{Inside The Projection}
"Thanks for this... welcome."
She blinked again but then smiled softly, wiping under her eyes.
"Of course! That's what big little sisters are for, right?"
Malik silently nodded.
That came from Cyrus, his voice sounding disgusted.
The two looked at the still spinning man. Malik deadpan, Huda visibly annoyed.
Cyrus, meanwhile, just watched them with the biggest grin ever plastered on his face.
"I think I'm going to be sick."
Malik didn't bother with him or his contradictory actions; annoying people seemed to be baked in the man's core.
"Pardon the interruption, but~..."
Cyrus spread his arms a little.
"Mind if I borrow your brother for a teensy, weensy moment?"
He put a finger to his lips like it made him less irritating.
Cyrus hummed, putting an arm around Malik's shoulder, acting like they were the best of friends.
"Father-to-son things. Best friend-to-best friend. Man-to-man... Stranger-to-stranger."
"No! I'm not letting you take him. You'll just annoy him to death."
Cyrus gasped, scandalized.
"Annoy?! Moi? I'm hurt!"
She crossed her arms.
Cyrus rolled his eyes and looked at Malik.
"She's so dramatic. Is that my side of the family or yours?"
Malik shrugged him off and stepped back, not bothering to reply.
Huda stepped in front of her "elder brother," as if she were protecting him.
"Ten minutes... Ten minutes, then I'm breaking down your office door."
"Oh, please do. It's been so long since someone kicked through it properly."
And just like that, they were off—Malik walking, Cyrus gliding next to him.
They passed through halls filled with guards that, surprisingly, didn't blink at the sight, even the ones Malik had traumatized near death. They acted like all was natural.
Indeed, it was only Malik, the silent monster, and Cyrus, the annoying madman, walking together. Enemies turned "best friends." Nothing was unusual.
Soon, they turned into a hidden hallway, and it was...
Empty. Cold. Private.
Malik opened his mouth to speak, but—
Cyrus raised one hand without looking.
Which essentially meant "Whatever. That's fine."
Or, as he would've likely put it, "I don't give a shit."
Cyrus paused his theatrics, and his feet touched the ground.
He turned on his heel and stopped, facing him fully now, one brow raised.
"So. Tell me, boy. Do you hate me?"
Malik stared, a void-eyed stare he'd never given anyone before today.
Just that stare alone would've killed many a man, but unfortunately, he was against him.
"Not even a little frown?"
"Should I tell her what I did?"
Pressure had descended once more.
Cyrus grinned, stepping back.
"You do hate me. You despise me. I am your enemy."
He threw his hands up like he was surrendering.
"And now, guess what? You got meee~. You can ruin what I've built. But please, pleeeease don't do it. Don't tell her. I don't want to kill you. It'd make things complicated."
Malik stared at him for a moment and then finally—finally—spoke:
"How is it... How is it that I feel more for a child of your family than you do?"
That actually made Cyrus stop, though just for a second.
He gave the most nonchalant little chuckle, brushing invisible dust off his coat.
"I have four wives. Both of my brothers have four wives. Each one bore us a few. Losing one or two kids isn't a big deal."
Malik's hand clenched into a fist.
Cyrus turned to grin over his shoulder.
"And besiiiiiiiides, these two are your children~. You named them, after all."
Something cracked inside Malik's jaw from how hard he clenched it.
"You deserve to die."
"Who are you to say that? Strangeeeeer~."
Malik clicked his tongue, his patience nearing its limit.
"That's not comparable—"
Cyrus cut him off with a wave.
"I've heard the tales. The Night of The Kitten. The Battle of The Gate. A few others. You've made quite the name for yourself. You might've killed even more kids than I did. And yet, here you are. Standing where I stand. Telling me what I deserve."
He shook his head mockingly.
"You still don't get it, do you?"
"Heh~. You're a hypocrite, boy."
Malik still didn't respond.
It was not because he didn't want to, but because somewhere in the back of his soul, a part of him knew that arguing with Cyrus was like trying to cut fog with a sword. The bastard didn't break. He slipped between your fingers.
They continued to walk, and after a few more turns through hallways filled with flickering blue crystals embedded in the walls, probably some heating rune tech that made the steam that went through all those metal trees, they reached a wide black door covered in what looked like frost-kissed vines.
Cyrus snapped his fingers.
The door slid open sideways, revealing a space that looked less like an office and more like a war room mixed with an Aetherical observatory. Long windows stared out into the snowy horizon, and projections of strange maps hovered over the desk.
A massive curved blade leaned against the wall at the back of it all, right next to a comfy-looking throne-like chair.
Cyrus strolled in and flopped into that chair, easing his back into it.
Malik, meanwhile, stood still.
"Your sword... It's Zulfiqar, is it not?"
"I'm surprised someone like you has it. Who did you steal it from?"
It seemed that besides Huda and his family, nothing could get to Malik.
"Oh, you were given it? By whom?"
Malik almost felt like answering that.
Perhaps if Cyrus knew what he knew, IT would come and kill him.
Unfortunately, Malik didn't want to gamble, especially not with something involving IT.
His curse was useless against IT. He could not hope to outsmart IT by blinking.
"Hm... You won't say. I see. But do you know its capabilities?"
Malik showed nothing even to that.
"I'm sure you noticed that if you willed it, it could cut through everything. But that's not all... there's more. I'm not sure you realized that or not, but, well, either way, you'll learn."
Cyrus didn't wait for Malik to not reply and gestured for him to sit in one of the empty seats.
Malik did as he was requested and sat in the seat furthest away from the slippery bastard.