’...’

Zafar’s parents never made him feel wronged.

His life was the dream of all commoners.

The life of kings.

As the youngest and most talented officially recognized son of his Great Family, the Royal, even in the Academy, his status was unquestionable.

Especially in their controlled territories.

He had everything a young man could want.

So yes, he grew up in a life most people only dream of.

A life so gilded, so wrapped up in nonsense, that he felt a need for the world to see him.

Perhaps it was what made his personality as such, a natural consequence of never wanting for anything except attention.

There was no great or tragic reason for this need for attention he felt; it simply existed, a hunger that could never be satisfied.

That was Zafar.

A naive, attention-seeking, dumb, skirt-chasing hero who went on a journey, intent on being the main character of his own tale.

All of that came to a sudden crash on that Fateful day.

A day where every aggressor, betrayer, and bystander fell to their knees.

Their Sultan was far from a villain; he was misunderstood, and rather on purpose.

He sacrificed all that he had for Devil Maw’s continued survival, and Zafar, unable to continue living his lie, nearly broke down completely.

But that was also when he fully rose up.

That was when Zafar became a different man.

His once-smooth brain had earned its first wrinkle!

Yes, he was still the ever-horny simpleton, still prone to chasing skirts and trying to show off, but beyond that, he became a subject of a Lord he saw as his better.

He admitted to his faults and bowed his damned head, accepting that he had been wrong about everything.

Ever since that day, he had constantly wished for the day this debt could finally be repaid.

That when the time came, he would be one of the first soldiers leading the Sultan’s army, one of the first to stand by his side when the world came crashing down.

But now... it seemed like that wasn’t his Fate.

The irony? All that power, all that privilege...

It meant nothing now. Nothing. 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

Funny... it was funny, really.

After everything he’d been through, after all the battles and the tragedies, it came down to this: a bunch of nobodies on a rocky hill in the middle of nowhere.

He was going to die here, alone, without anyone to witness it.

Just him and his enemies, trading blows until he couldn’t lift his arms anymore.

’...Sultan, I’m sorry.’

Barely catching himself from falling, Zafar glanced up, noticing that his enemies had paused.

All of a sudden, they were all silent and staring at someone behind him.

He did the same, turning his head slowly, and his jaw hung open.

Standing at the edge of the hill was...

’T-The Sultan? N-No... it can’t be.’

Zafar somehow stopped the tears from falling, but he couldn’t stop the question from slipping out.

"M-My Sultan?"

He was given a nod.

Indeed, this was his Sultan.

Only he would acknowledge his presence in such a way.

Only he would act like their reunion was nothing to comment on.

Malik, just as casually, glanced at the others, their enemies, and spoke:

"As you all know, my name is Malik, the Sultan of Devil’s Maw."

"..."

"..."

"..."

Only a man of his status could utter that name.

Following his words, the silence was deafening; even the wind seemed to still.

They didn’t know whether to interfere, to shout, to attack, or to run. They simply couldn’t process what was happening.

Malik, the Sultan of Devil’s Mas himself, was standing right in front of them!

"But what you don’t know..."

He continued to address their frazzled minds.

"Is that I’m closer to the Gods than you are to mortals."

His voice seemed to crush their hearts.

"I HAVE RETURNED AS AN ANGEL, AND I DECLARE WAR AGAINST YOU, MY ENEMIES."

His roaring words shook the hill.

Small cascades of sand and rock tumbled down its sides, making the soldiers below flinch as if struck.

Most fell to their knees.

All stared at the golden figure on the hill with terrified eyes.

"WITNESS ME AS I MARK THIS DAY AS THE BEGINNING OF YOUR END."

This was his final message to them.

His final warning.

He wasn’t here to slaughter them, not yet. He was here to make a statement, to spread his name, and to plant the seeds of fear that would grow into something much larger.

"NEVER FORGET THE DEATH OF THESE INVADERS."

His final act of mercy was to let them live long enough to go back to their masters and whisper the name that should have never been forgotten.

"YOU WILL BE NEXT!"

Almost immediately after those words left his mouth, Malik raised a single hand.

The deadlock had been broken at the very moment of his arrival.

Competitors or not, the three Magi believed they couldn’t escape him.

And yes, ’believed,’ for much of Malik’s words could be considered a bluff.

If they tried to escape, they’d most likely succeed, but Malik wasn’t about to tell them that.

So, seemingly left with no other option for survival, the three attacked him all at once, throwing themselves into Hell and hoping for a damned miracle.

The Wind Magi summoned a roaring tornado, the Space Magi blinked behind him with a blade of distorted reality, and the Summoner raised a dozen sand golems from the earth.

Unfortunately for them, no miracle was given.

Malik lowered his hand.

"Shifting Ground."

With a heavy thud, the entire battlefield groaned.

The sand beneath their feet shifted and rolled like the skin of a waking beast, and every soldier on the field stumbled, grabbing at each other for balance.

Right in front of them all, the very earth had come alive at the Sultan’s command.

Malik wasn’t intent on letting it settle before their demise was confirmed.

This was his land, and he would forever keep them in its depths.