Chapter 387: Such A Pity

Words : 1474 Updated : Oct 11th, 2025

Chapter 387: Such A Pity All of Malik’s skin peeled off. And then just as fast... It regrew. Then peeled off again. Then it regrew once more. A cycle that repeated over and over, all in a single second. Right, if not for his healing factor, he’d have lost his life the moment he landed here. Even then, his body was struggling, his appearance messing up, as if his brain was failing to remember what shape its container was supposed to be. The Fourth Gate seemed like the chokepoint. What stopped most Sultans from advancing their truth. A wall that brought an end to their Paths and made them lose their way. The divider between those simply insane and those beyond any comprehensible label. For there were bodies and skeletons everywhere, scattered throughout the blackened land, both relatively fresh and ancient. Most expeditions failed here, just around the drop, unable to even take a step forward. None had any scrolls next to them, courtesy of time and them being long since burned. All but one... One body sat perfectly still. Unlike the others, it was cross-legged. Charred to a deep black, yes, but still whole. A scroll rested in his lap, untouched, protected by his body. Malik approached, knelt, and picked it up. The parchment didn’t crumble. It should’ve, but didn’t. Protected by his Will, maybe. Anyhow, he opened it, and unlike earlier, he read from the beginning. Whoever survived this Gate long enough to write this had his complete respect. {To whoever finds this, I’m of the seventy-seventh expedition. The seventy-seventh Sultan to make it this far. To those who came before me... thank you. Your words helped me survive. They gave me tens of years. But... I failed you. I failed. I failed. I failed. I failed. I failed. I failed. You gave me your legacy, and I couldn’t carry it forward. I couldn’t figure it out. I’ve lasted longer than most, maybe all. A hundred cursed years. But my body’s given in; my healing’s gone. I can’t stand. And still, I did not find the obstacle. I thought maybe it was hidden, maybe buried, maybe locked in a puzzle... But there’s nothing, just fire. A damned fire. So... to those after me... I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t help more. I’m sorry I couldn’t find a way through. I’m sorry I disappointed you. My people. My kingdom. My fellow Sultans. Myself. All I can do now is keep my body whole. Keep this scroll safe. Maybe it’ll help. Maybe... maybe it’ll keep me remembered. That’s all I can ask now. —Sultan Xerxes al-Nāmurād} *** {Outside The Projection} Hero among kings. That was the meaning of Xerxes’ name. Most of the world knew of this man. His most wanted wish was achieved. It was unquestionable. Nearly every history book in the last three hundred years spoke of him. And now, thanks to Malik, all of Fam Iblis was sure to know of him. He was the first of the Sultans to invade the North, expand their rule. The beginning of what most of them knew as the unification of South and North. An event that made the Sultanate so strong that in the later years, as more and more Sultans expanded, the West and East bowed their heads. Sure, they didn’t exactly become a single nation under one banner, but the Sultan of each time and era was Lord for all: South, North, West, and East. That was Xerxes’ most well-known achievement, all due to how impressive it was. Followed by how he was the only Sultan who had one wife, something most saw as extremely unusual, as in their documented history, only two Sultans had done this, one of them being their Lord, the one currently chained in the Golden Throne. Anyhow, such an achievement was incredible, and yet here they saw something a million times more impressive go completely unmentioned. Xerxes had sacrificed his life for their ancestors. The hall wished his words had helped Malik in some way, but they couldn’t say. His death might’ve been in vain, no more useful than a beggar; however, and again, they sincerely hoped that that wouldn’t be the case. Those words belonged to a humble man. A man like Malik, who had so casually reached the Fourth Gate. He really did it so casually that most of the hall felt almost nothing for it. One could say that it was anticlimactic. They already knew the end result once it was revealed that this ’fog’ would make him go through what he already did in the Edge. Malik cleared it when he was only a Nadhir, so what about now, as a Mithqal? Sure, it was much tougher, as this was the origin, but so was he. He was a Sultan now, his ’lessons’ complete. And damn, what a Sultan he was. *** {Inside The Projection} Malik sat still for a moment. Those words... he never expected them, yet he so very welcomed them. Reaching forward, he took the Sultan’s blackened head and gently pressed it into his shoulder. "Thank you... and I’ll remember you." He whispered, emotion still far from his voice. "And I’ll make sure that the world remembers you." With that, he returned the head to its place. Malik watched him for a moment, ensuring he wouldn’t fall, then straightened up, stepped away, and sat on the burning ground. Joining Xerxes, he assumed a lotus position, his back straight and his hands folded. Despite all his achievements, impossibilities, insane strength, and skills, Malik didn’t have much of an ego, never mind the illusion of complete superiority. So because of that, he understood. He figured out the truth. If none of his own had found an obstacle... then there wasn’t one. At least not a physical one, not something that could be seen. This was a trial of time. A trial most didn’t even know of. A trial that those who knew couldn’t endure. But Malik could and would. This was something new. Unlike anything that came before it. He didn’t need to move; he didn’t need to conquer. He just needed to stay still and survive. Yet it might just be the hardest one. The First Hour. His skin sloughed off in sheets. White fire ate at his flesh, but... Malik kept healing. The Second Hour. His nerves burned raw, then went numb. He bled smoke. Malik healed. The Third Hour. The fire grew colder and hungrier. Even silence hurt now. Malik healed. Ten Hours. Time was stretched thin. His heart beat slower. Malik healed. One Day. His lungs boiled. His vision melted. His brain began forgetting how to be itself. Still he sat, and still... Malik healed. Three Days. Pain took form. Every second was a storm of agony. His body spasmed but didn’t fall. He endured. ...Malik healed. Five Days. That was the worst of it. The fire found something deeper than flesh. It found his Will, and it tried to scream at it. He gritted his teeth as his ears deafened. Malik healed. Seven Days. He felt peace. It was not comfort but... quiet. The pain didn’t go, but it stopped fighting. Like it was taking time to breathe. He didn’t. Malik healed. Two Weeks. He hadn’t moved, not once. Yet his mind floated, detached, anchored only by Will. Malik healed. One Month. Time was meaningless. He barely remembered how long it had been. But his body remembered how to breathe. Malik healed. Two Months. Still. Ten Months. Still. One Year. Pain had become more than a friend. He had nothing to say to it. It had nothing left to prove. Malik endured. Three Years. Bones turned to dust. Then returned again. Malik endured. Five Years. He became a monument. A part of the Gate. Malik endured. Ten Years. White fire wrapped around him like robes. Malik endured. Twenty Years. Still. Fifty Years. He forgot how old he was. Malik endured. Eighty Years. There was nothing of him that didn’t burn. Malik endured. One Hundred Years. ...Still. The ground had fused with his legs. Sight and hearing had long since stopped existing. His Aether core was emptied out. Everything was leaving him. But something new began. Malik survived. One Hundred and Two Years. Malik decayed. One Hundred and Five Years. Malik withered. One Hundred and Eight Years. Malik diminished. One Hundred and Ten Years. Malik remained, and... He felt it. A heavy rumble beneath his spine. The rock trembled, and the crust shifted. A line split beneath him, getting wider by the second. Until finally— "...No." He was swallowed. The next Gate accepted him. The white fire collapsed into itself. Malik had done it. If only... If only Xerxes had just lasted a little longer... Just a few more years... He would’ve made it too. "Such a pity."

Chapter 387: Such A Pity

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