Right in front of him, Malik saw a chock full of... people, normal people.
Kids much younger than Amal with trembling hands and too-large helts.
Cripples leaning on their shields and still swinging blades.
Old n with white beards and sunken eyes, all fighting and dying for a cause they probably didn’t even understand.
He was disgusted.
So this was how his enemies fought their wars?
By throwing the weak and the helpless at each other and at his soldiers like cannon fodder? Like their lives ant nothing?
Without a word, Malik walked right through the clashing armies.
He didn’t even raise his hands. He simply walked, his boots crunching on the sand, his dark silks billowing in the night wind.
Everyone who looked at him stopped, almost hypnotized by the sheer weight of his presence, the golden hair that seed to glow even without Moonlight, and the golden eyes that held no fear and no rcy.
Because even in the dark and from a distance, they could see who he was.
This was the bearing of a man who had conquered Hell itself.
A Sultan stood amongst them.
Many seed to recognize him.
Without them even realizing it, their weapons dipped and they parted from before him, creating a path through the chaos.
He took one step, then another, slowly cutting through them all.
Soldiers forgot their grudges, enemies lowered their blades, and the fighting died down.
By the ti he reached the hill on the other side, no one among them fought anymore.
They were all either completely confused or stuck staring at the Sultan.
The place had turned completely silent, save for the whimpering of the wounded and the distant cry of owls.
Malik, without acknowledging them, glanced at a nearby soldier.
The man wasn’t one of his own, wearing the blue of the invaders, but Malik didn’t seem to care:
"What’s your Elent?"
Though beyond stunned, the soldier managed to stamr out a reply:
"E-Earth."
Casually, Malik gestured at the top of the hill where the four Magi were.
"Send up."
Nodding repeatedly, the soldier slowly conjured a pillar of earth from the ground.
The pillar rose beneath Malik’s feet, lifting him skyward.
This was an enemy helping him without a single word of resistance.
The soldier didn’t question why and definitely didn’t think about betraying the Sultan by collapsing the pillar.
His existence was just that terrifying to them.
Once at the top, Malik hopped off the pillar and stood directly before the battling Magi.
It didn’t take them long to notice the newcor.
The Space Magi froze up. The Summoner’s hands dropped to her sides. The Wind Magi’s gales died in a near instant. And it took them even less ti to realize who he was.
All three stopped and stared, just as stunned as the rest of their soldiers below.
Zafar was the sa, though for an entirely different reason.
Up close, one could see that his white robes were torn and bloodied, his white hair matted with sweat, and his beautiful face sared with dirt.
But his eyes—his eyes were wide with what looked like hope, fear, and relief, all tangled together.
"M-My Sultan?"
Malik nodded at him, acknowledging him for the first ti.
Despite the greeting’s simplicity, or perhaps because of it, Zafar almost broke down to tears right then and there.
***
Minutes Earlier...
’So I’m going to die now, huh...’
Zafar didn’t know what to think about that.
He had always imagined his death would be glorious.
Surrounded by important enemies, perhaps, or saving soone important, or at the very least with a beautiful woman by his side.
Not like this... never like this.
Stuck in a deadlock on a rocky hill in the middle of nowhere, with no one to witness his final monts.
And now, even if he wanted to think of sothing else, he couldn’t.
mories flashed before his eyes as he fought, mories that made up his really dumb life.
He could do nothing but watch and experience them all over again.
Growing up, his life was a good one.
A royal life.
Zafar was from a Great Family, a part of the privileged few who commanded respect and authority without lifting a finger.
He had never known hunger, never known fear, never known what it ant to struggle for survival.
Enough so that he convinced himself he could be on the path to becoming a hero.
After all, heroes lived luxurious lives, didn’t they?
Indeed, they did!
Eventually, he would beco strong.
Strong enough to defeat the most evil of villains!
Malik, the Sultan of Blood and Fire, the man who had killed the Forr Sultan in cold blood!
Indeed, he’d grown up in a Devil’s Maw that despised the man who now stood as their most loved Sultan.
Malik was painted as a monster, a tyrant, and a butcher who reveled in death by every conceivable tric.
Zafar had swallowed it all without question.
That was what heroes did, didn’t they?
They fought evil!
Yet, back then, all those years ago, if he were completely honest, he didn’t care all that much for what the Villain supposedly did.
Nor did he care for the many millions he supposedly killed in his incredible terror.
The numbers were too big, and the stories were too distant. What mattered most was the attention, the praise, and the adoration of the masses.
Oh, how lovely was admiration?!
Zafar was thrust into a world where everyone was vying for recognition, where the strong survived and the weak were left behind.
It was a world he loved, for he was seen in the best light in it.
Devil’s Maw’s hero!
Indeed, he went and beca the leader of a Heroic Coalition, one that included so of the Sultan’s very own family!
The sense of achievent and self-worth, the sheer amount of superiority he felt by being praised by the masses was simply addicting!
Their objective?
To fell the evil Sultan, of course.
No longer would he be left to slaughter his own people!
They were to finally save Devil’s Maw from his clutches!
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