Chapter 147: In The Hands Of An Owl

Words : 1600 Updated : Sep 17th, 2025

If he were to be completely honest... Malik didn't care if he rotted in Corruption. Didn't care if his soul burned. Didn't care if he never felt peace again. If he could save Rehan, if that was the price— Then so be it. So fucking be it. And so, Malik stayed there, unmoving, for what felt like forever. Letting the weight of everything settle over him. Letting it crush him. Somewhere in the background, preparations for the funeral had begun. He could hear murmurs, shuffling, the occasional sniffle. He wondered if they were crying. He wondered if they were cursing his name under their breaths. He didn't move to find out. Instead, he stood up. Slowly. Methodically. It was as if his body was being dragged by invisible chains. Then, without a word, he walked away. Away from the body. Away from the people. Away from the funeral that he wasn't sure he had the right to attend. He found a quiet place. Somewhere further from the village, where their gazes couldn't reach him. Where he could be alone with his thoughts. And there, he sat down. And he waited. For something. Anything. But nothing came. Just the silence. Just the emptiness. Just the ghost of a man who had once called him 'son.' *** {Outside The Projection} The battle. The blood. The clash of blades. Her father's last breath. Malik... oh, Malik. Layla's heart clenched in her chest. Her husband had been there. He had spoken to her. She remembered that. God, she remembered. She had screamed at him. Had fought against the arms that had pulled her back. Had refused to hear whatever he was trying to say to her— But he had spoken to her. Back then. Before the funeral. Before the tree. The offerings. The incense. Her throat closed up. Her head spun, thoughts twisting, unraveling, knotting themselves into something ugly, something jagged. Her body was still, frozen, but inside? Inside, she was falling apart. Back then, her people had pulled her away, had dragged her from him before she could even process the way his voice had cracked, the way his eyes had looked—like he was already dead. Like the weight of it had crushed him long before anyone had buried the body. But if that happened... If she remembered that— If he was still here— If he hadn't killed himself— If he had followed through with that promise, then— Layla's stomach twisted. Then something had happened. Something else. This wasn't over. Her fingers dug into her arms, nails biting deep. Were they attacked again? Was that it? Had she been too slow again? Had she missed something again? Had she let something slip through the cracks while she was too caught up in her grief to see it coming? Layla wasn't afraid of death. She wasn't even afraid of pain. But this? This uncertainty? This gaping, yawning void of not knowing? It terrified her. *** {Inside The Projection} That last part was literal. Rehan's ghost stood before him. Slowly, hesitantly, Malik turned his head. And saw him. Purple... sweet, beautiful purple. Standing just a few steps away, looking exactly as he had before—before the battle, before the sacrifice, before everything. But not for long. Never that. His hair returned to a bright white. An ugly white. He wasn't alone. Behind Rehan were Sinbad and Jasmine, barely peeking their heads out. All three complacencies were now before him. ...How fun. "You're not real. Leave." Rehan smiled, small and sad. "Maybe not... but no." "..." "..." "..." Silence stretched between them. Malik swallowed; his voice was hoarse when he spoke again: "Why are you here?" Rehan tilted his head. "That's a question for you, isn't it?" Malik exhaled sharply through his nose. "You and the little ones behind you are just a hallucination. A ghost my mind conjured up to torture me." "..." Rehan didn't answer. Just watched. Like a crimson owl had in the distance. "I chose you over her." Rehan nodded. "I know... you told me already." And that was it. No anger. No blame. Just understanding. And that made it worse. He couldn't get the man angry at him even in his own mind. Pathetic. Malik laughed, bitter. "Can you blame me for your death?" Rehan just smiled that same tired smile. "Would it change anything?" "..." Malik went silent. And then— "...Did I make the right choice?" Rehan's smile faded. His eyes softened. "You did." Malik closed his eyes. His breath shuddered. "But... I don't know." Rehan took a step closer. "Then why did you choose her?" Malik swallowed hard. "Because I had to." Rehan studied him for a long moment. "...Then that's enough." Malik opened his eyes. His chest ached. His hands trembled. "But it doesn't feel like enough." Rehan sighed again. "It never does." And with that, the image flickered. Wavered. Began to fade. Malik's heart lurched. His fingers twitched forward, like they could reach. Like they could hold on. "Wait—" But Rehan had already vanished into the night. The last thing Malik saw before the illusion shattered was the look in his eyes. Something... proud. Malik sat there, alone again, staring off into the night. The night air was cold. The silence was deafening. It was deafening... so, so deafening. Thwump! Thwump! Thwump! All of a sudden, a flutter of wings made itself known. It was the crimson owl. Malik barely reacted as he landed beside him, his pink eyes staring. Watching. Judging, maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe he was the one projecting. Crimson moved closer. Just a tiny hop. Then another. And then— Whoosh... He hugged him. Malik blinked. Crimson's feathery body blanketed his side, the soft warmth of it, the quiet, weightless comfort. He didn't speak, didn't judge, didn't scold. He just was. Malik exhaled, slow and long, like he was deflating. "...What are you doing?" The owl didn't answer. He just pressed closer. For a moment, Malik let himself relax. Just a moment. Then the beak struck. "ACK—" A deep bite, right at the side of his neck. Pain flared. His body lurched. 'This bastard.' Stay connected with My Virtual Library Empire The world yanked itself away from him. The cold air, gone. The ground, gone. His body, gone. He felt himself falling, slipping, drowning— Blink. —and then waking up again. A few hours earlier. *** {Outside The Projection} ...Layla repeatedly opened her mouth and closed it. Speechless. She and those around her all looked at Crimson and then back at the projection. 'So that's how.' It was the last thing they had expected. *** {Inside The Projection} Malik let out a sharp breath, sitting in the exact same position he was in not so long ago. He checked his surroundings, recognizing the way the wind blew, the sounds of the village in the distance. Everything was just as it had been before the funeral preparations started. His "Checkpoint" was updated. Thwump! Thwump! Thwump! The crimson owl arrived early this time and Malik turned to him. "You—" He stood there, big, round, unblinking eyes staring at him like he had just done him the biggest favor in the world. "Oh, you little shit." Malik stood, about to admonish him, but— Hoot! The owl was the one doing the admonishing. "So that's how it is?" Malik rubbed his temples, exhaling. "You wanted to reset me? Fix things?" Hoot! Hoot! Malik chuckled dryly. "Yeah? Well, guess what? It didn't work. Looks like my 'checkpoint' got updated, dumbass." Hoot. Hoot-hoot-hoot. "What do you mean 'you tried'?" Malik scoffed. "You bite me like I'm some kind of snack and expect us to just act like how we did before?" Hoot! Malik sighed. "...Fine. Maybe you had good intentions. But it's too late. There's no coming back from this." Hoot. The owl tilted his head, almost like he was sad. Almost like he understood. Malik stared at him and then started talking to him like an old friend: "You think I don't know that? You think I don't wish I could fix it?" He rubbed his face. "Even if I could go back, even if I could explain everything... do you really think she'd listen?" The owl didn't answer. Just stared. Malik let out a bitter chuckle. "Yeah. That's what I thought." "..." "..." Silence stretched between them. Just the wind, the distant murmurs of the village, the quiet rustling of the owl's feathers. Then— GHOOAAAAN! A horn call. Malik's head snapped up. In the distance, a voice rang out through the night: "ALI BABA'S FUNERAL!" He closed his eyes, a breath leaving his lips. Before, he ignored this call completely, but now? He was going to give someone a visit. Malik glanced at the owl. Hoot! The owl pushed his arm gently, as if saying goodbye. "Thanks... I need all the luck I can get." ... The moment Layla woke up, the first thing she saw was Malik standing there, watching her. For a second, she felt relief. He was alive. They had won. She had fallen unconscious after seeing him stab her father in the throat, but that was just a trick of the mind, right? Maybe their enemies had illusions as a part of the attack. Who knew with these bandits.... right? But then she noticed it—the look in his eyes. Something was wrong. Something was true. Her heart pounded. "Where's my father?"

Chapter 147: In The Hands Of An Owl

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