NOVGO.NET Chapter 351: Send Me To Hell
Chapter 351: Send Me To Hell
Click. Like a damn key in a rusty old lock.
Now everything made complete sense.
Everything.
This… this was exactly what the Lady of Time wanted from him.
What the Prince of the Fallen and the others wanted from him.
And yes, the Prince of the Fallen was one of ’Them.’
Malik held no doubt about it.
It was so simple now… a bit too simple.
Their little “forced promise” back then wasn’t for something that would happen. No. It was for something that had already happened. It was ’Them’ patching the past. Making sure that even after Malik’s soul went through change, the deal he made here, back then, or, well, right now, would still hold, despite the broken rules.
A simple mystery, so simple it made Malik’s very soul feel dumber for not noticing earlier.
And it wasn’t just his mystery… someone else had just figured it out too.
The True Sultan paused, blinked, and then chuckled.
“Oh ho…”
’He’ grinned wide, teeth flashing like daggers in the ’fog.’
“So… you die in the future, huh? Betrayed by your own… following your own design, a cage you trapped them in~. You get swapped out… combined, and this whole chat technically becomes null…”
It was a revelation that made all manner of time collapses, singularities, dilemmas, and paradoxes. But none mattered before those who wrote the Law ’Themselves.’
“But my buddies patched it… They patched time.”
A deep laugh followed, thunder rumbling through creation itself.
“Damn… I really do have a true friend in that Puppeteer bastard.”
’He’ wiped a nonexistent tear from one eye, unseen behind that swirling yellow ’fog.’
“Well… fine. You earned some answers.”
Nothing moved.
“I’ll tell you something barely anyone knows.”
The True Sultan’s black voids gleamed.
“Every time I weaken, a wave of Corruption spills out. To all my followers… my children. To every soul walking the Path of the Dune Guardian. Why? Because my grip on my Law loosens… when it loosens, my knowledge leaks into your souls, your subconsciouses. Knowing more than a soul should… Corrupts them. Warps them. Rips them apart from the inside.”
Malik’s eyes turned blank.
“That’s why the Fallen, even when their bodies are dead, too twisted to function, are so much stronger than what they once were… Of course, IT helps too, but that’s besides the point.”
The True Sultan pointed a finger once more.
“And before you start blaming me—no, technically speaking, I ain’t the root of your Corruption. You already know how this works… Knowledge is what kills, not me~. I have nothing to do wiiiith it~.”
’He’ tapped the table.
“That’s why this ’fog’ exists, you see.”
’His’ hand waved around, moving it.
“It’s not for my benefit… it’s for yours. If you see me clearly?”
’His’ thumb trailed ’His’ neck from left to right.
“Your brain melts. Your soul collapses, and your body ceases. Dead.”
A lazy shrug.
“And these eyes?”
’He’ pointed at ’His’ own black eyes.
“It ain’t some poetic symbolic crap. No. Just a coincidence. I’m of the Corruption element. That’s it.”
But Malik…
Didn’t hear.
Didn’t process.
’His’ words went in one ear and out the other.
Because the moment he realized that the True Sultan was the biggest cause of Fam Iblis’s Corruption, that ’He,’ no matter what playful excuse ’He’d’ given, was the one who killed her, his mind—
His brain snapped.
His once blank eyes burned.
His jaw clenched, Spine Splitter trembling in his belt.
It was ’HIM.’
’HIS’ FAULT.
Jasmine.
Her life.
Her suffering.
The pain, the Corruption…
The final Fall.
…Her only bloom.
’He’ MADE her that way.
’HE’ KILLED HER.
The table trembled, and the sands beneath screamed.
But before Malik could so much as breathe wrong—
“Stop.”
The True Sultan’s voice had reality itself pause.
“Don’t. You. Dare…”
’His’ two voids pulsed.
“I get it. I get that you’re pissed. But don’t do something stupid.”
They circled, focusing all that was on them.
“Don’t think for a second you can try to swing at a GOD.”
“…”
Malik didn’t try to swing.
He didn’t shout or even glare.
His rage died almost instantly.
And instead, he looked up, cold as ever.
A dead man pretending to be alive.
“It happened earlier… The Fallen… in the cave.”
The True Sultan blinked, appearing a little surprised.
“Yeah.”
Malik nodded once and looked down at the table.
“…Explain the trial system to me and my options.”
The Sultan stared, dead quiet, then sighed long.
“That look…”
’He’ grumbled.
“Lord above, I know that look.”
’He’ leaned forward, fingers steepled.
“Ever wonder why there aren’t that many Mithqals walking around? At least when compared to the population of the universe?”
Malik didn’t answer, but ’He’ continued anyway:
“Simple. To rank up to Mithqal… you need Godhood.”
The air around them changed.
“And to get Godhood? You gotta do the impossible.”
’He’ tapped the table.
“You have to devour the Aether Core of a Mithqal.”
It shook.
“Someone far above you. An entire Major Rank higher.”
Malik’s golden eyes flickered.
“…That’s impossible.”
“For most. Yeah.”
The True Sultan chuckled.
“Only freaks like that damn Puppeteer… and you… can even think about doing it.”
’He’ snapped ’His’ fingers.
“Just like that.”
’He’ laughed.
“See… just like how a Celestial—Magi needs a certain amount of Aether to rank up in the hierarchy…”
’He’ twirled a finger lazily in the ’fog.’
“They also need a certain amount of Godhood.”
’His’ grin stretched wider.
“Clearance level, kid. That’s all it is. You stack enough Aether? Cool. Doesn’t mean jack if you ain’t got enough Divine Sparks to back it.”
Malik didn’t speak, but his eyes showed that he understood all that ’He’ said.
“So lemme put it simple…”
The True Sultan continued, tapping the table with every word.
“Aether—energy. Divine Spark, accumulating into Godhood—authorization.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“You want to fly higher? You need both.”
’His’ foggy form leaned back.
“Without Divine Sparks… your soul’s naked. Fragile. Mortal… even if your body’s divine. Anyone above your clearance can crush it, overwrite it, or unmake it.”
Malik raised a brow, realizing just how big the difference was.
“Ever wonder why those without Godhood never truly ’exist’ in the divine sense? Why death is permanent for them? Bar those of Chaos, of course… Because without it… there isn’t any protection. Your soul isn’t backed by Law.”
’His’ grin faded a little.
“But with Godhood? The Laws recognize you. Reality itself bends to acknowledge you. You’re backed. You’re protected.”
’He’ made another lazy gesture.
“So Godhood… Godhood is when the Script finally writes down your damn name into the Laws of Existence.”
Then ’He’ looked straight at Malik.
“And you? You ain’t got any yet. You’re still running on fumes.”
Malik’s grip tightened on the arm of his throne, these revelations bringing his mind in.
“Divine Sparks… or as some like to call them, Lost Grace…”
’He’ dragged a hand through the ’fog,’ sparks of gold and black floating like dying stars.
“They’re consolidated when you learn the Script. The Laws. ’Cause Laws… well, they are Divinity.”
“…Script?”
Malik interrupted, his voice far too dead.
The True Sultan nodded as if expecting that question.
“Ah. You don’t even know what Scripts are yet?”
’He’ chuckled deeply, acting as if he was surprised.
“Figures. Let me teach you something I had to learn by myself.”
’He’ snapped again, and images flared in the ’fog.’
“You see…”
Twisting roots, endless branches—Paths carved through mud and stone.
“Every Path has its own Script, all built off your Divine Essence. Your Origin. Your Truth.”
The vision zoomed in.
“Magi… You lot start as stranded roots.”
A tiny root struggled forward, turning and twisting.
“Lost, cut off from the Mother Tree—Aether.”
The True Sultan leaned on ’His’ fist, watching.
“You crawl, desperate, digging through dirt, stone, and rot. Some paths? Completely blocked, impenetrable. Others? Muddy, but open.”
’He’ tapped the image.
“But that doesn’t stop you.”
The root trembled, inching forward.
“Maybe you chose the right path, maybe you carved your own. And you crawl… and crawl… until…”
Snap.
The root shuddered and broke.
“You reach the limit. Your root can’t stretch no more… It snaps.”
It was a hair away from touching the gigantic glowing tree.
“You can’t get closer, not like this.”
The root began to squirm.
“To go further… to connect… you need the Script.”
To scream for it.
“Or as ’We’ like to call it—”
’His’ ’fog’ shuddered…
“Adam’s Notes.”
And ’His’ fingers traced words in the air…
“The Laws. The very mechanics of existence.”
Symbols that were Impossible to comprehend.
“When you learn the Script… comprehend it… make it yours…”
’He’ snapped again.
“Then that root?”
The vision flared, and the root connected.
“It reaches the end of its Path.”
’It’ glowed, becoming divine.
“You merge with the Mother Tree.”
Unbreakable.
“You become one with Aether.”
Adamantine
“A Rukh…”
“A Rukh Al-Qadeem…”
“An Old Soul, an Ancient One, an Apex Primordial…”
“A God… whatever you’d like to call ’It.’”
’His’ voice dropped, almost reverent.
“For you are one with the energy that binds the entire universe.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
That final sentence brought silence.
Malik stared, his mind racing.
But the True Sultan wasn’t done.
“Godhood… Lost Grace… Divine Sparks… whatever poetic crap they call it… It’s all more or less the same. When you understand the Script, when the Laws recognize you, that’s when Divinity settles. It carves itself into your soul.”
’He’ pointed a ’foggy’ finger right at Malik’s chest.
“That’s when you stop being prey.”
The table trembled under the weight of those words.
“But…”
Malik’s lips parted slightly, his voice barely audible:
“…But who?”
The True Sultan’s wide grin returned.
“Oh… that is the fun part.”
’His’ fingers snapped for nearly the tenth time.
“But let’s be real, you don’t have the time. Ain’t no weak-ass Mithqal out there waiting to get their Core ripped out by you.”
A beat echoed.
“So there’s one other way… one that you came here for.”
Something shimmered.
“Trials.”
A glyph hovered between them.
“One of the Nine Rukhs… or one of us, the Three Araafs… can give you a trial. You win? ’We’ grant you a Believer’s Mark.”
A glowing sigil spun in the air, then slowly dissolved.
“With it comes a Blessing. A Unique Ability.”
’He’ side-eyed Malik.
“You already got one, by the way. The one the Lady of Time shoved into your soul. But maybe… maybe… your battered soul can handle another. Who knows, it just might… I mean, your soul did get stronger after being healed and beaten up and healed by that little brother of yours for all those years.”
Malik leaned in.
“…So you’re saying if I survive the trial, I might still die from the Blessing?”
The True Sultan gave a shrug.
“Yep. Soul collapse. Overload. Burnout. It could happen. But… you could just not take the Blessing and become a plain Mithqal. Just means passing on some potentially stupid, mind-breaking, earth-shattering, reality-warping power.”
“No.”
Malik didn’t think or even pause for a moment.
“Give me your worst.”
The True Sultan’s grin flared, deranged now.
“Damn, I was hoping you’d say that.”
’He’ waved His hand.
Three cards materialized, floating and glowing.
{EASY.}
{HARD.}
{IMPOSSIBLE.}
And behind them…
{HELL.}
A fourth appeared.
It was pitch black, speaking only of death, and yet…
Malik’s eyes locked onto it.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, his face…
It revealed a full smile.
Still twisted and cruel, but a smile nevertheless.
“Send me to Hell.”
The True Sultan laughed.
“Oh… you really are the right man for this job.”
BLINK.
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