Chapter 112: The Bell Will Toll

The world twisted.

Malik was... falling.

Yes, the ground vanished beneath his feet.

Now, he was high above the... kingdom.

Aram was far beneath him.

The Two Suns began to peak on the horizon, heightening the sprawling kingdom’s beauty, which was similar to his Last City in design, only far less opulent and protected.

He wasn’t alone.

Soldiers were falling beside him, both the survivors and the dead. Their arms flailed as their mouths opened in screams that the wind ripped away.

Rebels were falling too.

Malik spotted Zayna a hundred feet to his left, her hands reaching for something to grab.

Rafa was below her, his wooden symbol torn from his neck and spinning away into the sky.

The fake sultan’s teleportation ring must have been connected between the outpost and the kingdom.

Malik’s disruption of the spell had caused it to malfunction, sending them high into the sky rather than into whatever trap they had likely planned for him and the rebels.

’How annoying.’

He twisted in the air, orienting himself.

The ground was still distant—close enough to see details, yes, but far enough to have time.

Malik could easily save himself with his fire, but the soldiers beside him, well...

They did not know how to slow their fall.

If no one helped them, they would die.

They were his enemies.

He only needed to leave them be.

The world would take care of them for him.

’No. If I let them all die, they might kill innocents in their fall.’

That was an excuse.

He knew that it was an excuse.

In truth, he wanted to give them another chance.

Evil or not.

Dumb or not.

Brainwashed or not...

They were his people.

And right now, his people felt fear beyond words.

Malik, as their Sultan, simply could not stand by and watch it happen.

’Just why did you have to look so pitiful?!’

Many might call him stupid for doing this.

He himself would agree.

If he saved them now, they likely would not reform.

They would be the same bastards tomorrow, wearing the same armor, carrying the same blades, oppressing the same people.

Or at least they would try.

Change was hard.

People were stupid.

But sometimes...

’Damn my conscience.’

Sometimes it was nice to give this world a chance to be decent.

’Goliath’s Fall.’

The Rune pulsed in his chest, flooding his arms with strength. In the same moment, his limbs thickened, muscles swelling beneath his skin.

His hands enlarged, fingers spreading wide.

Without pause, he blasted himself sideways with Ember’s Touch. Gold fire erupted from his palm, propelling him across the sky.

He reached the first soldier and grabbed him by the collar.

"Ahhhhhhhhh!"

The soldier screamed in pain.

Malik ignored him and blasted again, catching another soldier, then another.

The scene repeated many times in a few seconds, with him blasting around nonstop.

Malik grabbed them by their armor, belts, and hair. He did not care how he held them. He just held, and they did the same, latching onto him.

Meanwhile, the rebels had gone about saving the soldiers long before Malik.

They worked as a team, each one helping the other.

An elemental net of woven Rukh stretched between many of them, catching falling soldiers and rebels alike.

Blasts of air from a wind Magi slowed their descent while a water Magi created soft cushions around them.

They truly were kind-hearted people.

Even after all that they had gone through, they had not hesitated. Quite unlike their Sultan, they had simply acted.

It was only thanks to them that Malik could act so freely and quickly, given space to flow.

Since his carrying capacity was far from enough, nearly every soldier he grabbed was eventually tossed towards the rebels’ net, allowing him to dive for more, focusing on those who had fallen too far.

His arms burned, and his lungs ached from exhaustion...

’...no.’

But even then, he was not fast enough.

The ground had rushed up to meet them.

Catching just one last soldier, Malik used what remained of his fire to blast himself upwards.

Thanks to the weight of the soldiers he carried, Malik’s fire barely slowed their fall, the momentum sending them crashing hard to the ground.

Dropping the soldiers he had collected, he rolled on the cobblestone in an attempt to minimize the impact, groaning out in pain.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Soldiers scattered across the street, screaming, bleeding, broken, but alive.

Others were not so lucky.

A hundred feet away, a soldier had crashed right onto the street. His body lay broken among the cracks between, his dead eyes open, his mouth frozen in a scream that never came.

Another had hit the wall of a warehouse, his armor crumpled, destroying much of that building in his fall.

It was a disaster.

Thankfully, the citizens had already cleared out of the area they fell in, resulting in only the deaths of a few soldiers and the destruction of similarly few buildings.

Perhaps if Malik hadn’t hesitated, he would’ve saved them all, stopping anything from being destroyed or broken, but he didn’t have time to think about such a thing.

He quickly pushed himself to his feet while his arms returned to their original size, Goliath’s Fall fading.

Before doing what he had to do, he looked at the soldiers he had saved, and they stared back at him.

"..."

"..."

"..."

None knew what to say, and so...

Malik did not speak to them.

He turned and sprang forth.

’Where’s that fake bastard?!’

Even in the chaos, Malik noticed one thing above all else.

While the area he was in met the most destruction, the largest blast resounded some place else in the distance.

Even from where he was, he could see the aftermath, as black smoke rose from the wreckage, curling into the brightening sky.

With his heart beating hard against his chest, Malik ran through the debris-littered streets, his boots pounding against the cobblestones.

He rounded a corner, crossed a square, and was then finally upon the impacted building.

It was utterly destroyed.

The front wall had collapsed inward, as well as the roof, leaving the interior exposed.

Flames licked at the remaining walls and what seemed to be the kitchen, feeding on the broken furniture.

This was someone’s home.

Malik stepped over the beams, entering it.

There, he had met who he expected.

A man he most despised.

The fake sultan.

He sat in the center of the wreckage.

His dark robes were torn and bloodied, revealing a chest covered in bruises and shallow cuts.

His golden eyes were wide, darting left and right, searching for an escape that did not exist, knowing that death was upon him.

Around the fake sultan, blood pooled on the shattered floorboards, while behind him, impaled on the remains of a wooden pillar, was a... body.

Yes, the remains of a girl no older than fifteen were stuck to that pillar.

She was undoubtedly killed by the blast of the fake sultan’s landing.

His attempt at saving himself.

That was not all.

To Malik’s right, a hand stuck out from the rubble, reaching towards that young girl.

The rest of the body was buried beneath the collapsed roof.

’Ah...’

It was undeniable.

The bastard had killed a family to survive the fall. Otherwise, all of this destruction wouldn’t have made any sense.

A spell did it.

The fake sultan looked at Malik.

His hands came up in front of his face, fingers spread, palms out.

"I-I’m sorry, brother!"

His voice was desperate, nothing like the booming confidence of the imposter on the platform.

"Look, look! I’m not the Sultan, okay?!"

His appearance changed.

The golden hair faded to a dirty brown.

The golden eyes dulled to a muddy green.

The incredibly handsome features softened into something... ugly.

He was just a normal man.

"Don’t kill me!"

A coward wearing a mask.

"I’ll let myself get arrested! Just calm down!"

He did not look at the young girl. He did not look at the hand reaching from the rubble.

...he never once acknowledged the pitiful innocents that he had so selfishly killed to save himself.

His eyes were fixed on Malik, the dagger in his hand, and its promise of death.

That was all he saw.

"P-Please, man! I’m begging you here! I—"

The dagger left Malik’s hand.

It spun through the air, end over end, and struck the coward in the throat, piercing it.

His eyes went wide as his hands flew to his neck. Blood poured between his fingers, black in the dim light.

Right after, he...

Thud!

He fell onto the rubble.

Malik remained still, surrounded by death.

His golden eyes stared at the tragedy before him. They were glowing brighter than ever before, trembling slightly.

Eventually, perhaps a minute later, he whispered:

"I’m sorry."

A single tear fell.

It traced a path down his cheek.

He did not wipe it away, letting it fall.

And fall it did, spattering on the ground.

That was when suddenly...

Dong!

A bell tolled.

Morning had come.

The deep sound echoed across the kingdom.

It was the bell of the temple, calling the faithful to prayer.

It was the bell of the market, signaling their readiness to trade.

It was the bell of the world, marking the start of a new day.

But now, it was only a funeral bell.

"I..."

Malik closed his eyes.

"Do not forgive me."

Truly, morning had come.

[End Of Volume Two: The Bell Will Toll]