Chapter 170: Clenched Fist

Words : 1153 Updated : Sep 19th, 2025

The first step onto the dunes felt... different. The wind hit him hard, whipping past like it had been waiting for him. Maybe it was welcoming him. Maybe it was warning him. Either way, Malik just felt glad to finally be home. Sand shifted beneath his boots, sliding, sinking, trying to pull him down. He didn't care. His balance was better now—way better. And though he had gotten heavier, his steps were way lighter, if that made any sense. So, sinking sand? That wasn't even close to making it on the list of things to worry about. Malik looked up, staring directly at something he had so incredibly missed. The Shams. It was something that he had never expected to feel, but that was life. And life was full of surprises. The golden glow in his eyes burned brighter, and then, he felt it. Really felt it. The power was alive. Hungry. Ready. Now he was somewhat of a powerhouse. Whole. New. Reborn. Hoooot. Before he could explore that anymore, a low, deep sound resounded. It was familiar, and Malik's smirk was instant. He tilted his head back, scanning the sky, already knowing what he'd see. Sure enough, there. Wings spread wide, cutting through the air. The wind carried it in slow glides. It was him. Malik's Crimson Owl... or not. "Huh." He squinted. This was not quite right. The Crimson Owl was not so crimson. Perhaps she was Crimson's new lady friend? Maybe. He might've finally tricked one of his kin into sleeping with him. Though this one was a bit too small for him. She was a sleek little thing, dark-feathered, just black, beak and all. Like ink, like night, like something that had been swallowed by the void and spat back out again. Even the eyes—usually bright, piercing—were dark, almost unreadable. She was watching him, just as he was watching her. "...Crimson's girl?" Malik mused aloud, raising an eyebrow. "Where is he?" Hoooot. Hoot. The owl tilted its head just as she landed, almost like she was amused. Malik's smirk grew. "What? Is he mad I didn't say hello sooner?" Hoot. Hooot. Hoot! He chuckled, shaking his head. The damn thing was staring at him too hard. Studying him. Like she knew something. Like she had been waiting for him, too. "...Wait." A slow blink. His smirk faltered, just a little. "...Crimson?" "..." "..." "..." Silence. Then, the owl stretched his wings wide, twisting just enough to catch the Shams against his feathers. The parts where the light most touched slowly began to lose their dark, catching a deep reddish hue instead. "...Hah." Malik let out a short, breathy laugh. "You're kidding me." Hoooot! Hoooot! Hoooot! Of course, he wasn't kidding. Of course, this was Crimson. The way he moved, the way he watched, the way he hooted like he was making fun of him. It was all the same. But the feathers. "...Why? Or, well, how?" Malik's voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. His owl had never been one for games. Not like this. Not without a reason. Crimson flapped his wings, pushing a gust of sand at him. Hooot! Hoot. The sound carried, deeper than usual. And it clicked. Malik's smirk faded completely. He wasn't sure if he was impressed or annoyed. Maybe both. "Ten whole families? It must've been tough." Hoot. "So no one else recognized you after that?" Hoot. Hoot. Hoot. "Ah, so now you're like one of those carrier owls. Good. I can't have you causing me trouble." Crimson didn't reply to that. Not really. He just gave a soft, almost disappointed shake of his feathery head. Malik sighed. "Smart bastard." The owl stepped closer. Hoot. Malik chuckled, stretching his limbs. "Yeah, yeah. I know. I look like shit." He fluffed his feathers, blinking slowly. Malik ran a hand over his face. "You wouldn't believe what it was like in there... The fact that I'm talking right now feels strange. I should've become a cripple or something... maybe I would've if not for my 'rebirth.'" He flexed his fingers, feeling the power that now coursed through him. "But hey, I made it." The owl tilted his head, watching him intently. Then, another hoot. Malik snorted. "What now? What am I going to do next?" He cracked his neck. "Relax. That's what." He rolled his shoulders and looked off into the horizon. "I deserve it. For once in my life, I think I actually do. Must." The owl stared at him for a long moment before giving a decisive nod, ruffling its feathers in approval. Then, he turned, spread his wings, and took off, gliding just above the sands. He didn't go far—just enough to show him where to go. Malik took a deep breath. Real, actual air filled his lungs. Weird. It felt... foreign. Like everything else around him. But, for a moment, none of that mattered. For a moment—just a single, fleeting moment—he saw it. A flickering flame. Golden. And it wasn't in front of him. Wasn't something distant or untouchable. It came from him. His own palm. His left palm. He didn't even know when it happened. Didn't realize he had called it forth. But there it was, dancing in his hand, alive and burning like it had been there all along, waiting for him to notice. Malik stared at it. Long and hard. Then, slowly, he lifted his arm. Raised it high. Higher. Let the golden fire catch the light; let it blaze against the sky. And after a beat—just one—he clenched his fingers. The flame disappeared, swallowed whole by his fist. Now, finally, he could claim it. He could do so without worry. He could do so knowing that it was true. It was his. Really his. Triumph. Malik had triumphed. Now he could claim it. HOOT! A loud cry cut through the air, snapping him out of his goodbye. Malik blinked, looking up just in time to see a very pissed-off owl circling overhead. Crimson. Watching him with those sharp, judgmental eyes like he'd just wasted his time. He sighed. "Alright, alright, I'm coming." Crimson let out another hoot—less of a warning, more of a finally, dumbass—before swooping forward. So, he followed. Through the dunes. Through the shimmering heat. Through the vast stretch of desert. His steps didn't falter. Not once. The weight of the void and all that came with it clung to him still, but he was fine. His death was already spoken for; meeting the one responsible and talking with IT didn't change anything. Rather, IT only reaffirmed his thoughts. He would not be dragged down by IT. Malik carried it his way now. And he'd carry it until the end came for him.

Chapter 170: Clenched Fist

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