That mad bastard.
That heroic, stupid, impossible bastard.
Nasir.
Caring not for his life, he jumped right toward the core, throwing himself over it.
Once upon it, his hands slammed the earth.
CRACK—BOOO—!
“NEVER!”
The implosion should’ve swallowed the hall.
Should’ve ended everything. Should’ve burned them all out of existence.
But it didn’t.
Nasir had done something. Malik didn’t know what until it was too late.
The earth moved through the marble. Shot up like jagged waves, thick and layered, wrapping around Nasir and the core. Wall after wall of stone, dirt, and sand hardened in an instant, fully sealing him—and the implosion—inside.
Then came the pulse.
Not a blast. A pulse. Like a Malāk’s heartbeat.
The whole world shook. The ground screamed. The walls cracked. Beams snapped like dry twigs. The entire city groaned, about to fold in on itself.
But it didn’t.
Somehow, by some absolute miracle…
The hall held.
The buildings held.
The world itself had held.
Malik uncurled from Safira, hands trembling.
She was out cold—so were the others. The pressure had knocked them right out.
But he was still awake.
Barely.
He stood up, every part of him aching, and stumbled through the haze toward the mound—the cocoon of rock that had once been Nasir.
It was still. Silent. Dust leaking from its cracks.
Malik reached out. Touched it.
And it crumbled right beneath his fingers.
Like it had been waiting for that one last goodbye before letting go.
And inside?
Nothing.
No body. No trace. Just dust.
Nasir was gone.
Gone for good.
The world didn’t scream for his departure.
It didn’t cry… It just was.
Malik stared at the empty space, that hollow pit in the middle of it all.
Another father, lost.
Another man who gave his life for something greater.
And then he laughed. A dry, bitter thing. Laced with madness and heartbreak.
He looked around—at the broken tables, the dead and knocked-out soldiers, the ruins of a celebration that would never be remembered the way it was meant to.
“God…”
He looked up.
“I lied to that Caliph. You don’t hate me.”
Malik laughed again, softer now. A little more cracked.
“You despise me.”
As if to prove his words…
The tragedy continued.
A pulse shot out, originating from the pit.
Whoosh!
Every candle in the hall was snuffed out.
Flame after flame vanished in an instant.
Darkness slammed into the hall. Heavy… wrong.
Not the kind of dark that comes from no light—but something else.
This dark was alive.
Shadows bled out from the corners.
Thick as ink. Hungry.
Runes followed.
They crawled into existence, glowing with void-black light.
They etched themselves into the stone, the tables, the broken food, even the Goddamn air.
They continue to pulse, matching the pit. Slow. Breathing. Waiting.
Malik stumbled back, heart hammering like a war drum.
He knew it without a shred of doubt.
It was here.
IT was here.
Depravity.
“N-No—”
His breath hitched as a soft hand wrapped itself around one of his ankles.
He looked down, gaze tracing the limb.
…It belonged to Safira.
Her eyes met his once more.
They were no longer green.
They had turned black.
Pure, endless void.
His stomach dropped further, and to make things even worse…
“CHILD. IT’S ME.”
IT spoke, stunning him to complete silence.
“OH… DO YOU NOT REMEMBER ME? I SEEM TO HAVE THAT EFFECT ON PEOPLE.”
Malik remained silent.
“THEN PERHAPS YOU REMEMBER THIS…”
Safira stood up, and her hands turned sickly, just extremely pale.
Her fingers elongated and flexed as though savoring the space, the world.
They reached out, first tentative, then greedy, touching upon where his heart was.
“You’ve come back to me.”
Malik shuddered, that dream, that nightmare overwhelming his mind.
Unconsciously, he stepped closer to Safira and held her neck.
They stared at each other for a while, and then IT spoke:
“STILL SOFT. THAT’S WHY YOU ALWAYS BREAK, CH—”
Crack!
He twisted her neck, ending her life.
Her body dropped, a doll with its strings cut loose.
“Sleep.”
Only then did he snap out of it.
Malik flinched and looked at her for a long second.
Then, without saying anything, he looked away.
He did the same to Duban, his new bride, his old one, then a man, then another. And another.
Their dark eyes fluttered open one by one and stared at him as he silently killed them.
Their veins began to bulge, darkening, twisting beneath their skin.
They convulsed, their bodies distorting. Deforming into something inhuman.
The Corruption tore through them.
But still, he didn’t quicken his pace.
He took it slow, remembering their faces.
But that soon changed.
After the twelfth man, he saw him.
Faqir.
The man lay sprawled on the floor, his face contorted in pain.
Malik’s breath hitched once more.
He was still alive?!
“Faqir!”
He moved, dropping to his knees beside him.
Faqir’s slowly darkening eyes turned towards him.
His lips trembled as he fumbled with shaking fingers, fishing out a crumpled paper from his robes.
He tried to lift it to his eyes, but his arms were too heavy, too weak.
They slammed against the ground, useless.
Malik clenched his jaw.
“Hold on, I’ll—”
But Faqir wasn’t listening.
He wasn’t even looking at him.
His blackened veins pulsed, his body convulsing, but there was no pain in his face anymore. Just something… distant.
Malik could see it in his eyes.
Faqir knew.
He used the last of his strength to shout—to say something, anything—but all that came was a broken whisper.
A ghost of words left unspoken.
Malik leaned in, desperate.
“What? What are you trying to say?”
Faqir’s lips moved, pushing out a last breath:
“…Why?”
His body stilled, his breath stopping.
Malik sat frozen.
His… friend. His “brother.” Gone.
All around him, the soldiers continued to change.
The corruption was consuming them, twisting them into something monstrous.
But Malik couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.
Because Faqir had asked him why…
And he didn’t have an answer.
No matter how many times he himself had asked this question…
He had never gotten an answer.
Sighing one last time, Malik wiped a hand down his face.
It turned completely blank.
He stood up.
Picking up a dagger from the ground, he calmly walked towards the worst of them.
Malik buried his blade into a soldier’s heart.
Malik severed a head clean from its shoulders.
Malik crushed a windpipe with a single, brutal twist of his hands, then snapped a neck.
One by one.
He slaughtered them before they could turn into something worse.
Some tried to fight it, clawing at the marble, gasping his name like he could save them.
He answered them all the same way: steel through the heart, quick, merciful.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Malik stood alone in a wedding hall.
A single tear escaped down his cheek.
…He smiled.
It was not a happy smile.
It was not a sad smile.
It was not a foolishly bright, foolishly kind smile.
It was a broken one. Completely and utterly alien.
“Your Fall has ended… Sleep.”
He looked down, eyes landing on the dagger.
No longer would he be hypocritical.
Blink.
