Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death - Chapter 390: BEHOLD AN UNIMAGINABLE PAST
Chapter 390: BEHOLD AN UNIMAGINABLE PAST
***
{Outside The Projection}
…These trials.
They seemed to have one thing in common.
Their ’impossibility,’ each being a close call.
A final second—moment win.
Something beyond all that was.
And yet… this took that up to a million.
There was no questioning it.
Malik’s body died.
Most of it had disintegrated.
By the end, he was no more than something of a head, shoulders, dangling Aether core, hands, and sword.
The fire had melted most of him away.
His soul and its Will were what held him together.
If not for its strength, he wouldn’t have ever survived.
And yes, his survival itself was in question, not a blink.
This fire burned more than flesh; it was the combination of all Gates.
Identity was devoured too.
Fortunately for him, or rather, for them all, Malik’s Will was more than ironclad.
His ’lessons’ and his tragedies had all prepared him for this flame.
Everything was for this one moment.
A moment only possible for him.
It was no wonder that no Sultan had reached the Seventh Gate before him.
Malik was so very wrong about himself.
He wasn’t like the other Sultans.
His self-worth was completely twisted.
Their Sultan was easily the best of them.
Both in intellect and actual power, no one could have done what he did.
Only he could survive this…
Only he… who was Corrupted.
Only he… who was immune to Corruption…
A man of fire…
A man of Jahannam…
The only Sultan to beat Hell at its own game.
It might not have seemed like it, but his soul was giving up already.
The Black Tears leaving his eyes were obvious signs that it was being torn through by Corruption.
But still… he continued on his Path.
By God, he stood.
Stood strong.
This was their Sultan.
A Sultan that made the entire world proud.
A Sultan who did what no other Sultan could.
A Sultan they… they all… never stopped letting down.
***
{Inside The Projection}
Seventh Gate: Al-Hawiyah—The Abyss.
This was his final descent.
Yet, unlike what one might expect from its name, it wasn’t much of one.
What remained of his body floated for a few minutes, rebuilding itself.
And once he was whole, alive, Malik landed on the ground.
He, without any emotion on his face, looked down at his body.
His right leg moved up, as did his left; his feet wiggled.
’…Hm.’
They moved fine.
He was fine.
Yeah.
Malik was alive.
Grabbing his black belt, the only thing still fully attached to his body, he pulled out a trinket.
The same trinket that Huda gave him back in the North.
A book of a pink ’S.’
Rubbing a finger over it, it pulsed, runes revealing themselves.
Then, out of thin air, a full set of clothes and boots materialized before him.
’Good.’
It seemed that he had turned it into a Dimensional Item before dropping into Al-Fawra.
Dimensional Items were very, very expensive, something only the highest of nobles could afford, and the fact that he had a Kahin turn a personal item into one meant he spent at least twice as much.
After all, the Kahin would have had to create a completely new Pathing for the trinket and connect it to the physical storage system that they had created for their own preestablished designs, which would have forced them to tweak it.
Never showing his… privates, Malik changed into his new clothes.
It was almost entirely similar in design to his last set, except now the belt was entirely orange, there were no more trims, just black, and the inside layer of the cloth was white.
Of course, the cloth itself was of much higher quality, a Holy Relic that’d only burn or melt away when his soul did.
He was saving it for a special occasion, but well, he needed it now.
While it cost him way too much gold, he’d rather dirty it than not use it.
Besides, he was the Sultan; he could buy and do all that he wanted.
It’d take a while for him to get rid of this saving personality of his, but his reign had just begun. If he survived this today, he’d have too much time to fix that.
Finally looking up, Malik saw what he landed next to.
A nothingness so vast, so deep, it made the sky look like a crack in the wall.
It held a gravity so absolute that it pulled in existence itself.
Yet, he only felt glimpses of that pull.
He was not its target.
Above him was nothing, but behind and below him was a whirlpool of white.
It was… burnt cold.
Frozen plasma.
Solidified flame.
Compressed suffering.
Malik stared at the ground, his body trembling.
It wasn’t the cause; no, strain was.
Only now, when he focused, did it come back.
The sheer pressure of holding himself together.
Black Tears welled in the corners of his eyes.
They dripped down his cheek, hissing as they hit the white beneath him.
He didn’t wipe them, preferring to move instead.
Move into the cold.
Yes, cold.
The Seventh Gate of Hell was cold.
But honestly, that word didn’t even come close.
This… this was something beyond temperature.
A cold so intense that it stripped the concept of “heat” right out of the Laws of existence.
Still, Malik walked, his burning boots cracking the frozen fire beneath him, sending tremors that echoed into the nothingness.
Reality warped with every step.
He was alone here.
Alone in the endless, pale wasteland of Zamhareer.
The Frozen Chamber of Hell.
He walked.
For how long?
Time forgot to tick.
Days. Weeks. Months. Years. Tens. Hundreds.
Footsteps continued to carve into the frost-fire behind him.
A trail of hoofprints that glowed… then immediately froze into the ground.
They were scars on the face of Hell itself.
Malik never stopped.
Never paused or spoke.
His body was more of a… concept now than flesh.
His Black Tears had ceased, becoming rivers that trailed behind him.
And then, finally, many years after he’d reached the six hundred mark, he saw a silhouette. A something that stood on the horizon—if there was even such a thing as a horizon here.
It towered.
A familiar tree.
Roots the size of mountains, plunging deep into the frozen fires of Zamhareer.
A trunk so wide, he couldn’t even begin to see the other side.
Its branches split the sky—or what little sky this place dared to have.
Leaves like scythes and fruits that weren’t fruits but screaming, writhing, mutilated heads.
Their mouths opened, biting, gnashing, weeping, and laughing.
The very core of damnation itself.
Malik stood there for a very long moment.
He was completely silent.
It was almost as if he couldn’t process it.
Oh, but he did; he knew exactly what was before him.
The True Zaqqūm.
***
{Outside The Projection}
The True Zaqqūm.
For a moment, it dominated all their minds.
This was it, the goal of every Sultan in all of their time.
It stood before them, that cursed tree… that thing.
Everyone felt a cold familiarity from it.
Like it was something they’ve seen.
Something they’ve touched.
Something that’s always been there…
Even if their eyes had never lain upon it.
It was a part of them.
Of the world… existence.
And yet—
They couldn’t focus on it.
Couldn’t look at it properly.
Every time their eyes tried to focus… it slipped.
It always warped and twisted, as if the world itself refused to let them understand what it really was.
It was a feeling that made their stomachs knot and their souls tremble.
Something that they couldn’t even begin to make sense of.
Not one of them… not even Sinbad.
The only one who knew of every detail.
***
{Inside The Projection}
Still, Malik showed no fear or awe.
Nothing at all… for he was more than ready.
This was it, the moment; no way he’d stutter here.
Yet, as he took a step forward, the step that would seal his fate…
“GAZE UPON A FAMILIAR REALITY…”
A whisper arrived.
“ONE THAT WE SHARED ONCE BEFORE…”
A voice that didn’t come from any direction.
“ONE THAT SHOULD NOT EXIST…”
Yet came from all directions.
“…YET STANDS BEFORE YOU, AS TRUE AS ME.”
The world around him cracked like thin, fragile glass.
One hit with a million hammers.
The cracks spread.
Reality peeled.
Colors inverted.
Sounds warped.
Time folded in on itself.
And then—
’Ah.’
Black.
Pitch black.
“BEHOLD AN UNIMAGINABLE PAST.”
Source: Webnovel.com, updated by novlove.com
