Chapter 368: The Gates Of Hell

Words : 1450 Updated : Oct 9th, 2025

Chapter 368: The Gates Of Hell Aether blasted inward, furious, and a cyclone of wild wind blasted out in unconscious retaliation. Chandeliers shattered, walls crumbled, entire murals were torn, and weapons snapped off belts, clanging to the floor. The crowd screamed, shields, spells, runes, and abilities coming up too slow. The only safe direction was forward, the Golden Throne. Him. Malik. Still sitting, wrapped in chains... untouched by all. She didn’t attack that way. She’d never. That was impossible for her now. Even when without control. But everything else? Pure devastation. The sky itself seemed to come crashing down. Protective runes couldn’t do much against a Mithqal; not much could. A whole second after the explosion, everyone managed to scramble up a defense, Holy Relics sparking to life just in time, barely keeping most of them intact. The lucky ones hid behind summoned shields. The unlucky ones bled deep. "NOOOOOOOOO!" And still, she screamed. Her one scream of his name resulting in all this destruction. Noor, Roya, Zafar, and Azeem, caring not for that, casually looked at Sinbad, asking him to help, but he didn’t move, not interested in anything unless it had to do with his Lord. She might’ve been his sister by blood, but that connection had long since been cut. Layla, who was feeling much worse than the crying baby, but had not the privilege to lash out, was about to walk up and ask him, beg him to take care of her, even if right now, he despised her, but before she could... SLAP. A sound rang louder than the storm. It cut through the chaos, and suddenly it was silent. A silence that stretched as the entire hall turned to the source. To the one kneeling on the ground, her head snapped to the side. Huda. Her face glowed with light, a perfect outline of fingers blooming over her cheek. Time seemed to stop, and her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes returned to life, her pupils trembling. "W-What—" She stuttered, not knowing what had just happened. "Stop it." Safira’s voice followed, way too quiet... too calm. Like a mother scolding a child, she didn’t scream. Nor did she raise her hand again. She didn’t need to. That tone and those two words were enough. "I... I’m sorry." Huda looked down. Her arms gripped her body... And she curled into herself. The entire hall watched. Some of them were still panting, others bloodied, but all were stunned. They looked at Safira like they’d never seen her before. Now they understood why they called her the Backbone of Nasir Al-Sultan. Duban, likely the one who first vocalized that title, looked on with a long, proud nod. Faqir did too, hand over heart. And in that calm after the storm— Those relatively unhurt began to move. With their help, runes sparked again, reversing damage with loud hums, weaving broken stones and metal almost like time was flowing backward. The roof was rebuilt, the chandeliers hung themselves, and the walls stood strong. The hall became whole again. Once the dust was gone... Only then did they finally begin to process what they had just witnessed. What they had just learned. One could see it as clear as day. Color had drained from their faces. And that wasn’t from Huda’s outburst; they were used to near-death scenarios. It was from the revelation... for it all finally clicked. Hard. It was spelled out for them. Not only by Azeem’s and Roya’s argument, but also by Malik’s new Unique Ability, the one he’d gotten from that hidden trial of his, sending a wave of sick realization through the entire hall. If the Sultan... if any Sultan had a link through the Golden Throne... then... Then the Former Sultan, Cyrus... and every Sultan before him, they all had the same thing... They knew who was marked. Who was doomed. Who was Corrupted. Every Sultan had that sight... that contract. And every Sultan knew how to save their subjects... change the eyes of their petals before their time came. Indeed, the projection told them everything. The Zaquums. Those lotuses filled with eyes. These weren’t hallucinations or tricks but a brand from Depravity itself. Even a baby crying in its mother’s arms had a lotus on the back of its tiny hand. Cursed, dripping, and... watching. Connected to what grew towards the east, always the east. The home of those whom their racists called Hexbloods. Layla’s people. Whatever the reason was for that, they didn’t care. They didn’t care for what was revealed in the diary either. Even though some of what was written on there, before it spoke of the end, was somewhat hilarious, creepy, and borderline depraved, with him {tasting} literal monsters and constantly wishing death on his own brother, all but celebrating when Malik finally killed him. No, right now, the hall cared for one thing and one thing alone. If Malik had the same vision as the Former Sultans, then why was he forced to kill them? Did something go wrong like it always did? Did Malik’s luck fuck him over once again? They now knew that he didn’t go mad; something else did. Perhaps it was the Fall Cyrus spoke of. It had come for them all. And it came without a cure. Cyrus died and left Malik holding the Fall. As if his punishment wasn’t cruel enough already... They could not dare believe it. But it was true. It had to be true. Only the truth could be so incredibly cruel. All those years— Thud! Thud! Thud! Many collapsed to their knees, no more strength in their bodies. All those years they thought... they thought he was a demon beyond all demons... They called him mad, a tyrant, a butcher, the Devil’s Spawn, the Shaytan’s Sultan, the Villain, but... He was their savior. Their pillar of faith. One who was forced to be an executioner. ...Why? Again, they knew something wrong must’ve happened, but what? WHAT IN THE SEVEN HELLS HAPPENED?! "WHY—WHY COULD THE FORMER SULTAN PROTECT US?!" A young man, one of those who still held hate towards him, gripped his hair, not wanting to believe it. "WHY COULD HE STOP THE FALL AND THE SULTAN COULDN’T?!" His heart tried to fight back against the truth, grasping at straws, trying its best to shrug off the obvious and logical truth before them all. Roya, still standing, calmly looked at him. "Because..." She closed her eyes. "...The Former Sultan never stopped it. None of them did. They only... delayed it. Switched a few eyes for another... eyes that had no lotuses. Eyes that were simply waiting to be called." Her voice dropped close to a whisper. "Kicking the curse down the line... to the next... to the next... until..." Her hands came together in a clap. "Until time ran out..." They squeezed. "Until the Sultan sat on the throne." A sharp inhale resounded from every corner of the hall. "No..." That echoed. "No no no no no..." A denial of what was most true. "No no no no no no no no no no..." What most dared not believe. "The Fall..." But had to. "IT was already here..." For it was the truth. "IT was already here when the Sultan took the throne..." Roya nodded at the only one who dared to finish their sentence. "And he... he got the short end of the stick. Something that, again was quite obvious, but so very hard to process. "He was the one left when there was no more delaying, hiding... and pretending." Many joined Huda, curling up into themselves. They could not stand these words. "...The last Sultan." The truth... "The one who had to take it all..." It was too much for them. "And yet..." Roya’s eyes softened—barely—but they certainly did. "You all lived. We all... survived. It’s now 313 ADS. We’re here. The Holy City stands." People started glancing at one another, breathing faster. "Wait... wait... wait... then how?" "HOW?!" "HOW DID WE SURVIVE?!" "HOW DID THE WORLD NOT COLLAPSE?!" "...How? How... did the Fall not swallow us?" Eyes turned to the projection. Every. Single. Person. Even Sinbad, who knew the answer. Even the Lady. They all watched and waited. As if it might answer the question no one ever dared to ask. ’Did he... did he save us...?’ No one said it. ’Did we curse him... hate him... for centuries... while he was the one holding the gates of Hell shut... all alone...?’ But everyone thought it. ’Did we kill our saviour?’ And that silence... ’The final wall standing before the Fall?’ That silence screamed louder than anything ever could.

Chapter 368: The Gates Of Hell

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