Chapter 3 BASSORĀH!

Words : 850 Updated : Sep 9th, 2025

Malik's vision was still adjusting to the fancy hall he found himself in, confused as to what the Hell had just happened. But even then, when he didn't know right from left, he heard the man's voice loud and clear. "I, Zafar, announce that this VILLAIN is defeated!" He was a villain? Since when? And who the fuck was he to— 'I know him.' Malik joined the trend and cut his own thoughts off as information; no... memories about this twink of a man resurfaced. Zafar Al-Nadir. A figure he could only describe as obnoxiously heroic. A goody-two-shoes, an ignorant hypocrite, a naive and incredibly lucky bastard that had all his shit handed to him. The very antithesis of Malik. Truly, a fitting "hero" of this story. His looks weren't too bad either, unlike a certain someone.@@@@ He was lean, dressed in layers of vibrant fabric with golden embroidery, mimicking a people of old. A curved blade, far too fancy for proper combat, was strapped to his hip. His face was decently handsome, eyes a soft brown, his hair white, reaching his neck. He held his head high, looking down at Malik, his smile annoyingly perfect. 'This guy's definitely the main character of whatever mess I'm in.' Zafar was the head of a grand coalition, a patchwork of different guilds united for one single purpose: to kill the "Villain." And judging by the state of Malik's body—or what he guessed was his body—Zafar had succeeded. But Zafar wasn't the only one of importance... he wasn't the only 'character' in this 'play.' And that was to be expected; after all, what was a "hero" without his "heroines?" Standing beside him, fuming with resentment, was Huda. His own fucking sister. Her pink eyes twitched repeatedly as she barely stopped her tears from flowing. She was just that angry, giving Malik a look that would kill him a million times over if it could. Huda was a petite girl, her hair crimson, long enough to reach her waist. It blended quite nicely with the royal pink dress she wore. '...Why?' As Malik took in her appearance, his stomach twisted. Memories bubbled up again, like a half-forgotten dream, unbidden and painful. She wasn't just some Noble. She was the head of a family of Sultans, Al-Sayf, rulers of sand and sun, wielders of an unfathomable number of Magi. And now, she stood against him. Against her own brother. The next figure had a presence that was impossible to ignore. She was the only one sitting, and her throne wasn't even on the ground. It was high up, near the hall's ceiling, looking over everything. Noor Al-Ayan, the reincarnated princess. Unlike the others, she carried herself with an air of detached amusement, like this entire scene was a play staged for her entertainment. It was a mask, sure, but the others couldn't even manage that. She wore a Bedlah, a fitted top, a hip belt, and a full-length skirt. It was wildly out of place among the shared aesthetic. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, her eyes hidden by a veil that covered her face. Malik remembered her too. He paused, a faint smile playing on his lips. 'You'll remember everything when I'm gone.' Before Malik could protest, the man's body shimmered, breaking apart into tiny specks of light. Some of those lights drifted toward him, sinking into his chest. What he didn't notice, though, was a few stray ones—pink and black—slipping into him too. And sure enough, the floodgates opened. Memories surged through him—images, emotions, knowledge—all crashing into his mind like a tidal wave. He saw everything the man had experienced, everything he had done, everything that had led to this moment. And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Malik was no longer just himself. He was someone else too, a 'Villain.' A man contradictory to himself. He looked back at the five who stood before him, the ones who killed the original owner of this body. Slowly, something dark and visceral bubbled up inside him. Rage. Unforgiving, unrelenting rage. His gaze bore into them, his body trembling. He wanted to scream, to shout, to curse them all. 'I WON'T FORGIVE YOU!' But unfortunately, his roar was heard only within his mind. Malik wanted to end their lives right at that very moment, but, again... He was trapped, powerless. Yet his eyes did show helplessness, not even close. '...Just how can I get out of this? And then, as if answering his very thoughts, a voice resounded. It was deep. Dangerous. Alluring. {Would you like to witness your real history, your Path?} Malik's breath hitched. The voice's power was intoxicating, impossible to resist. {Would you like to make it past your Promised Day?} '...I do.' {Would you like to become a True King?} 'I DO!' {If so, repeat after me...} {Bassorāh1.} 'BASSORĀH!' {...} "..." {...} "..." {...} "..." Many paths came together. The world paused. Bassor-Āh means "where many paths come together."

Chapter 3 BASSORĀH!

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