than I ever was.’

He didn’t say it aloud.

Nobody would have wanted to hear it from him, least of all Malik.

His lips moved faintly along with the words anyway, like a man repeating a prayer he didn’t quite believe he deserved to say.

***

—

╔════════╗

║Fear System║

╚════════╝

{Class: 8 (Veil of the Unseen)}

{Unlocking Class (7): 12781 / 12,781}

{Fear Points: 14431 → 1650}

{Soul Glyphs: Ember’s Touch (Peak) x 1, Shifting Ground (Single) x 1, Goliath’s Fall (Peak) x 1, Scorpion’s Sting (Peak) x 1, Devil’s Footsteps (Single) x 0}

—

"But once more, it won’t be our last day."

***

Sinbad, for once, was alone, watching his Elder Brother.

"He’s going to do it."

This was Malik’s fight.

The Order had wanted him specifically.

So, despite wanting to be there so desperately, Sinbad watched instead.

With his feathers bristling, he allowed himself exactly one quiet thought:

’Don’t you dare lose.’

***

Malik wasn’t versatile.

He had his Runes, and they rarely changed, his style locked into a specific rhythm he’d honed across countless battles. He wasn’t the fastest fighter out there, wasn’t the strongest, wasn’t the most protected.

His might wasn’t mind-bending.

Far from it.

"Not while I, your Sultan, remain alive."

It was the simplest of powers.

And yet, somehow, the scariest.

"So watch me."

He was of the End, and the End was of him.

A fire that devoured until nothing remained.

And this fire demanded that they watch him.

***

Huda stood with her hands pressed together before her chest, seemingly unaware she was even doing it.

"He’s going to be fine."

Safira murmured next to her, more to herself than to Huda.

"Obviously."

Huda snapped back, too fast and obviously defensive.

Safira glanced sideways at her, saying nothing, letting the silence speak for itself.

On the projection, Malik raised Spine Splitter toward the sky.

"Not while I, your Sultan, remain alive."

Huda’s arms tightened further around herself.

"He better not. I swear, if he dies after everything—"

She didn’t finish the sentence.

Safira reached over and took her hand instead, and Huda let her, which said more than any words could have.

***

Malik was a force that couldn’t be countered, redirected, or reasoned with.

His force was meant to be the End of it all.

"So watch as I end them alone."

Azeem had gathered with the soldiers in the square, where projections had been set up for everyone to see, and the crowd around him had grown so quiet he could hear wind move through the banners overhead.

He’d followed orders from many commanders in his life, had doubted most of them at one point or another, and he noticed with no surprise at all that he didn’t doubt this one.

His hand had settled behind his back, out of the old habit of a man who wanted to be useful and couldn’t be.

Kabir stood beside him.

"Do not doubt your Sultan"

Azeem considered his words before answering.

"No. I think that betting against him has gotten a man killed more than once."

Kabir huffed something that might have been a laugh.

"Yes."

They kept watching.

Zafar stood a few paces off, in the shadow of an archway, expression unreadable, gaze locked on the image above.

He had his own reasons for watching closely, his own memories of the man in the sky, and he kept all of them to himself.

The man thought back to his own betrayal, the weight of it still sitting somewhere in his chest even after everything he’d done since to make up for it.

Malik had let him return.

Trusted him again, despite every reason not to.

’I owe him everything.’

If this went wrong today, if the Order actually managed to end the Sultan here, Zafar already knew exactly what he’d do next.

He’d make sure it cost them everything they had.

When the Sultan raised his sword, Zafar’s shoulders loosened by a fraction, like some weight he’d carried for a long time had finally found someone else to share it with.

Noor, meanwhile, had slipped to the edge of the crowd, where she could watch without being watched in turn.

She’d spent most of her life learning to read people, to find the tremor beneath the calm, and she looked for it now in the Sultan’s face and couldn’t find any.

That frightened her more than a tremor would have.

It meant he’d already made his peace with whatever was coming.

She’d spent years chasing acknowledgment, proving herself worthy of a place beside men like Malik, like Hakim, like every powerful figure who’d shaped the Sultanate around her.

Watching him now, utterly alone against a force meant to crush him, stirred complicated feelings in her chest.

Admiration.

Fear.

An uncomfortable kind of respect.

’Even now, you don’t ask any of us to help.’

She wasn’t sure if that made him brave or reckless.

Possibly both.

Duban stood apart from the rest, leaning on his sword, his eyes narrowed as he studied the way Rukh moved around the figure above.

"He’s showing us what there is to hope for."

None of the others heard him.

He didn’t repeat it.

Again, once he was close enough to call Malik a friend rather than a Sultan. And while that distance had grown over the years, shaped by rank and circumstance, watching him now, Duban felt something close to that old friendship resurface.

"Come back..."

He added, quieter still.

"You still owe me that drink."

***

Across every corner of Devil’s Maw, millions of eyes watched the same broadcast, the same man, the same impossible declaration of war against forces beyond comprehension.

"For it is my duty."

And now, with this declaration, Malik stepped one pace closer to that very End.

—

╔════════╗

║Fear System║

╚════════╝

{Class: 7 (Pure Demon)}

{Unlocking Class 6 (Great Demon): 0 / 24715}

{Fear Points: 1650}

—

An End that was ever so unfathomable.

His strength rippled outward, something every Soul watching, near or far, could feel pressing against them.

Fire and blood.

—

╔════════════╗

║RUNE UNLOCKED!║

╚════════════╝

[Zephyr’s Kiss]

[Rune Description: This Rune manipulates the winds of the planet.]

—

Malik raised Spine Splitter, watching as wind began to tremble around the blade, gathering, coiling, responding to his will like it had always belonged to him.

Truly, this was the path of a Sultan.

The lone leader of Devil’s Maw, standing above the clouds, ready to meet an impossible war head-on.

The trinket resting against his chest suddenly glowed.

Rukh stirred within it, shifting, reforming.

Once the glow faded, a ring remained.

Malik couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of it.

’She really made this for me, huh?’

He accepted the gift, sliding it onto his pinky, now wearing three rings in total on his right hand.

The Sultan raised his sword arm fully towards the sky, Spine Splitter catching the pale light above the clouds.

Malik could feel Scheherazade’s strength flowing into him through the ring, patient and eager, begging to be unleashed.

His sword pointed towards the distance, where nothing but open space stretched out before him.

"Ember’s Touch."

Cracks split open across the space behind him, dozens of them, all burning white.

And from those cracks, in the same moment, his fire poured forth.

The world went white.