***
{Outside The Projection}
That scene was sudden.
Too sudden... cold.
The world saw no preamble.
No festival scenes, smiling nobles, not even a single drumbeat.
People in the hall had braced themselves for the usual: so long, perhaps a little drawn-out farewell, maybe a mont or two or three of tension. So push and pull, just sothing soft before the fall.
But Malik apparently didn’t rember the ’soft.’
Which ant it never mattered to him, at least not enough to be rembered.
So the projection didn’t show it.
It jumped straight to the fire, the speech, the sky tearing open.
And the silence in the hall began to deafen as it usually did.
No one said a word, not even the "main characters."
The eight of them just stared.
It was too much to process.
This wasn’t only a rebellion. Arguably speaking, Malik could’ve left Al-Ayan alone. It would’ve been extrely tough, with many close calls, but he’d definitely be able to do it, perhaps without even blinking once.
This was him strategically overthrowing the kingdom with a statent.
A beautiful one.
Twelve moons, twelve pillars, a kingdom locked under a do.
"This is the beginning of your end."
That line stuck in the air.
It hit harder than any threat.
Even Sinbad tilted his massive head slightly.
His feathers bristled. A mory, maybe... a wound.
And for the first ti since the start of the projection, the entire world watching forgot who they were siding with.
Forgot who betrayed whom.
Who led what.
Who lied.
Who failed.
Because none of it mattered now.
This was the beginning of the fire.
The spark that lit the world.
The day history stopped being sothing they learned and beca sothing they rembered.
This was it.
The mont they were all told in stories.
But... never was it like this. No, not like this.
The man they feared... the man they thought they understood...
Even with the killer of his people directly before him, he didn’t rage, scream, or demand.
Malik inford them.
"Do not resist if you wish to live."
And that was all.
***
{Inside The Projection}
Malik stood in silence at the mouth of a tunnel. Around him were more than two dozen people—his people, the Banu Sasan, the Silent Crescent.
Kabir, as their leader, kneeled before Malik, waiting for his command.
Malik’s eyes scanned him and the others, just as he had earlier with the kingdom’s citizens.
It took a mont, but he was soon done, as he gestured for soone behind him.
That soone brought in a crate and opened it before Kabir.
Kabir’s eyes widened almost instantly once he saw its contents.
He turned to look at his Lord.
"...Now?"
Malik nodded his head.
"Let them know who’s brought their end."
...
A large blast ca from the apothecary quarter.
A thunderous boom that knocked out windows for three blocks.
People scread, running out into the streets in nightclothes. Others went in the opposite direction, out of their hos in droves, filling the streets, screaming for the death of Al-Ayan.
Again, one might think them quite happy with the place, considering how they acted in both festivals, but not quite... all they needed was an incentive and a mont of triumph.
That explosion was triumph enough.
A caravan of supply carts went up in flas next, blocking the main passage through the kingdom’s lower district. The nearby Faraja officers barely had ti to react before smoke bombs landed at their feet.
Poisoned smoke. Crude, but effective.
They dropped where they stood, coughing, choking, and writhing.
All of the ones responsible wore the insignia of the Crescent Moon.
They were the rebels. Always. And these rebels peeled off in pairs and trios, slinking into sewer routes, alleys, and walls with hidden doorways, enchanted cloaks hidding their movents.
Runes marked their targets.
The light had no idea what was coming.
Far above them, the Academy remained still. Calm. Students slept. Professors wrote. Unaware that they were compromised, their little protection do now wide open, courtesy of a certain Chancellor.
None of the students knew what was happening, detached as always from the kingdom.
The blasts continued to go off, moving the opposition around.
All of it was tid and planned to create controlled chaos.
Chaos that Malik used to his advantage, targeting their Jinn before they could join the battlefield. Ending one noble house after another, depriving them of their leaders.
Every explosion was mapped out in his head, so he knew exactly when and where to go, making him out to be a perfect weapon of death.
One that was heading directly towards a palace.
And no, it wasn’t the Al-Ayan’s palace that he was heading towards.
It was Nourzadah.
Al-Ayan’s king knew full well that the Academy was the best place to be when under attack, as its protection runes held no equal, so he was sure to be there.
Malik planned the entire attack with that in mind.
And it appeared that was right.
Done killing another Jinn, he landed before the east side of the Academy, watching as guards scrambled to shut the gates, tens of bodies getting in the way.
Behind them, Al-Ayan’s advisors were yelling, with ministers barking at ssengers, demanding reports, status updates, answers, just anything.
But all they were answered with was silence.
No one had anything.
It had all co too quickly; just ten or so minutes ago, everything was normal, and they had yet to even process what had just happened.
They didn’t even get the ti to do so.
The guards outside were elite, trained for war, and bred for loyalty.
They’d seen uprisings before, but not like this.
Even though they were all of the Jinn Divine Rank, they weren’t ready for Malik.
They were far from ready, and he simply walked through their ranks, unstoppable.
Blades clanged off his sand-covered body and fell molten.
Arrows bent midair just as they neared him. Elents in all their colors were swallowed whole by his flas around him, unable to handle his gold.
They weren’t fighting a man. They were fighting an army.
And it wasn’t a battle...
It was a massacre.
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