Chapter 389: Swallowed For The Final Time

Words : 1160 Updated : Oct 11th, 2025

Chapter 389: Swallowed For The Final Time *** {Outside The Projection} Malik had done it indeed. They were excited for him. Proud of him. But also scared for him. Again, this wasn’t anything new, but... Most of those in the hall were getting agitated. They no longer wanted to see this. The sight of Malik sacrificing so much for them was just... It was too much. Unfortunately for their soft hearts, things were about to get much, much harder. *** {Inside The Projection} Malik fell. He fell into the Sixth Gate: Al-Sa’ir—The Blazing Flame. He wasn’t falling into the ground or an abyss. No, he realized what this realm was the moment he looked down. Malik was falling into a giant torch. He saw it, the endless shape of a colossal inferno, its base somewhere far, far below. Fire spiraled a short distance beneath him, brighter than white, louder than thunder, screaming like a hundred thousand damned. Sinners fell with him—if they could be called them that. Now, they were nothing more than twisted silhouettes, molten and broken, wailing without mouths. They fell faster than he did, and the flame completely pierced through them on contact. One by one, they were devoured, bodies torn into ash before they could even scream properly. Malik was next. And yet, unlike them, he remained... barely. His Sandveil had flared, his Goliath’s Fall strengthening his being. It all happened in under a second, too fast for sound to catch up. Layer upon layer of protection failed, regenerated, and failed again. His skin blackened, charred, peeled, healed—and then again, over and over. This was more than heat; it was pressure, a divine punishment shaped into combustion. A trial that wasn’t meant to be passed. But he was not meant. He was Malik. He had been through worse. Still, he knew that his body wouldn’t survive this. No, it wouldn’t, not like this, not with just shielding and toughness. He needed to fight fire with fire. This was his moment. The moment to prove his fire to be hotter than Hell. Malik opened his palm, and a flicker of white emerged. His Fire of Purity. Then, gold strands licked around it. His Ember’s Touch. Then, something else fused in. It was something more of both. His Divine Essence. All that he was. It ignited. And suddenly, his descent wasn’t one of defense but of dominance. He shaped the flames, white and gold, twisting together into something beautiful. A flame that shouldn’t exist, a pale ivory threaded with shimmering divine gold, with an almost translucent blue-white core flaring at its center—the very color of the hottest possible fire, where even atoms lost meaning. He unsheathed his sword and pointed it downward like he did earlier with the bugs. After a moment, he allowed his fire to flow through, focusing on its quality rather than its speed. Spine Splitter lit aflame, screaming in joy, extremely happy with this new flame. Its white steel glowed a solemn color that seemed both mournful and merciless. Now ready, his feet flared up, and he fell like lightning. Just then, another blast surged from below, a column of hellfire erupting to meet him. Malik, of course, didn’t bother to dodge; the attack range was too vast. He simply answered, his flame meeting it. CRACK-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! A massive shockwave rocked the entire Gate, blowing sinners apart. Malik pierced through cleanly, his fire winning, dominating. But he could feel a difference from the last flame. There was no doubt. The deeper he fell, the stronger the torch would become. He needed to remain strong till the end. Fortunately, it wasn’t too far. Only ten thousand miles. He gritted his teeth and met the next flame. ’I won’t fail.’ Fire burned his back, his arms, and his soul. Yet he pierced through, reaching nine thousand. Another layer of ivory flame had materialized around him. His power was woven tighter and faster. HE WAS NOT STOPPING. Eight thousand miles. More of the sinners began to vanish. There were fewer and fewer of them the deeper he went into the Gate. That alone spoke of just how hot the fire was; even the True Sultan, bastard as he was, barely condemned those pitiful here, knowing it to be torture unlike any other. Seven thousand miles. Malik’s sword hummed louder. His blood boiled... literally. Six thousand miles. The flames before him changed color, no longer red or orange. It was now a blue so deep it shone violet, edged with translucent white, forming a hue only known in the hearts of stars. Five thousand miles. Even his ivory flame trembled. Four thousand miles. Spine Splitter screamed louder. Three thousand miles. His sand was gone completely, and only flame remained. Two thousand miles. His flesh began to blacken beyond recognition. His Divine Essence struggled to hold shape. One thousand miles. He passed into a realm where no other Sultans had dared, or survived. Here... the fire didn’t cease even for a fraction. It was the source, and yet, Malik still fell. Nine hundred miles. He was alone now. Eight hundred miles. His left arm melted away, gone at the elbow. Seven hundred miles. His clothes had long since vanished, his body near-naked and covered in shifting flame and blood. Six hundred miles. His bones showed through in patches as his back cracked open and his lower body began to melt away. Five hundred miles. Only his hands remained whole. Only his sword remained true. Four hundred miles. He turned deaf. Three hundred miles. His golden eyes ignited into flame themselves. ...He turned blind, Black Tears trailing down his face. Two hundred miles. The pain was an ocean. One hundred miles. He was no longer... alive, not really. But Spine Splitter was still there. It was still gripped. Still screaming. Ten miles. The torch below awaited him. Nine miles. He screamed now, though he could not hear; he felt. A primal roar torn from the depths of what remained. Eight miles. Whatever was left of his body melted. Seven miles. His grip finally loosened. Still, his blade remained in place. As did the fire on its edge, burning bright. Six miles. Only his soul held him together. Five miles. His face was gone. He still screamed. Four miles. His sword cracked... Three miles. "AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!" Two miles. The flame masked his screams. One mile. It tried to kill his name. Hundred meters. He didn’t listen. Ten meters. He focused everything on the tip of his blade. One. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! Spine Splitter pierced the flame. The torch itself—Hellish and eternal—screamed. The ground tried to reject him, but it couldn’t. Malik crashed into it. The inferno tore upward as if trying to throw him back. But it was too late. He was already inside. The flame hissed as the entire Gate collapsed inward, forced to accept his presence. And then, with him losing all feeling, the fire swallowed him whole. Swallowed for the final time.

Chapter 389: Swallowed For The Final Time

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