Misunderstood Villain Heroines Mourn My Death Chapter 302
Impossible[ … words ]
[ … words ]
Impossible.
Impossible.
Impossible.
…What does that word mean exactly?
Its meaning was obvious even to the common layman.
When something was not able to occur, exist, or be done.
This would be ’impossible.’
The meaning.
Yet, how many times had Malik achieved this ’impossible?’
Honestly, they lost count.
But still…
Still…
This ’impossible’ they had just witnessed…
This mantle he wore…
The faith he Embodied.
Indeed, it was more ’impossible’ than every ’impossible’ that came before it.
And under the bright Shams of the sixth day, the world knelt before it.
They knelt before the Second Sun.
They knelt before Malik.
Not only lowering their heads like last time.
They put away all their pride and knelt.
Even those who couldn’t have done so.
Even children, joining their parents.
No one was asleep.
They all witnessed it.
This historic moment in history.
This legend.
It was to be respected.
Only two remained standing.
Only two in the whole world.
Roya and Noor.
Their camp didn’t, however, ignoring their orders and joining the rest.
For this moment, for this long moment, Malik had taken their souls hostage.
What a scene they saw!
What a fight.
What an ending.
Oh, was it cathartic.
Oh, was it intense.
Oh, was it sad.
Malik must’ve sacrificed much of his life in that battle.
His mended soul must’ve bent and twisted.
It must’ve returned to the wrong.
They were sure.
He wouldn’t have been able to do what he did otherwise.
Not without blinking at least, not without entering a loop of death.
Killing ten Jinn in that state?
No.
Not even him.
Something had to give.
And so, his soul did.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t have punched through the ice Jinn’s chest.
He wouldn’t have caught and sent back a massive spear of lightning.
He wouldn’t have stomped the earth Jinn high up and then sent him back into the ground.
He wouldn’t have burnt himself alive and made quick work of the nature Jinn.
He wouldn’t have crushed a sword with his teeth and stepped forward, turning the chaos Jinn into a paste of meat.
He wouldn’t have tricked the air Jinn, killing him in two attacks, bursting his head.
He wouldn’t have called upon his Spine Splitter and trampled on the neck of the pitiful.
A double-bladed curved sword that the former Sultan spoke of.
The very one that he commented to have an extra… ability.
This was it.
This recall was the ability.
And it too had to give.
He wouldn’t have used his self-made technique to backstab the void Jinn.
He wouldn’t have dodged all that there was to dodge and fallen upon the water Jinn.
He wouldn’t have leaned on his sword… he wouldn’t have cut the world.
Malik wouldn’t have administered his “punishment.”
And of course, he wouldn’t have rested at “home.”
His soul had given a lot.
Sinbad must’ve suffered a lot.
An unfathomable pain for any in the hall and outside it.
The poor bird hadn’t blinked once since Malik fell.
No one had.
The projection had paused ten minutes ago.
And yet not a single person moved. Not a cough. Not a breath too deep.
You’d think someone would say something after watching a man cut down about thirty thousand souls, ten Jinn, and then his main enemy, like some kind of nightmare from legend.
But no.
They were all still kneeling.
Generals, Shahs, and fellow Jinn.
People who didn’t kneel for anything had their heads bowed completely.
From the outside looking in, it may seem like it was a new religion.
Yet this one came not out of fear.
But out of awe.
Because that was the only proper response.
A pillar of faith was just born before their eyes.
…And fell.
But even in his fall, he was not defeated.
No, it was like he just… shut down.
Like a contraption.
Used for long enough.
Bleeding steam and blood.
Until the mission was done.
And then he simply… shut off.
Left a crater where their hearts used to be.
“O Merciful…”
Someone whispered it. Real soft.
It didn’t matter who. Could’ve been some old baker lady. Could’ve been one of the many princes in the hall. Didn’t matter.
It was the first word spoken in ten whole minutes.
Because no one knew what the Hell to say after what they just saw.
“Did he… a JINN, actually cut the entire canyon?”
Another voice croaked, sounding dry.
“No, no, split it.”
Another joined in, voice no different, like it hadn’t been used in years.
“Forget the canyon, did you see the spheres? All thirty thousand… cut in half.”
And another.
“No, no, no, what about the Metal Jinn?!”
“Head gone.”
“SPINE gone!”
“Brother… he burnt a man alive.”
That broke something in the crowd.
Everyone suddenly started talking at once.
Murmurs at first. Then louder. Faster. More frantic. Like a dam had burst.
“Impossible… it was impossible, God—”
“That sword! The former Sultan’s words were true!”
“Never mind his sword, he fucking cracked metal with his teeth!”
“He breathed fire like a damned dragon.”
“HE BROUGHT HELL UPON HIMSELF!”
“I think—I think I saw the Shams blink.”
“Did you hear Shimr scream like a little donkey?”
“God, I had to cover my wife’s ears!”
“Shimr’s face when Malik just stepped up the cliff.”
“Oh, that face was hilarious!”
“’I yield! I yield!’”
One young Magi mocked, throwing his hands in the air.
His senior smacked him upside the head.
“Don’t mock the dead, idiot.”
Someone chuckled. Then someone sobbed.
Someone muttered a prayer. Someone else just kept shaking their head, over and over again, like they still didn’t believe.
But belief had nothing to do with it.
They saw it.
With their own two eyes.
With the projection brought to life by a Ten Commandment.
There was no doubt.
Malik had done it.
He’d gone to war… and won.
Not just against Shimr.
Not just against the ten Jinn.
Not just against thirty thousand men, each one bloodthirsty to kill—
But against the very laws of the world.
And he’d broken them once more.
Someone chuckled.
“Oh… was it satisfying~.”
This man seemed to be quite enjoying a certain Lord’s death.
“The Sultan burned Shimr like a heap of trash… May his soul rot.”
“May it not.”
A priest shot back.
“No one deserves to die like that. Not even him.”
The priest looked around.
No one agreed.
No one said a word.
The priest sighed and kept kneeling.
Still, though they talked, no one moved.
Even though their knees hurt.
Even though it was over.
Because he was still there.
In their minds.
In their bones.
Malik.
The Cursed Child.
The Bane of Corruption
The Bearer of Ouroboros
The Forsaken.
The Wielder of Spine Breaker.
The Lifter of the Gate.
The Flipper of Armies.
The “Stranger.”
The Weaver of Fate.
The Golden-Eyed Devil.
The Second Sun.
And in that silence…
They worshiped.
Not to Malik.
Not in prayer.
But in awe.
In grief.
In something deeper than either.
Because when a world ends right in front of you…
You don’t clap.
You don’t cheer.
You don’t beg for the next Chapter.
You just try to breathe.
And hope… just hope…
That whatever comes next doesn’t demand the same sacrifice.
