Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death - Chapter 434: Amal
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{Inside The Projection}
Malik remained still before his… father, staring him down.
The bed housing Layla sat directly behind him, he, its shield.
He was what stood between it and a threat.
And yes, he saw the man whose blood ran in his veins as a definite ‘threat,’ simply waiting for him to bare his fangs so he could be justified in bearing his.
His father did the same, though only in self-defense, knowing that Malik cared not for their blood tie; he’d attack the very faction he suspected even a faint hint of attack.
So, that led them to studying each other for a long moment, scanning for weaknesses, making up strategies, and simulating possible scenarios, treating each other no different than sworn enemies.
Malik’s entire life was a story about fathers and a son.
Yet now, when finally his actual father appeared…
This was the result.
…A wonderful reunion, wasn’t it?
Perhaps. Though silence didn’t need to be prominent while they did what they did, and Malik had something he needed to confirm, a thought that could explain his father’s arrival.
“You knew this would happen.”
The thought left his lips in an accusation, not something he disagreed with exactly, but something he didn’t plan on doing, perhaps a so very buried hint of anger surfacing to the void far above.
“…No.”
His father tilted his head, almost amused.
“Rather…”
His eyes searched Malik’s face, looking for a crack.
“I was sure it wouldn’t.”
A sign that he would cease threatening his life.
“The reason she became pregnant so late into your marriage…”
Seeing nothing, he went on, hoping to create that ‘break’ himself.
“Was because you and she are biologically incompatible. Your DN—your bloods don’t mix easily, or well, they barely do at all.”
Noticing progress, which was nothing more than a frown, a faint smile touched his lips.
“But your ahem is… vigorous. So much so that it forced what shouldn’t have happened to happen, basically doing the impossible.”
Malik didn’t react to the ridiculousness of those words and instead repeated what he previously wanted to confirm:
“Why come now?”
His father’s eyes softened now that his son was no longer accusatory, but then hardened again just as Malik continued to speak:
“I get it… There’s no need for you to explain. If what you said is true, then somehow Mariam was the only one suitable… but why not stay?”
Malik took a step forward.
“Do you have any idea what I went through?”
His father stepped back.
“I do.”
Malik went forward again.
“Then why?”
His voice became heavier.
“Why didn’t you ever visit me?”
His father’s gaze flickered away for a moment.
“I just couldn’t.”
Malik got even closer.
“Why?”
His father paused, his back against the wall.
“The reason doesn’t matter to you, does it?”
Malik let out a short, humorless chuckle and shook his head.
“Damn you.”
His father gave the smallest nod.
“Fair.”
Malik took one last step forward.
“This is fair too.”
He raised his right hand.
Smack!
A slap echoed through the chamber.
His father staggered into the wall, clutching his cheek.
“Son, wait—”
A punch followed, low into his stomach, folding him over.
“Just—”
A kick to his leg sent him down to one knee.
“Stand up.”
Malik paused for a moment, looking down at his father.
“Okay, okay, I will, calm down—”
As soon as he got up, or at least tried to, Malik pulled him away from the wall and stomped his chest, sending him fully to the ground.
“STAND UP.”
His father rolled away and up, getting into a stance.
“Son, don’t let—”
Malik grabbed the man’s head and crushed it onto his knee, only to then elbow the top of his head, sending it further down, and then, without giving him a moment to breathe, he stomped it right through the soft carpet they stood on and into the Holy Palace’s rock.
“FACE ME, FATHER.”
Though he said that, Malik kept going, stomping on his father’s head, making it dig into the rock.
“Ugh…”
Covering his head with his arms, his father managed to let out a few words:
“Son, do you really want to—”
“Yes.”
Pausing for a fraction, Malik lowered himself and pulled his father’s head out of the rock.
“I want to kill you.”
Just as their eyes met, his father’s head was slammed back into the rock.
“FIGHT BACK BEFORE I DO.”
Grabbing him by the hair, Malik chucked his father’s body up, and while it was still in the air, he landed blow after blow, juggling him there for a long moment before turning and kicking his side, sending him into a wall.
CRACK!
Losing consciousness for a moment, his father suddenly found himself lodged deep into the wall, his bruised and bleeding head stuck staring at his… raging son.
Ah… raging?
No.
He felt no killing intent.
This was mechanical violence.
And he was right.
When Malik finally stopped and looked down at his fists…
Though slick with the blood of his own father, they weren’t trembling, no, not at all.
Both were as still as the highest peak of the North.
Entirely relaxed.
He stared at them for a long time, trying to find what he wanted.
What he so desperately needed.
But…
‘Why?’
Nothing.
‘WHY?’
He felt nothing.
‘I… I should be mad at him.’
It wasn’t satisfaction, nor release.
‘I should want him dead, be absolutely furious.’
Only the same cold emptiness he’d been carrying for all those unfathomable years.
‘But I’m indifferent…’
It was woven into his bones.
‘Dead.’
So very deep.
‘…I can only pretend.’
It had taken hold and would never let go.
‘I’ve failed her.’
His golden eyes dimmed.
“Ugggh, damn…”
Stepping out of the wall’s man-shaped hole, his father coughed a few times, spitting out blood, before he calmly materialized a large pill and popped it into his mouth.
Within seconds, the bruises faded, the swelling eased, and he stood straight again, as if nothing had happened.
“I am Hakim.”
He fixed himself up while speaking.
“A man of Al-Assad—a bloodline much closer to the True Sultan than most realize. In our generation, we stand where the Banu Sulayman once stood… only a step beneath the Sun, Solomon himself.”
He glanced at Layla.
“And that’s why your wife is dying. Your Southern blood and her Eastern blood… they’re at war inside her.”
Malik’s eyes narrowed while wiping the blood from his knuckles.
“Eastern blood?”
Hakim chuckled, not minding how damned indifferent his son was to him.
“Somehow, you found the most incompatible woman to bed. Eastern blood is foreign… besides the racism, it’s the main reason why they call them Hex Bloods, you know? Well, the other is that they’re more prone to Corruption, but that came later. Anyways, they’re not of Fam Iblis… not of the True Sultan. A stranger to both.”
“Where does it come from?”
Malik asked, and Hakim shook his head slowly.
“Even I don’t know the East’s true origin.”
Malik lowered his gaze, thinking, then spoke quietly:
“So I’m right, you seduced Mariam because she was the only one suitable.”
Hakim didn’t react much to Malik finding out the ugly truth of his own birth; he was rather expecting it.
“She was the most compatible with our blood. I had to hypnotize her a little, but it was fine.”
Acting as if his words weren’t at all disgusting, he gleefully gestured at his son.
“And turns out, I was right~!”
A faint smile crept across his face.
“Look at you… almost as strong as your old man.”
Malik said nothing, his eyes drifting back to Layla.
“Don’t worry about her.”
Hakim’s voice softened.
“It’s true you have to choose… but it doesn’t mean the other must die.”
Malik’s head turned slightly, showing surprise for the first time.
“You—”
“Yes… I can extract your daughter.”
He blinked.
“I have a daughter?”
“Yes.”
Hakim chuckled.
“A daughter.”
Malik’s lips curved once more, almost imperceptible.
“…I see.”
Hakim slowly approached Layla.
“Will you allow me to extract her? She’d be safe. I have the tech—capabilities for that. But… what would’ve taken a few weeks naturally will take years in my care, especially when considering her… condition. Nothing beats the creation of God, after all.”
“Years?”
“Yeah, it’s usually much less. But you… we are different.”
“And how can I—”
“Trust me?”
Hakim interrupted.
“I’ll swear an Oath.”
He pressed a palm over his chest.
“I vow upon my Aether Core and Soul to never harm my son, Malik’s, first daughter, either physically or mentally. I vow to treat her well and heal her as best I can.”
Malik, seeing Aether pulse into the man before him, chaining his core, gave the smallest nod.
“You should look away while I do the surgery; most husbands get put off seeing their wife all bloody.”
Saying that, Hakim moved even closer to Layla, but Malik stopped him with a hand on his chest.
“You don’t touch her. I’ll do the extraction myself.”
Hakim studied him for a second, then stepped back.
“Very well.”
The chamber grew colder the moment he raised his hand.
A shimmer spread across the floor, blooming outward like frost.
Gold lines crisscrossed the surface, geometric veins that bent and folded until they wove a full surgical field around Layla’s bed.
Every impurity was eaten away, and even dust dissolved.
“It’s safe now. No infection can take root here; the system’s locked.”
Malik stood at the edge of the bed, unmoving, staring down at his wife’s body.
His hands remained at his sides, open and calm, never trembling.
Hakim flicked his wrist, and a tool materialized.
A sleek knife of light, its blade no wider than a hair.
“This will cut without tearing… no blood spills if you keep steady. You’ll need to start from the lower abdomen—”
Malik’s golden eyes shifted toward him, faintly narrowing.
Hakim sighed and nodded, turning away.
“Fine. I won’t watch. You want me to guide you without looking—understood.”
He folded his arms behind his back, facing the wall.
“I’ll speak, you act.”
Malik took the tool from him, turning it in his grip, weighing its hum like he would any weapon.
“Hm.”
“It’s quite decent, isn’t it? Now get her naked and feed her this; it’ll suppress her pain.”
Hakim threw a pill at his son without looking, and Malik caught it, also without looking.
Then, with all the gentleness in the world, he slowly undressed his wife.
After that, he set her straight, opened her mouth, and fed her the pill.
It dissolved on her tongue, her body naturally gulping it down.
Positioning himself correctly, Malik lowered the knife without any hesitation.
It paused above her lower abdomen, though only for a moment.
He took a deep breath and cut.
The light parted her flesh; no blood spilled, only the faintest line, glowing red at the edges, marking where he had cut.
“Good. Look beside you; there’s something we call the retractor. Hold it to the side. No, press further—yes, like that. You’re separating tissue, not tearing. Yes, folding it slowly, that sounds right.”
Though he talked like he could see exactly what Malik was doing, he wasn’t. Malik made sure of that, yes, even as he followed his instructions to the letter.
Yet it seemed even that wasn’t enough.
“Mhhh.”
Layla stirred, a weak moan breaking from her lips.
Her eyelids fluttered, her pale face quickly becoming drenched in sweat.
“Her system’s on the maximum amount of suppressants. You’ll hear her, but you can’t silence that. Any more will shut her heart down. You understand.”
Malik’s jaw flexed, but he continued to work.
“MHHHHH.”
Layla moaned again, even louder, her hands clawing weakly at the sheets.
Malik’s gaze flicked to her face for a heartbeat, then fell back to the wound.
His movements never faltered.
“Be extra careful with the next layer. It’s fragile. Use that hook, yeah, that—slide it beneath and lift, don’t cut straight through. That’s it. The uterus wall is close now. Keep your angle shallow, or you’ll hit what you’re trying to save.”
Her body jerked, and she cried out, breaking.
“AHHHHHHH!”
Malik’s hand froze mid-motion, his lips parting:
“…isn’t there… anything more to help her?”
Hakim’s voice stayed even.
“No. Again. Anything stronger will kill her.”
Malik swallowed the breath he hadn’t realized was caught in his throat, and his hand moved again, faster than before, uncharacteristically reckless.
“Efficiency is mercy here… but not too much…”
Hakim noticed, murmuring as if to himself.
The incision widened as Malik adjusted, forcing each step to flow into the next.
“MHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Layla moaned again, her fingers gripping so hard the sheets began to tear.
“Almost there, son! Slide your palm under—feel for the ridge. Yes, that’s the womb. Be careful. Cut along the membrane; angle your wrist… good.”
“AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Another cry ripped from Layla’s throat, louder than anything he had ever heard in his entire life, pulling Malik’s gaze back to her face, where tears streaked her cheeks.
He blinked once, golden eyes dimming further as he pressed quicker.
His motions blurred, guided less by Hakim’s voice now and more by necessity.
The faster it ended, the less she’d suffer.
She… he couldn’t take this much longer.
“Open the sac.”
“Draw her out steady.”
“Do not twist, only lift—”
“AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Layla screamed fully, deafening Malik.
He couldn’t hear his father anymore.
Though the sound itself wasn’t that loud, nothing could ever be louder to him.
Instincts guiding him, Malik’s hands clenched around the tiny form he found and pulled.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
That was all the world heard before it all went bright.
…
Minutes later, Malik, breathing heavy, looked at his arms, both trembling too roughly.
In them was a bloodied, premature baby, her skin wrinkled and red, her breaths tiny and uneven.
He looked at her for a long time, searching her face for something he didn’t understand.
Those purple eyes of hers… that golden hair… she was a part of him.
“Amal.”
She was the one thing he’d almost lost.
A remainder of what was once there.
Now only a fraction of a fraction.
Yet… still so very true.
Hope.
A whole pillar of it.
If he had been Fam Iblis’s pillar of faith…
Who was his?
She was.
This small, fragile life in his arms.
Amal would be his hope.
His light.
Source: Webnovel.com, updated by novlove.com
