The grand throne hall of Al-Munira stood in tense silence, the air thick with fear and anticipation. The time was 11:40 PM. Every guard had their weapons aimed at Malakar, the long-forgotten nightmare of the kingdom now standing before them in the flesh.
Gasps and horrified murmurs rippled through the crowd of maids and attendants, their eyes wide with terror. The realization that Malakar had been hiding among them all along—walking the same halls, breathing the same air—sent shivers down their spines. Some clutched their mouths in shock, others instinctively stepped back, as if just being near the ancient villain would corrupt them.
Queen Zafira stood unwavering, her gaze sharp as a blade, flaming bow and arrow drawn, the firelight dancing in her eyes. In a voice that commanded absolute obedience, she declared, "Guards, unseal the entrance at once! No non-combatant is to remain within these walls. Remove them from the throne hall at once—this battle is not theirs to witness."
At her command, the guards pushed open the massive doors.
King Malik stepped forward, his presence exuding royal authority. His deep voice resonated through the throne hall, steady and absolute. "Let it be known—by my command, everyone except the guards are to evacuate the palace immediately. Go forth and spread no panic.
Panic gripped the attendants and maids as they fled, their fear overriding their dignity. Some screamed, others shoved past one another, scrambling to escape the nightmare unfolding before them. A few tripped in their haste, hastily picking themselves up before vanishing through the towering doors.
Meanwhile, those who remained took their battle stances. The royal guards, Amina, Shahira, and the King and Queen themselves, stood their ground, magic crackling in the air around them. The time for confrontation had come.
Malakar simply smirked, his centuries-old eyes gleaming with amusement.
The tension in the throne hall reached its peak as King Malik fixed his piercing gaze on Malakar, his voice steady but filled with righteous fury.
"With our own hands, we will end this tonight. What my ancestors failed to do, we shall complete—your reign of terror ends here!"
Beside him, Queen Zafira's anger blazed like an inferno. She gritted her teeth, her grip tightening on her flaming bow as her voice thundered through the hall.
"HOW DARE YOU TURN MY SON INTO A CRIMINAL?! I WILL PERSONALLY DRAG YOU THROUGH HELL!"
Malakar just scoffed, an amused smirk curling on his lips.
"You dare act righteous?" He sneered. "I built this kingdom from nothing. I shaped it with my own hands! And what happened? Your beloved Zayd and that pathetic Amir STOLE it from me!"
His voice grew harsher, dripping with bitterness.
"I was betrayed—cast aside like filth and exiled from the very kingdom I created! And all because of their selfishness!"
Shahira stepped forward, eyes blazing with anger.
"You enslaved people and spread corruption! Who in their right mind would want you as their ruler?!"
Malakar let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
"Hah! And yet, I was kind to them at first. I fed them, sheltered them, taught them how to survive. I gave them a home—a kingdom where they could live in peace." His grin twisted into something cruel. "So tell me, why the hell should I have continued treating them kindly?!"
A heavy silence fell upon the throne hall. His words, twisted as they were, carried a disturbing sense of logic. For just a moment, doubt flickered in the eyes of those present.
Then, Malakar's voice rose into a furious shout.
"And what did I get in return?! Betrayal, all because of my jealous right-hand man! Those foolish people DESERVED the terror I brought upon them—every last bit of it!"
He took a step forward, eyes gleaming with hatred.
"And then what?! That wretched Zayd, my greatest humiliation, rose against me! He stole what was rightfully mine and kept making MY kingdom more prosperous!"
Amina, who had been listening intently, finally spoke, her voice laced with curiosity.
"But why?" She asked. "After centuries, why do you still bear this grudge? Can't you just move on? Over 1,500 years have passed—life has changed."
Malakar's expression darkened, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper.
"You have no idea… no idea how deep my hatred runs. How much I've suffered. How—"
Before he could continue, Ryo cuts in, his voice sharp and unwavering.
"It's no use, Amina. This guy is too far gone." He narrowed his eyes. "Especially after making that promise to the Ancient 'thing.' He's beyond redemption."
Ryo turned to the others, his tone grim.
"There's no reason to listen to him anymore. His crimes span centuries—death after death, year after year." He exhaled sharply. "As a former cop, I can tell you this… he's already beyond saving."
For a moment, hesitation gripped the room. Some had almost begun to question their stance. But Ryo's words snapped them back to reality. Their grips tightened on their weapons. Their eyes hardened.
Ryo drew his gun, aiming it directly at Malakar.
"Guys, whatever you do—make sure this 'prehistoric guy' doesn't kill you."
Amina rolled her eyes. "Duh! Obviously!"
Shahira frowned. "Why even say that? Of course, we have to avoid dying."
Ryo took a deep breath before revealing the horrifying truth.
"The reason he stole the Celestial Compass, EXACTLY at this year… it's because he needed one more dead body. One final soul to complete the offering to the Ancient 'thing' and activate the compass."
Gasps filled the throne hall. The realization sent a shudder down everyone's spine.
Then, Malakar's lips curled into a twisted grin before he let out a low, menacing chuckle.
"Oh, you foolish detective," he mocked. "It seems you still haven't figured out the last piece of the puzzle."
Ryo's expression darkened. "What do you mean?"
But before Malakar could answer, Queen Zafira had had enough.
With a furious cry, she shot a flaming arrow directly at him.
"BURN IN HELL!"
The moment the arrow was released, the guards around Malakar panicked, scrambling to dodge out of the way.
But Malakar… didn't move.
He just smiled as the burning arrow hit him directly.
A sickening whoosh echoed through the throne hall as flames engulfed him. His body twisted in the inferno, charring black, his limbs crackling as they shriveled. Blood oozed and boiled, his skull becoming visible beneath peeling flesh.
Queen Zafira's voice rang through the hall, filled with rage and agony.
"THAT'S FOR TURNING MY SON INTO A CRIMINAL! NOW ROT IN HELL!"
A tense silence followed.
Shahira narrowed her eyes. "Did that get him?"
Then, an eerie sound broke through the hush.
Drip… drip…
The flames flickered. The air thickened.
The grand clock in the throne hall struck 11:45 PM—the sound echoing eerily through the chamber.
Then it happened.
Malakar's burned body trembled before a thick black miasma burst from within. The dark mist swirled around him, sizzling against his scorched flesh.
His body—no, his entire form—began to regenerate. Flesh reformed. Sizzling wounds stitched themselves back together. Bones realigned, muscles reconstructed. Even his clothing and armor were restored, as if he had never been harmed at all.
One of the guards gagged at the grotesque sight.
Malakar stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders before cracking his neck. Then, he smirked.
With a mocking smirk, he curled his fingers and motioned them to come closer.
"Come on." His voice was smooth, taunting. "Is that all you've got? Keep going—I can do this all night."
Shahira's breath hitched. Her hands trembled slightly as her eyes widened in horror.
"Oh my god… he really can't die."
Ryo's breath caught. His grip tightened around his gun, his eyes fixed on Malakar's grotesque regeneration. But it wasn't just the healing that disturbed him.
It was how Malakar healed.
The swirling black miasma. The sizzling flesh that grotesquely knitted itself back together.
Something deep in Ryo's mind stirred—a buried memory clawing its way to the surface.
A cold chill crawled up his spine as the image flashed in his head.
That night.
The night he rescued that thing—that strange-looking cat.
The night he fought them, those eerie-looking hounds.
Those creatures weren't just beasts. Their twisted forms, sizzling flesh, and the same black miasma clinging to their bodies—it was just like Malakar.
And Lunaria—Dusty, as he had jokingly called her—had warned him.
"Be careful if you come across them."
At the time, he didn't understand the weight of her words. He thought those creatures were just some freakish anomaly.
But now…
He was staring at something just like them.
Malakar wasn't just some ancient sorcerer who had cheated death.
He was something worse.
His body, his very essence… was like a Vrakul.
Ryo's grip on his gun tightened. His pulse pounded in his ears.
His jaw clenched as he forced out a curse under his breath.
"Shit… To think I'd come across one of these guys…now in human form"