{Outside The Projection}
The hall was trembling.
Trembling, not from the "cold" on display, but from fear.
This was who they were up against.
This was Malik, stripped of all limits, all pretenses.
All those debates they had over whether they’d technically won or not felt really laughable.
They dared think... they really dared to think they’d won against this?
Not a single soul in the entire world could lie to themselves about it anymore.
There was no victory. There never was. There never could be.
What they did was one thing.
And that too was only by his grace.
Nothing they did had truly changed anything.
In the grand scheme of things, they really were inconsequential.
The people, their leaders, and their leaders’ leaders.
Now they all understood that.
Malik’s cages had trapped them all, not only the hated three.
Only now did the world process that fact.
None of those in the hall could react properly to that obvious realization.
Some stared, others prayed, of course, but most whispered tiny thanks under their breath to God, the True Sultan, or any other higher power they believed in, thanking ’Them’ for the fact that Malik had no intention of ending the coalition.
If even for a second, he wanted it gone?
They were sure that all of them would be dead by now.
All of them in their millions.
{Inside The Projection}
Malik stepped further into the chamber.
He was met with empty silence, no guards or advisors in the room.
No soldiers left to scream their loyalty and die for a king who cared not for them.
Just a stretch of polished marble and a single throne at the end.
The king sat on that throne.
His hands trembled where they rested on the arms of the throne.
Behind him stood two of his ten wives, their faces veiled in midnight silk, their postures too stiff.
Perhaps these two were his favorites; it was why he hid them here and left the others to die, or so he might like Malik to think, and yes, the others would certainly die whenever caught.
Commonalities of war: letting rage tempt oneself into something despicable, a bad ’practice...’ even if the opposition deserved it.
The king wasn’t trembling.
Malik didn’t say anything after his entrance.
But his gaze moved, slow and steady.
Their eyes locked onto each other.
The king shifted forward with a shaky smile.
"I’ve been expecting you..."
His voice was brittle.
"I-It took you long enough."
Malik raised one hand, gesturing for the women to leave, his face leaving no room for questions.
The women stiffened, and their eyes flicked from Malik to the king, then back to Malik.
Neither said anything; both just waited.
The moment stretched, until...
One of the women took a step back.
The other followed, hesitating, glancing at the king.
He reached out, grabbing for her wrist.
"N-No! Don’t leave me. Stay!"
The first one bolted.
The second paused for only half a breath... then turned and ran.
And then, just like that, it was just them.
"You think you’ve won?"
The king snarled in anger.
"You think this is victory? Hah! You’re just another bitch biting the hand that fed it."
Malik’s boots thudded softly as he stepped forward.
"You think this changes anything?"
The king suddenly stood, and his voice rose higher:
"You think they’ll follow you now? You think the kingdom will bend to your name? You’re nothing! Absolutely nothing to this kingdom! NOTHING!"
Malik’s eyes didn’t even flicker.
Until he was only ten or so feet away from the throne.
Only then did he finally speak:
"I was once called Stranger."
The words were quiet, but they dropped like stones in a still lake.
The king’s face froze... then twisted... twisted hard.
"You—you’re that bastard?!"
Malik’s hand moved to his belt.
The sword unsheathed slowly.
A single long ring of steel.
The king’s eyes went wide.
"Wait—wait! L-Let’s talk first, alright? I can explain! I can explain everything!"
"Okay—okay! I’m sorry, alright?! I get it; I did you dirty, I know! I get it! But you have to listen to me! It wasn’t personal!"
"I had to do it! It was for the kingdom!"
The blade was raised.
"I’ll give you anything you want! Land, power, wealth, women—!"
Malik’s voice cut through.
Two heads hit the ground behind him.
Blood sprayed across the floor in twin arcs.
It was the two wives.
Or rather, the two guards.
Malik didn’t even turn to look.
He’d known the second they left.
Knew by their steps, by the breath they took.
They were here for his head.
Seeing his "wives" fall, the king didn’t scream.
"You should’ve just fallen for it..."
"YOU SHOULD’VE JUST DIED."
And behind him, lotuses bloomed.
Nine of them, suspended in the air.
Each one was a different color. A different element.
Fire. Frost. Lightning. Earth. Wind. Water. Shadow. Light. Metal.
And one at the center glowed a deep, blood purple and black.
He just raised his blade and took his stance.
"You could’ve ruled with me."
The king sighed, and Malik stared.
"I don’t want your throne of ash."
"You could’ve led them."
"...What did I do that was so wrong?"
Malik’s eyes glowed gold.
That was answer enough.
The king stepped towards him, as slow as could be.
Every inch of movement brought more pressure, more force.
His nine lotuses spun behind him now, orbiting faster, leaving streaks of Aether in their wake.
"I’ll now have to destroy the Academy because of you. Level it to the stone."
Malik’s fire ignited.