***
{Outside The Projection}
The moment the number popped up, nearly the entirety of the hall lost its mind.
“A hundred thousand?!”
“He’s lying, right? That has to be broken.”
“It’s a Holy Relic, idiot. It doesn’t ‘break.'”
“Oh… ohhhhhh.”
They all stared at the projection, watching as Malik tilted his head at the glowing number hovering above his hand, then casually grinned like he’d just knocked over a merchant’s stall and found it funny.
“Even though it’s undeniable… I still can’t believe it.”
“The Sultan really offed himself that many times.”
“A hundred thousand deaths… just to get here.”
That number wasn’t just terrifying. It was ridiculous.
A whole new level of what the fuck.
And worst of all? Malik didn’t even seem to be bothered by it.
Rather, he appeared to find the number a little less than he expected.
…Perhaps it truly was broken.
***
{Inside The Projection}
Malik leaned against the cold wall of his cell, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting back to that moment.
The sheer panic on their faces when the number appeared—it was hilarious.
He hadn’t even done anything, not really.
It was just a cruel joke from whatever divine force was watching over him.
Apparently, his subconscious considered every single time he killed himself, every blink, and every failure that led to his own death to be murder.
Malik let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head.
He didn’t even know what to think about that.
Did it really count? If he was dying, but resetting, was it even death?
‘…Whatever.’
He exhaled, closing his eyes, letting exhaustion pull him under.
Sleep didn’t last long, though.
Footsteps approached, stopping right in front of his cell.
Malik opened one eye, gaze flicking to the cloaked figure standing before him.
The man wore a scarf wrapped around his head, covering most of his face, revealing only a familiar pair of dark eyes.
“Make a choice, Malik. Stay here and die… or escape with me.”
His voice was familiar as well. And because of that, Malik didn’t hesitate.
He pushed himself up, stepping close without a second thought.
“Get me out.”
The man nodded, pulling out a key.
The lock clicked open, and the door swung wide.
“Let’s go.”
He led them away and gestured for Malik to follow.
“What about the others?”
Malik looked at his neighbors, who he had barely heard a peep from since coming here.
“Criminals belong in prison.”
At that almost instant answer, he nodded and quickly followed along before one of them could wake up.
The halls of the Bastion, both under and above ground, were eerily quiet.
Night had settled, and the guards were sparse. Still, they moved cautiously, from shadow to shadow, ducking behind pillars and pressing themselves against walls to avoid detection.
One or two times, a patrol came close, forcing them to wait, holding their breath until the moment passed.
Eventually, they slipped outside, cutting through a narrow alley, and stopped in front of what looked like a garbage dump.
The cloaked man brushed aside a pile of waste, revealing the ground beneath.
He tapped his foot three times, and just like that, the ground shattered—no, an illusion did, revealing a trapdoor.
Malik arched a brow.
“A hideout under trash? Really?”
The figure chuckled.
“No one around here would dare go near garbage. It’s the perfect bodyguard.”
With that, he opened the hatch, descending the ladder first.
Malik followed, landing on solid ground below.
Down there, the air was damp but surprisingly not unpleasant.
A single lantern flickered, casting a dim light over a tunnel leading deeper underground.
The man turned to him.
“Son of Mariam… We, Banu Sasan, welcome you to the Silent Crescent. Or as known in the old tongue, Al-Hilal Al-Samit.”
He reached for the key to remove Malik’s chains, but before he could even lift a hand, Malik simply snapped them apart.
“Thanks for the warm welcome.”
The man blinked.
“You could always do that?”
“No.”
Malik flexed his wrists.
“I just melted them a little with my fire on the down low. Couldn’t just put everything up to chance…”
His words paused for a moment as he shuddered, imagining a future where he was in a loop just before his hanging, repeating it endlessly.
“Now, enough about that.”
He looked the man dead in the eyes.
“Khamal, why did you break me out?”
Unsurprised, Khamal pulled back his hood, unwrapping the scarf.
“Well, you don’t have the face of a killer and Holy Relics aren’t perfect. I don’t know what misunderstanding your mind has, but I’m sure it’s amazing.”
Malik let out a soft chuckle.
“Thank you again.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Khamal gestured for him to follow.
“Let me introduce you to the others.”
They reached the other end of the tunnel and entered another room, larger, filled with crates and makeshift furniture.
It was a decent-looking place, especially so when considering how deep underground they were.
“Intruder!”
But before Malik could take in the details, a figure lunged at him, swinging a fist toward his face.
Clicking his tongue, he sidestepped and caught the attacker by the wrist.
With a twist, he sent them crashing to the ground, screaming out for life:
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!”
In an instant, Malik was on top of the figure, a hand wrapped around his throat, shutting him up.
“You scream like a girl.”
He turned to Khamal.
“Should I kill him?”
Wiping a hand down his face, Khamal sighed.
“Please don’t.”
He nodded, released his grip, stood up, and dusted himself off.
Meanwhile, his attacker coughed, struggling to rise.
“So?”
After a second of silence, Malik crossed his arms.
“Who is he?”
Khamal, rubbing his temple, looked at the man still on the ground wheezing, trying to catch his breath, and then answered:
“This is the son of a wealthy noble. Trying to make a change.”
Malik raised a brow.
“So a golden spoon and a young master. Great.”
The young man finally managed to stand, wobbling slightly before lowering his head.
“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were a new member! I swear I’ll compensate you for this!”
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Malik studied him for a moment before nodding.
“I’m not a new member, but sure. Let me get my compensation now.”
“H-Huh?”
The noble barely had time to blink before Malik’s fist crashed into his face.
Hard. Bone met flesh. His head snapped back, blood already spilling from his nose.
“Don’t fight back.”
Another punch.
A sickening crunch.
Another.
Then another.
And another.
Malik didn’t stop.
He buried his knuckles into the noble’s face over and over, turning it into a ruined mess of blood and swelling.
The once-noble-looking young man now lay on the ground, barely conscious, barely breathing.
Malik exhaled sharply, flexing his fingers, rubbing blood off his knuckles.
Finally, he turned.
Khamal and the others just stared.
Eyes wide. Mouths slightly open.
Malik’s expression? Blank.
Like he had just swatted a fly.
“Now…”
He rolled his shoulders, shook out his hands, then looked them dead in the eyes.
“Let’s talk.”