Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death

Chapter 347: The Deprived Movement

“…Who am I?”

Malik took a moment.

He thought of his life.

His Path.

His achievements.

His failures.

His tragedies.

His COMPLACENCIES.

But also his miracles.

His family… those he loved.

And finally, the words came to him.

“Once I was a child forced to be a man. A man who can blink. Who can see the unseen, fix the unfixable, and relive tragedy until it takes me along with it. A wielder of ouroboros made manifest. A library overflowing with words. Return By Death. A man who lived an unfathomable number of lives. An interloper in a house of Gods. Who Fell an unimaginable number of times. A man unlike any other. A man… alone. I’m Malik… not of Al-Zayni. Abandoned by them. By my own mother. Mariam. They made me a bastard… but that doesn’t matter. I’m the ward of Mahdi. Old Cane. And of them, only he matters to me. His loss made me a beggar. But it also made me a Magi. A Seeker. One that ranked up rank after rank like no other. It gave me titles. Many of them. The Cursed Child. The Bane of Corruption. The Bearer of Ouroboros. The Forsaken. The Wielder of Spine Breaker. The Lifter of the Gate. The Flipper of Armies. The ’Stranger.’ The Weaver of Fate. The Golden-Eyed Devil. The Second Sun. Senior Professor. Honorary Scholar of Nourzadah… but beyond all of that, even the Major rank of Jinn, I’m human. I can’t deny that I’m twisted beyond normal. But after what I’ve lived through… It’s not too bad. Once, I was a perfectionist, a result of my unending blinks, but I’ve learned to accept, to sacrifice. Learned guardianship, responsibility, consequence, evil, and, of course, control. I’d say I’m both sentimental and practical. I’m proud, proud of where I came from and where I went, proud of who I became despite the tragedies and all my flaws. I’m someone who spent time working in many different sectors of life, each teaching me valuable lessons, each allowing me to meet my real family. I claim to myself that I’ve let go of them, unchained myself, but I haven’t, at least not completely, for only sadness has left; happiness remains, happiness for their existence. And thankfully, I don’t think that feeling will ever leave. It’s my promise to them… a promise to never forget them in hopes that they never forget me. I would’ve liked to explore a little, learn about more… hobbies, do something, anything other than tread on this path of blood and fire, but I’ve got a world on my shoulders… I can’t take my eyes off it. I like to pay back my debts, and I will soon… IF I survive the crimson bastard. I dislike excessive personalities, especially… heroic ones. Damn the Fortune’s blessed. I’m a Magi with a shaky bottom line; I try to remain kind and just despite it all, but… It’s been getting increasingly tough lately… That line keeps blurring… I am unkind. Sometimes I don’t know if it’s me or IT. I hate IT. I despise IT. Cyrus is my enemy, but IT is my one nemesis. IT and I cannot coexist. One day, perhaps the hourglass would empty out its sand, I might lose my body to IT, or maybe I’d just kill IT… Die before IT kills me. I don’t know, I don’t care… and I don’t really mind. Fate is a tricky thing. But I… I no longer ascribe to Fate. It is but the religion of those who don’t… fight hard. The only faith I ascribe to is my own self. This results in me thinking a lot, thoughts of control always whispering in my mind, editing plans, adjusting and adjusting—a never-ending cycle. Those who see me think of me as aloof, cold, and scary, and they aren’t wrong. I am just that—cold, but I’m also much more; I seethe with fury, gingerly awaiting the day I’d finally conclude my revenge. I’m a walking piece of Hell, yet I’m starved of warmth… retreating only to my memories and you for comfort, to keep my mind functional. And finally, I like to think of myself as a protector, taking my fathers’ place, a role I’ll continue to fulfill until I die; that is my obligation, my promise, a mantle I wear.”

Only when he paused his words did he realize what he had just done.

It was as if he had gone into some sort of trance and spouted off all his thoughts.

And Sinbad, who seemed to have planned this out, hooted and floated off his shoulder.

There was no doubt about it, Malik had broken through the barrier.

He stood before the Mithqal Divine Rank.

Only one thing was needed now.

A Blessing.

That was why Sinbad left his shoulder.

Because, well…

Blink.

The world slipped.

Malik’s vision didn’t fade or reverse as it usually did.

It shattered completely.

There was no kingdom or sky, only an endless void.

And in that void, Malik was weightless, floating, breath stuck halfway in his chest, unsure if it should keep going or not.

But thankfully, he didn’t stay like that for long.

Voices came.

They whispered, laughed, and cried.

Some just said his name.

These voices…

He knew them.

Jasmine.

Rehan.

Layla.

Hassan.

Faqir.

Yusuf.

…Samir.

And many others.

Their voices didn’t blame him.

It begged him to look at himself.

And he did.

In front of him, rising from the dark, came a scale.

A scale of gold… a mithqal.

Both sides held weight already.

One held heavy black… sins, maybe.

Corruption.

The other side was the opposite.

Light… but not in color; light as in sacrifice.

Torn pieces of himself. Sleepless nights. Death of his family. Millions and millions of years spent watching himself die so others might live. Every moment, he gave up peace for purpose.

This light and dark… they balanced perfectly.

Malik raised his hand and placed his palm on the scale.

The weight didn’t tip.

Not to sin.

Not to sacrifice.

It just stayed balanced.

Even here, at the edge of understanding, at the border between him and the divine, he was still undecided.

Still Malik.

Both broken and whole.

Both good and evil.

Walking the line between the two.

Never completely one or the other.

He needed to decide…

Would he remain stuttering left and right, or would he finally choose a path?

A path to the scale.

To Godhood.

This wasn’t him simply breaking through.

It was him confronting the one barrier that had been with him since his first step on this path.

Himself.

But… there was also something else, just beneath the chorus of familiar voices.

A string pulled out of tune, a wrong note in a perfect melody.

“…MALIK.”

A loud whisper, familiar in a way that made his skin crawl.

“YOU DON’T BELONG HERE. GO BACK.”

It didn’t plead; it simply… stated.

As if the very act of Malik standing here, before the scale, the Divine threshold, was a violation of something far older than the world itself.

Malik knew that voice, of course he did.

Knew it from the corner of every nightmare.

He heard it every time he slept, even recently.

From the moment when the line between him and IT grew too thin.

“YOU ARE MINE. YOU ALWAYS WERE.”

It rattled beneath Rehan’s laughter and Layla’s teasing. It slithered under the lectures of Hassan. The banter of Faqir, the cries of Yusuf. It echoed between Jasmine’s gentle humming.

An intrusion upon him.

A claim on his soul.

But the scale didn’t tip.

IT could not move it.

So Malik raised his other hand and placed it on the scale.

He claimed ownership of it… And yet, it still didn’t budge…

Malik pushed harder with both hands, putting all of his weight behind it.

His knuckles turned white, and the whisper crept closer, curling around his wrist.

“PUSH.”

Whether IT encouraged him… or tempted him…

It didn’t matter.

Malik chose.

He chose, not IT.

And he chose to walk in the middle.

A path that was completely his own.

“FALL.”

HE PUSHED DOWN…

And the void cracked.

Golden light fell, drowning the realm.

It came not from above but from within.

From him. From every lesson, every pain, every night he spent awake staring at nothing, thinking of everything. From every scar carved into his soul. From every blink that tore him apart and stitched him back together. From every moment spent in regret. From the weight of every sin he bore. From the shattered remains of every version of himself he left to die in timelines forgotten.

His veins ignited. His bones fractured, splintered, and reformed.

His thoughts slowed, and his soul sharpened into something terrifying.

“YOU… ARE… MINE—”

The whisper—IT—screeched one last time, curling further up around his arm, trying to hold him back. Trying to chain him. But the chains melted, snapped, and burned away, unable to withstand the sheer violence of his Will.

The scale shattered, and not because it was broken, but because it was complete.

Malik had decided on a new path.

The balance was claimed.

Both sin and sacrifice, corruption and purity, dark and light…

All of it…

All of it was his.

It became a part of him, not something to reject or deny.

A crown, forged of every contradiction.

His body ascended.

Bone into Law.

Flesh into Concept.

Blood into Meaning.

Something divine carved itself into reality around him.

A vast, infinite something pulling on his soul.

Indeed, it was time.

…Time to be Blessed.

Time to meet the True Sultan.

{End Of Volume Six: The Deprived Movement}

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