Malik let out a sigh.

It seemed that he had to use his last—

"LONG LIVE THE SULTAN!"

His own army devoured him.

He was pressed from all sides.

Indeed, in the final moment, his army reached him.

They crashed into the enemy charge like a mighty mountain.

The front lines collided with a sound that shook the ground.

Chaos swallowed everything.

After a second or two, Malik found himself in the middle of the quagmire.

Bodies began to press against him from all sides, friend and enemy indistinguishable in the crush.

Swords swung past his face. Spears thrust at his chest. He dodged what he could, blocked what he couldn’t, and killed anyone who got too close.

A soldier lunged at him. Malik sidestepped, drove his elbow into the man’s throat, and continued moving as another came from the left, forcing him into another exchange.

The enemy simply kept coming.

And he was lost in it all.

Eventually... he was gone.

Across the battlefield, Sinbad spun through the air, his wings tearing through enemy Magi.

Once done with his part of the sky, he quickly looked down to check up on his Sultan.

"...Where is Elder Brother?"

Azeem landed on a crumbling wall, his rings flickering.

"I don’t see him."

Zafar cut down a strong soldier with a stronger blast.

"Did he leave?’

Noor floated above the carnage, crushing squads of enemies with her mere presence.

"I think... he’s gone."

Kabir’s shadow had stilled.

The battle continued to rage around them. But it seemed that their Sultan had vanished in the quagmire.

Malik himself didn’t know where he was.

He didn’t know how he was even alive.

The chaos had swallowed him whole.

One moment, he was fighting in the thick of it, dodging, weaving, striking back with anything he could pick up from the ground.

His weak fire flickered from his palms. His enhanced strength—what remained of it—kept his blows heavy.

He used both in clever ways.

A burst of flame to blind an enemy. A shove to send a soldier tumbling into his own ranks.

Then the tide had carried him.

He drifted through the waves of the battle and madness.

That was the only way one could describe it.

Malik went past the clashing lines and piles of dead. He did so without much thought.

His body knew what to do. His feet found paths that no other soldier would. His head twisted away from blades he never saw coming.

Not before long, he found himself in a shallow muddy ravine. Natural or carved by his own attack, he didn’t know.

Either way, it sat on the outskirts of the fighting.

The sounds of war were muffled here, present, yes, but distant.

Malik leaned against the muddy wall and caught his breath.

He didn’t understand how he’d made it here without using his last Soul Glyph. His Rukh reserves were empty and his body was uterrly battered.

’...it’s more than instinct.’

His mind wasn’t guessing. It was recognizing patterns, processing variables, even if he didn’t consciously realize it.

The way people moved. The way certain things felt off. It all added up. He was reading the flow of war without knowing how.

A shout snapped him back.

"SHIELDS!"

Soldiers scrambled around him, regular infantry. Men and women who’d been pushed to the edge of the battle and were trying to hold.

They didn’t recognize him.

His clothes were too torn and bloody to make out. His appearance had regressed to the older, weakened version, far from the handome Sultan they knew.

It was both a blessing and a curse.

The soldiers snapped into formation.

Shields rose in unison, locking together to form a barrier. Those without shields ducked behind cover, carriages, rock formations, anything that could stop an arrow.

Arrows pelted down like rain. They bounced off metal, sank into sand, buried themselves in wood. The air filled with the thrum of bowstrings and the whistle of shafts.

Malik didn’t duck behind the rest.

He moved. A step here. A shift there. A twist. A turn. Each arrow missed him by inches. He danced through the hail while approaching the enemy line.

"RETURN FIRE!"

Their own archers drew and loosed.

A counter-volley streaked through the air, whistling towards the unseen enemy. Long-range Magi in their ranks began to weave abilities into life.

Fire. Air. Water. Earth.

Every common element hurtled through the air, bombarding the area where the enemy’s attack had come from.

"SECOND VOLLEY!"

More arrows shot forward. Some enemy soldiers fell instantly, bodies hitting the sand with dull thuds. The smarter ones used the rocky outcrops for cover, darting between them and advancing in staggered lines.

Malik met their path.

An enemy lunged at him, blade aimed for his ribs. Malik twisted, let the sword pass inches from his side, then grabbed the man by the throat.

Fire surged through his palm.

The man’s skin melted under his grasp.

A scream started, turned hoarse, then stopped entirely.

Malik was cruel.

Throwing the corpse aside, he pushed deeper into the enemy ranks, killing one after another, simply unstoppable.

His own soldiers stared at him.

The man before them was weak, that was undeniable, but that didn’t seem to matter.

Those much stronger than him were felled by his mediocre blade, one that he must’ve picked up from the ground.

More than his skill, his Will made that possible. A Will that affected everyone around him, including his own.

This was a devil cloaked in fire.

Malik ducked low.

A hammer swung over his head, missing by a breath. He came up inside the man’s guard and drove his sword into his gut.

He ripped the blade free and let fire consume the wound before quickly stepping away, noticing the dagger-wielding Magi trying to flank him.

Malik turned, grabbed the man’s wrist mid-strike, then plunged his sword into his throat.

Another came from behind. Malik ducked, spun, and sent a wave of fire sweeping low across the ground.

The flames caught the man’s legs, sending him crashing face-first into the sand, screaming as his flesh melted away.

A desperate invader with a shield rushed him, trying to bash him back and away from his comrade.

Malik let him come and commit, then sidestepped at the last moment.

Flicking his wrist, his sword found the gap to the man’s side, slicing deep.

Blood sprayed from the wound as the invader staggered back, his eyes disbelieving.

At the same time, he stabbed his sword into the ground, ending the burning man’s suffering.

Rows upon rows fell, yet Malik remained...

"COME AND DIE!"

Unrelenting.