Chapter 116: A Most Special Banquet
***
The Sultan’s second address to the entirety of Devil’s Maw had begun.
Massive projections flickered to life across the planet—in the crowded marketplaces of the Last City, in the settlements of the West, in the fortified bunkers of the North, in the refugee caves hidden beneath the hills of Aram.
Every Holy Relic capable of carrying sound and image displayed the Golden Throne.
Malik, of course, sat upon it, his posture relaxed, his golden eyes fixed on the recording device before him.
The Sultan’s Hall was empty save for him; he had learned from last time.
"Peace be upon you."
His Will would not crush his people today.
"O noblest, most honorable, and purest of people."
***
In a small village on the edge of the West, a father stood in the middle of the street, his little boy’s hand clutched in his own.
They had been walking to the village’s well when the projection flickered to life above the town square, the Sultan’s face appearing in the sky like a third Sun.
The father heard the words, but he did not truly register them.
His hand loosened, and the little boy’s fingers slipped from his grasp, but the child did not notice—he too was staring up at the projection, his small face filled with awe.
The father had seen the sky burn two nights ago. He had felt the ground shake, watched the mountains crack, and held his son while praying to a God he wasn’t sure ever listened.
He saw a light falling, something beyond comprehension. Though he didn’t know it at the time, it was a fight between Angels.
Such knowledge came from rumors.
Everyone had heard the rumors.
"As you have seen in our beautiful sky..."
Now the father knew for certain.
"We have won a great victory."
The entire world did.
***
In a cramped apartment in Zawaya, a mother sat on the edge of a straw mattress, a small baby pressed against her chest.
She had not slept in three days.
Her husband and her second son were taken by invaders, leaving them God knows where. Her eldest son had joined the army, fighting Demons she could not see and could not imagine.
The milk in her breasts had begun to dry from the stress.
She was alone and terrified, certain that the world was ending and that no one was coming to save them.
But the Sultan was here.
The Sultan had killed an Angel.
The Sultan was not done fighting.
She kissed her baby’s forehead and whispered a prayer she had not said in years.
A whisper only she and her baby could hear.
Yet her eyes remained on the projection that had appeared just outside her window, looking over their entire district.
The Sultan’s face filled the space, his golden eyes seeming to look directly at her.
"I have felled an Angel,"
She heard his words, and something buried so very deep in her chest... cracked open.
Uncontrollable tears spilled down her cheeks—years of fear, hunger, and hopelessness pouring out all at once.
Perhaps they would live to see another year after all.
***
On the eastern front, a soldier stood atop a crumbling wall, his spear resting against his shoulder, his eyes fixed on the distant haze where the Demon tide would soon appear.
He was young—barely twenty—but his face had already learned the hollow exhaustion of men many times his age.
The projection had materialized behind them, above the command tent.
"Send another if you dare..."
It wasn’t long before every soldier forgot the Demons and turned to look. The young soldier was one of them.
"For I shall drop them like flies."
Those heavy words caused the young soldier’s legs to suddenly give out.
His spear clattered beside him as he slowly raised a trembling but reaching hand towards the projection.
Towards the man who had given him something he had forgotten he needed.
Hope.
The young soldier did not speak.
He could not speak.
Tears came before the words.
When it came to their Sultan, they always did.
***
Every word was spoken calmly, yet it rumbled through the hearts of all who heard it.
This was their Sultan, a force that would never back down, no matter the impossible odds, but would instead sit on a throne of gold, daring the universe to try again.
Ding!
And for that, Malik was rewarded.
—
╔═══════════════╗
║YOUR FEAR SPREADS...║
╚═══════════════╝
[Order (Class One) — 20 → 21 % Increasing!]
[Southern Cross (Class Three) — 75 → 96 % Increasing!]
[Phoenix Faction (Class Four) — 36 → 38 % Increasing!]
[Owls Faction (Class Five) — 50 → 53 % Increasing!]
[Red Dragon Faction (Class Five) — 46 → 49 % Increasing!]
[Kalahari Faction (Class Five) — 40 → 43 % Increasing!]
[Walkers Faction (Class Six) — 61 → 64 % Increasing!]
[Maharajah Faction (Class Seven) — 70 → 74 % Increasing!]
[Fear Points: 281 → 337]
—
He paused, his golden eyes flickering to the notification that had appeared in the corner of his vision.
It seemed that his appearance—or more accurately, his unharmed appearance—had brought fear to his enemies.
They had expected him to be wounded, weakened, perhaps even dying after his battle with a more experienced Angel.
Instead, he sat on his throne looking no different than he always was.
They realized now that he had felled an Angel without any lasting damage to himself.
The implications must have rippled through their ranks, sending tremors through every faction that had dared to set foot on his soil.
Southern Cross, especially, was nearing one hundred percent.
’Ninety-six.’
They only needed a quick push to finally leave, and Malik was more than happy to be the one to give them that push.
"Southern Cross... listen to me well."
What a ’push’ it was.
"Your Angel, Mata, has lost her life, as you all will soon."
So simple.
"Those on the same path as you will not live a long life."
Yet so very loud.
"I can swear my honor on that."
Ding!
—
╔═══════════════╗
║FACTION TERMINATED║
╚═══════════════╝
[Southern Cross Faction (Class Three) — Terminated]
[Reward: 1600 Fear Points!]
—
’...’
Malik was speechless.
He could not believe his eyes.
One thousand six hundred points from a single faction.
That was more Fear Points than the Angel herself had given him.
’Good. Very, very good.*
He could Ascend already; there was no need for saving up. The points were there, waiting to be spent and push him closer to whatever waited at the end of this path.
Yet even then, his plan did not change.
He needed to take a step back.
Malik had made a mistake.
Indeed, he had been too hasty in his decision to begin operation Our Promise.
Not because the Order had said so—damn the Order—but because he had allowed his hunger for Fear Points to influence his thinking.
The operation and its relentless push against the invaders were necessary, yes, but not before fixing what was broken inside, addressing the rot within his own domain.
Again, he was too Fear Point hungry, turning his people into numbers on a screen.
Those numbers had become the goal, and the goal had become the numbers, making it so that somewhere along the way, he had lost sight of what truly mattered.
Malik had forgotten that the system was a tool, not a purpose. A simple means to end, not the end itself.
He had to fix the internal problems first before going outward.
The people of Aram, crushed beneath a treachery that was not their fault, made him realize that.
And so, to that ’end’—
"I shall host a banquet in the Holy Palace to celebrate this victory."
Malik announced a banquet.
"It will be tomorrow. A day celebrating this victory. My sultanate shall welcome all with its food and drink."
Yes, it would not only be for those of high status, nobles, generals, and the wealthy merchants, but also for everyone. All would be welcome to eat and drink at his table.
They were to remember that they belonged to something greater than their suffering.
"And for those of you interested."
His calm smile returned.
"I will be selling the Angel’s remains."
Indeed, Malik had obtained whatever was left of Mata.
His shadows—the Guard of the Fifth, forever at his aid—had swept through the battlefield after his fall, gathering the remnants of her body, armor, and weapon before anyone else could claim them.
Though mostly destroyed, it would still fetch a pretty penny.
After all, the remains of an Angel were priceless.
They could be forged into Holy Relics, ground into potions, or even studied by scholars who sought to understand the nature of Ascension.
He would sell them for gold, connections, and information. To learn about the factions that surrounded him, the enemies he had yet to face, the allies he had yet to make, and the hidden hands that moved against him.
With this, he would further expand his grasp.
"That is all."
It would be the perfect opportunity to learn more about his home, and, of course, who better to help him than his very grand vizier?
"For all who come after."
The Holy Relic ceased.
The Sultan’s Hall fell silent.
Malik let the stillness settle around him.
It was... trembling.
Or perhaps that was him.
Either way, footsteps eventually began to echo from the corridor.
The massive gates opened, and Noor entered.
She stopped at the base of the throne steps.
"Do you need me, my Sultan?"
Malik looked down at her.
"Hm."
Yes. Yes, he did.