Novel Full Chapter 362: Depravity
Chapter 362: Depravity
***
{Outside The Projection}
Their words held many a revelation.
Many that came back-to-back.
Malik’s initial realization, his sadness, acceptance… Acceptance of both his loss, the paid sacrifice, and the “Fate” Cyrus held in store for him. The “Fate” that took away the Golden Throne from Huda. A “Fate” that she cared not for. That no one cared for… because now they realized… they all realized an obvious truth.
Sinbad lost his ticket to cheating death.
He could no longer join Malik in Returning By Death.
And most importantly… he could not heal his soul.
At least not in the way he previously could.
It all made sense now.
Why he acted the way he did.
Why he was ready to even kill his own sister.
Sinbad knew that there was no saving Malik, not anymore.
Whatever pieces of him remained could barely hold back the Corruption.
Even if they got him out of those chains, the Ten Commandment, Corruption would claim him; there was no escaping what disregarded space and time.
Perhaps the Ten Commandment was what held back the Corruption, what kept him human.
Perhaps that was the main reason why Sinbad didn’t attempt to break it.
He needed his Elder Brother to die human.
Beyond whatever final words he was given, his desire to fulfill them, he NEEDED Malik to join him on that hill, be buried as a HUMAN.
And so, to meet that need, he would do all he could.
His trembling eyes told them all that much.
It told them that it was a hill he would die on.
A hill that would bring the end of an era.
An era that shook the very fabric of their world.
***
{Inside The Projection}
Sinbad froze.
His talons dug even deeper into Malik’s shoulder, making him bleed, no doubt a painful squeeze, but Malik revealed no reaction, seeming entirely unbothered.
The small owl trembled.
“…You… you jest.”
He whispered, voice thin, a breeze beneath a scream.
“You make mockery of me, don’t you? Say you do. Say it. Say it now.”
“…”
No answer came to save him from his woes.
Malik remained as he was, solid and completely distant.
Sinbad’s wings drooped, and his feathers bristled unevenly, like his body couldn’t decide whether to puff in rage or shrink in disbelief.
“…Elder Brother, no. No. That is… unacceptable. Impossible, even. Unworthy of the very Laws you and I have danced with for lifetimes uncounted.”
“…”
Still silence.
“You… you really have blinked? I cannot believe it. That’s—that’s not how this ends!”
He flapped once, hard, barely catching himself before tumbling off Malik’s shoulder.
“I—I will not accept this.”
He declared, his beak trembling.
“No. I refuse to accept this. For if that bond—our sacred tether, that loop forged through agony, through trial, through death—if that is broken… then what, pray tell, am I now?”
He paced across Malik’s shoulder, wings twitching, hopping madly in little circles.
“A pet? A footnote to your ever-unfolding myth? No. No, no, no. I was more! I am more! Your anchor! Your compass! The very thing that dragged you from the jaws of oblivion time and time again!”
He stopped.
Suddenly still.
“…And now I am obsolete.”
His voice cracked on that last word.
“Obsolete.”
His head slowly turned toward Malik, eyes wide with something he hadn’t tasted in lifetimes.
“Tell me…”
Fear.
“Tell me this is not true.”
“…”
Malik didn’t say anything.
…That was answer enough.
Sinbad staggered.
“…You’ve killed yourself.”
No answer.
“…How… how dare you.”
Once, his voice carried anger, but now…
“You should never have saved me.”
It carried heartbreak.
“You never should’ve helped me.”
Total, utter heartbreak.
“I…”
And for once, Sinbad had no more words.
He only curled into himself, wings wrapping tightly around his small, trembling body, and buried his head into the folds of Malik’s cloak as if trying to hide from a world that no longer remembered who they were.
“…”
“…”
“…”
The wind howled quietly between them as silence stretched like a wound.
All until Malik’s voice finally cut through the air:
“No.”
Sinbad jolted.
“Don’t you ever say that again.”
There was a tremble…
A tremble in Malik’s voice.
Sinbad slowly looked up, hesitantly, cautiously.
And he shivered.
What he saw was not grief.
It wasn’t sorrow.
It was rage.
A rage so deep it made the sky seem closer.
A rage so sharp it stole the breath from Sinbad’s tiny lungs.
Malik’s face—cold, clenched, burning with golden fire—was twisted in something far more terrifying than hate:
Fury.
Protective…
Possessive…
Uncompromising fury.
Not even against Cyrus had Malik worn that expression.
Not even when he screamed, when he bled, or when he killed.
That face… that face was new.
Sinbad lowered his head, accepting it.
“I… I won’t repeat those words.”
And then, as if a switch had been flicked, Malik’s expression returned to calm.
Returned to its usual blank, almost like nothing had happened.
He looked out again toward the ruined horizon.
“So… after these past months…”
Casually, Malik set them back on what they were previously talking about.
“It’s…
Sinbad nodded, almost bitterly, ending his sentence.
“…It’s certain.”
He gave this little sigh and chuckled.
“Hah… You really are popular, huh?”
His wings flapped.
“Everyone wants you to replace them…”
His voice got a tad bit deeper.
“No matter who.”
“…Hm.”
Malik looked at him.
And Sinbad looked back.
They no longer shared words.
Their heads leaned in, forehead to forehead.
Malik couldn’t show his affection any other way.
His smile was now simply too broken to be anything.
His laugh and his warmth were nothing but muscle memory now.
He wasn’t someone who could show his love.
But this—this head bump—this was love.
Indeed, he could not show it, but he could give it.
The only way he could do it was by touch, as he always did.
A tap, a hug, a kiss on the forehead—he grew to be that type of man; the illusions forced him to be, and the world welcomed him as that.
Sinbad understood that completely.
And so he pressed further against Malik’s head, chirping softly.
For just a moment… peace.
There was only peace.
Wind and silence.
—DONG!
A bell… multiple.
They came and ruined that peace.
Sounding deep, heavy, old, loud, far, and… familiar.
It was for whom the bell tolled…
The one sound that spoke of death…
Of a calamity warning.
Malik’s body froze, and his golden eyes sharpened instantly.
DONG!
Sinbad jerked up, feathers ruffled.
“…It can’t be.”
DONG!
Malik took the bird off him and nodded once.
He vanished.
A flash of golden light.
Sinbad flapped desperately, chasing after but far slower, unused to his new powers.
In a blink, Malik reappeared one hill before the city walls.
And down there—
Down there, he saw it.
The Holy City. Its eastern gate.
And standing alone—alone—right at the front—
Cyrus.
He wasn’t ranked by an army, the Farajah, or even guards.
It was just him, his robes fluttering in the cursed wind.
His back was straight, his hands folded behind him.
Staring dead forward.
At them.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Tens of thousands.
Hundreds of thousands.
Millions.
The Fallen.
The Depraved.
The Corrupted.
The Drowned.
Humans—no—things, Black Eyed things, crawling and slithering.
Skin stretched, bloated, and split, their veins big, pulsing with that disgusting black sludge, crawling under their flesh like worms trying to escape.
Some had three arms, some had eight, and some had none. Many had their legs twisted backwards, their faces melted, and their eyes everywhere, mouths full of teeth that weren’t supposed to exist.
It was like someone tried to redraw humanity from memory but was bashed in the head a million times and forgot how anything worked except revolting horror.
This, before them, was a living, breathing ocean of Depravity.
An ocean that marched straight toward the Holy City.
And every kingdom around rang its bells.
Indeed, this was a calamity.
Malik’s eyes narrowed further.
His lips parted, but only for a whisper.
“…No.”
Not again.