Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death

Chapter 336: Your Fall Has Ended

***

{Outside The Projection}

The projection paused before their clash.

And that pause nearly made the hall scream.

It nearly made the entire world scream, all so desperately anticipating the clash.

Everything preceding it—the mind games, wordplay, and incredible stances—made them beyond psyched.

They knew it to be kingdom-ending, as their battle was known to have at least lasted for three days and was known to have changed the literal foundation of the entire kingdom.

Their battle made the kingdom go through a ten-year war, both external and internal, in a few nights.

It was no doubt an incredible sight of destruction, but their actual battle must’ve been even more so.

A battle that wasn’t written about, only mentioned to have occurred.

Yes, poets and bards sang about it, but those weren’t exactly known as a proper source of unfantastical, unbiased, and undramatized history.

Anyhow, the reason for that gap in their history books was obvious, as none of the kings or leaders back then wanted to advertise how one of their own was taken down, and well, since it was Malik who did it, he too didn’t care that it wasn’t advertised.

Rather, he preferred it that way.

Of course, it was for the same reason as always.

Barely anything he did or didn’t do wasn’t for that reason anymore.

But that didn’t matter to them right now, because finally…

They were about to see two kings clash.

***

{Inside The Projection}

Fam Iblis was in full bloom.

A gust of wind came down, carrying with it the scent of blood and ash.

The rising Shams bathed the sky in burnt gold, its rays caught burnt towers, cracked domes, shattered homes, and the bones of what used to house marble halls full of Aether.

This gust fluttered a bloodied hair of gold, one that belonged to a man sitting on a lone boulder at the edge of a hill overlooking the battered Kingdom of Light.

…Overlooking the fallen Academy.

It was Malik.

A bloodied, pale, nearly Hollow Malik.

The same wind tugged at his robe, torn and soaked through with red and darker things.

His hands kept trembling from sheer exhaustion, his fingers twitching like they remembered every swing, slash, block, and crush.

His right hand curled and uncurled as if it still held the hilt of Spine Breaker.

He’d sheathed it for a while now, but his body couldn’t process that it was over.

Just how long did their battle last?

Malik didn’t answer.

He didn’t know.

But… but it went on long; he could process that much.

Because beneath him—spread across the cracked valley where Nourzadah once stood proud—the Academy burned.

Still.

It still burned.

Blackened columns jutted from the rubble, dormitory wings folded inward like rotted paper, the training fields were torn in half, and the massive crater left by the last Lotus explosion still pulsed faintly, bleeding Aether into the ground, a wound that wouldn’t close.

Even now, bodies shifted in the smoke.

Burning bodies, dead ones.

And Malik just… watched.

Watched it like someone might watch the end of a play they didn’t quite like but couldn’t look away from.

Then, when he had had enough, his eyes moved.

To the left… To the shape stuck beside him, planted into the ground.

A spike of cruel metal.

One where perched neatly on top of it… was a familiar head.

Beautiful, his features frozen in a mix of pain and… relief?

Yes, relief, and indeed, this head belonged to the king.

Ninth Lotus. The King of Noor.

Malik had defeated him.

His crown was gone, lost somewhere in the rubble.

His eyes were empty, and his mouth was half-open, stuck mid-sentence.

It was one Hell of a battle.

One that Malik would remember till the day of his death.

Even a devil, when pushed to the corner, fought like a warrior.

And this one certainly did.

“…Ah. Look.”

Malik surprisingly spoke.

He reached out with one hand and tilted the king’s head slightly.

“There.”

He pointed it down toward the lower end of the ruins, where a tall pole had been hammered into the stones of what had once been the Academy’s southern courtyard.

A flag fluttered.

Silver on black.

The Silent Crescent.

Someone had raised it already.

Someone had taken his symbol and planted it for the world to see.

Yes, the rebellion hadn’t just won; it had replaced.

The Al-Ayan line had been overthrown.

The Academy was destroyed, turned to rubble.

The entire royal guard was erased from history in a few nights of fire and sand.

And in its place was the Crescent Moon.

Malik didn’t smile.

But his jaw moved, just slightly.

A muscle twitched under his eye.

And his throat made a low, unfinished sound.

Was it a laugh? Or just a breath?

Hard to say.

He turned the king’s head just a little more.

“So. There it is…”

Let it face the other flags too.

“What you wanted your daughter to escape from.”

Technically speaking… he was king now.

He had completely overthrown the Al-Ayan.

The kingdom was his, and nobody, NOBODY, was going to argue.

Because everyone else who could… had burned.

Except the Chancellor, of course, but Malik had put him on pause.

Now his focus was on Al-Ayan.

He had taken everything they built, winning a great victory.

“…Don’t worry, I’m not cruel enough to end your bloodline.”

Malik lowered his hand, letting the king’s head stay as it was, forced to witness what he once ruled crumble to cinders.

“She’ll live… she’ll live more than me.”

Their “Stranger” had returned for this moment.

A moment of closure.

He saw their faces.

The most beautiful Jasmine.

Rehan’s and those of One Thousand Nights.

Hassan’s.

Faqir’s.

Yusuf’s.

Uncle Jafar’s.

Jamal’s.

Farid’s.

Adil’s.

Saif’s.

Bahir’s.

Karim’s.

Zaid’s.

And the others in Nasir Al-Sultan.

Those of the wedding.

The women.

Children.

He saw them all.

Yes, he didn’t know many of their names, but…

“I remember you all… I always will.”

Malik smiled.

“Your Fall has ended.”

A broken smile.

“Sleep.”

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