"They told him he doesn't belong there... God…"
The guy didn't finish his words, too busy wheezing.
A young lad nearer the front buried his head in his arms, shoulders shaking with laughter.
"My uncle got turned to ash for looking at the Sultan too long back in his village… But these two red-scarf idiots? Nah, go ahead, tell him to leave."
Even the older Magi who liked to act dignified couldn't help it. Covering their mouths, pretending to cough while their bodies shook with stifled snorts.
"I swear I would've rather fought him myself than be those guards right now. They're already dead. They just don't know it."
The projection kept playing before and above them—Malik standing tall, calm, his face unreadable, looking down at the poor man who dared puff out his chest.
"I an—how funny is it that it happened there? Of all places? Lady Huda's ho. The Forr Sultan's palace! The place of honor—etiquette! And they dared say that to him of all people!"
The man standing beside this loud girl was nodding his head.
"A Jinn gets told to shove off. Incredible. Put it in the history books."
Their laughter was infectious; even the more somber among the crowd, the ones still wiping away the tears, cracked reluctant grins. It was a release. A little window of absurdity after too much horror. Sothing stupid. Sothing human.
There were a few exceptions, of course, the first of them being Huda.
This was an embarrassnt. A stain on her family's na.
Right now, her face was beet red.
Her lips trembled with rage and embarrassnt.
And oh—oh, the crowd nearly scread their lungs out when they noticed that.
"AHAHAHAHA SHE'S BLUSHINGGGGGGGGGGGG—!"
"She's REDDER than her HOUSE BANNERS!"
"NO NO NO SOONE PAUSE IT—pause it!"
"Give her rcy before she combusts—!"
For one blessed mont… they forgot about the tragedy.
Hearts had softened. Because sotis, even in a story of blood and fire and grief…
"ALL OF YOU SHUT UP!"
You needed the mont where the mightiest man in the world gets told he was not on the list.
***
{Inside The Projection}
Malik, still looking down at the man, took a step back.
This... he had forgotten his origin. How he used to be treated.
In all honesty, it didn't feel bad... it didn't offend him in any way.
Rather, it almost made him feel nostalgic, reminding him of simpler tis.
So, killing the fucker wasn't on his mind, not at all.
Though he killed far more bastards than he could care to count, he didn't like to needlessly add to that list... even if he had the urge. Even if it'd lessen his annoyance.
So, he thought about sneaking in. He really did.
Slipping through a back window, maybe. Climbing one of the heat pipes, busting in through the servant's wing. All smooth and easy, like he used to do back when he was still a kid, though instead of palaces, it was bars, and his goal wasn't a princess but trash where he could scavenge for food that hadn't rotted all the way yet.
But no.
That wasn't him anymore.
That boy was dead. Probably sowhere back in the Zawaya, buried next to his guardian.
So instead, Malik stepped back to the palace doors and stared down at the two guards.
"Hey! Hold it there, this is—"
Crack.
The first guard dropped.
The second barely got his hidden blade out before Malik jabbed him right in the throat with the edge of his palm.
He wheezed, eyes rolling, then slumped down beside his buddy.
Malik exhaled through his nose and approached the doors.
He kicked them open.
The man didn't burst in; he just walked in calmly. Boots hitting marble. Hood low. Hands loose at his side. Sword still sheathed. Unneeded
The inside of the palace was even warr, but not for long, as it suddenly got heavy.
Guards were the cause.
"INTRUDER!"
"GET HIM!"
They had started yelling as soon as they saw him.
Malik glanced at them and then just... kept walking.
There weren't many after him, perhaps around ten, and none were Magi above the most basic rank, which made him question the palace's security.
Did Al-Sayf really not have a single Jinn to spare?
Weren't they the Holy Kingdom's powerhouse?
The birthplace of most Magi in the Fam Iblis?
...Sothing was wrong.
"Die!"
The first of them had charged, his icy hamr raised high.
Malik sidestepped, jabbed him twice in the ribs, snatched the hamr midair, and smacked him across the face with the handle.
Thunk.
He was down.
Two more ca in with spears.
Malik spun between them, grabbed both spears mid-lunge, yanked them out of their hands, then broke the shafts on his knee and let the splinters fall.
"W-what the Hell is he—?!"
"Take him down! NOW!"
The group behind them ca in with nets. Nets. Like he was so beast they had to wrangle.
It was cute.
Malik leapt, landing on a nearby pillar.
He pushed himself off, twisted midair, and landed behind them.
Two punches. A sweep. A kick. One of them went flying into a chair. Another went through a window.
Malik kept walking.
More guards poured in behind him.
He heard the clinks and clatters of swords. Yelling. Orders.
But he... again, he just walked, never changing pace.
Every few steps, a group caught up.
Every few steps, a group hit the floor.
He didn't kill them; he made sure not to. That part of him was dormant. But he didn't hold back too much either; those who fell didn't get back up. Maybe they wouldn't for a whole week.
By the ti he reached the inner halls, he'd dropped about a hundred and ten guards, seventy-seven proper officers, and soone's uncle who'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong ti, acting out the part of a hero.
And then... finally...
"Huda."
He saw her.
Down the hall.
She was much older, much too different from what he rembered her as.
No longer the sick but cutely snobby child, she stood tall, dressed in soft pink, her crimson hair bound up in rings of gold. Her eyes showed worry; perhaps she had co to see what the commotion was about.
The second their eyes t—he smiled.
He couldn't help it.
It wasn't sothing he could control.
Sure, it was just a bit, but it was a real one. A real smile.
And God, that felt strange, unfamiliar.
He hadn't smiled in so damn long.
But it didn't remain.
Huda wasn't alone.
Soone stood next to her.
Malik... he... saw that wrong soone.
He saw him. He saw him. He saw him.
HIM.
The owl he once invited to supper.
Tall. Elegant. Robed like a bloodied peacock that thought it ruled the sky.
A short beard. Snake eyes of pink.
He was Huda's uncle.
Cyrus.
The Sultan.
Malik stopped.
His face dropped.
And then sothing cracked.
Inside him.
Not a snap.
Not a scream.
But a rupture.
A volcano waking up after centuries.
His mouth opened, and he roared:
"CCYYYYYYYYRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!"
The walls shook, and fire fell upon the hall.
Approaching guards dropped to their knees, hands over their ears.
Huda flinched, lips dripping blood.
Cyrus, the one this roar was directed at, blinked once, unaffected.
Then, slowly, he smiled, his pink eyes darkening.
"Pop."
Malik's head exploded.
Bits of skull clattered to the floor.
Brain matter painted the ceiling.
His body slumped backward, twitching once before collapsing like a puppet with no strings.
"..."
"..."
"..."
Blink.
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