Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death-Chapter 251: That’s A Secret~!

"..."

Despite all that he said, his constant teasing, antagonizing, and prying, Malik's face didn't change one bit... as was expected by this point. He seemed entirely unbothered, even with the mention of his guardian... the first father he lost.

"Tsk~!"

Annoyed that his efforts hadn't borne fruit, Cyrus continued:

"I went off on a bit of a tangent there, didn't I? Don't mind me; my mind just goes. Anyway, anyway—where was I? Right, right—the war! So, yeah, the war didn't drag on forever, thank God. You'd think it would, but no, no—eventually the other clans, they… what's the word… rebounded! Impressive, really. And then—oh, this is the juicy bit—the Order slithered in. You know, all polished boots and clean banners, with their sanctimonious little mission statements, acting like they hadn't been hiding the whole time. They took control, locked things down, and rewrote the rules like they were always in charge. Typical, isn't it? Sweep in when the hard work's done, smile for the history books, and call it a victory."

He flicked his fingers and tapped the next node.

"But, ah—I'm rambling again... my apologies."

It glowed a bright white. Calmer. Still flickering.

"The Age of Rebirth. The Fourth Epoch. It began the day Earth woke up."

Malik reacted a slight bit and repeated:

"…Woke up?"

"Oh yes~."

Cyrus whispered.

"I forgot to mention, it froze up during the Second Epoch. Just a lonely, drifting rock for all those years. Can you imagine? The motherland of humanity, reduced to a cosmic paperweight. Eventually, though, time fixed it, as it does most things."

He laughed to himself.

"But that age… that story's still wet ink. Still being written. Too fresh, too volatile, I don't know much about it."

Finally, his fingers tapped the largest node on the projection, dead center, glowing with that strange silver-purple pulse—a heartbeat echoing through the void.

"And now, this one. The Fifth Epoch. The one you were born into."

Malik watched as Cyrus spun the small orb between his hands.

"The Order calls it The Age of the Final Bell. Because they think—oh, they hope—this is the end of the story. The last chapter. Why? Because a Rukh was born… maybe even an Araaf, something to rival the True Sultan. But—ah, here's the twist—this one, unlike 'Him,' came without a star."

He pointed the orb at Malik.

"That makes nine. And nine? Oh, nine is too many."

Malik frowned slightly.

"…What do you mean, 'one without a star'?"

Cyrus's eyes glimmered.

"Rukh Al-Qadeem. An Ancient One. An Old Soul. One that drifted where no one should. 'He' doesn't orbit, doesn't obey, doesn't belong. 'He' cut himself loose from fate's threads. They call 'Him' the Prince of the Fallen. And when 'He' arrived, this age began."

He leaned in, voice lowering to a whisper.

"The Age… of the Disappearing Star."

Malik didn't know why, but he felt his chest tighten.

Being told the world, no, the entire universe had named an entire age after some disappearing God just made things feel heavier. Like everything he thought was important was just a subplot in something much worse.

Still, it didn't affect him as much as he thought it would.

Perhaps it was due to its enormity, but knowing this hadn't changed how he looked at the world, not too much at least, for he was certainly reminded of just how tiny he was.

And it also made him a tad bit curious... How could someone escape fate?

If Prince of The Fallen could do it... could he do it too?

Malik straightened his back.

"…How?"

Cyrus just shrugged, palms turned up.

"Don't look at me like I'm the universe's narrator. I just hear the stories, boy."

Malik nodded slowly, his eyes already flicking through thoughts.

He wasn't good with such ridiculous events. Never had been. He preferred problems that stood before him, ones that he could actually fix or at least attempt to.

But still, and again, that didn't mean that he didn't want to know more.

This... all of it was just so damn interesting.

"Did the Order remain a faction?"

Cyrus placed the orb on his desk.

"Oh, no, they made it big, becoming a Galactic Federation."

Malik blinked.

"…A what?"

"A federation."

Cyrus casually repeated.

"Spans the damn cosmos. Bunch of smug bastards with stars on their collars and steel up their asses. And they want our planet. Badly."

"…But how do they—?"

"Attack us?"

Cyrus interrupted with a grin.

"Spaceships. Or, if they're feeling frisky, they just teleport in."

Malik's frown deepened.

"Spaceships?"

"Yeah, yeah. Big flying metal coffins with very weird designs. Really weird. Bastards lost their originality. Though the ones that find us zip faster than thought, so they're not too bad."

"So they're like ships that can fly into space?"

"Exaaaaaaaaaactly~."

Cyrus nodded, clearly enjoying Malik's slow unraveling.

"...Hm."

Malik rubbed his chin, not even bothering to figure out why this maniac was just handing him intergalactic exposition. He figured it was one of those "you're already dead, might as well learn the truth" kind of things. Still, he pressed on, intent on asking even that later.

"Nine… You said 'He' joined 'Them.' What... who were the other eight?"

Cyrus's smile froze.

His eyes shifted, a little more focused now.

"Aah, those ones…"

He sounded like a tired bard about to recite a story he knew too well.

"There are eight Primordials. Apexes of the world. The big ones. The Old Beasts. The Elders before Elders. They're not Gods, as the Twelvers or the Originists see them, but they still are Gods. I know, confusing, but whatever. That's the world."

Malik leaned his chin on his fist, waiting.

Cyrus counted on his fingers.

"First up is one of Space. 'His' name and title are unknown. It's believed that 'He's' new too... or he might not even be a 'He' yet, but is on the cusp of becoming one."

Second finger.

"Then there's the Sentinel of Snow. The White Primordial. Covered in frost. I don't know much about 'Her,' only that she was once an Araaf like The True Sultan."

Third.

"The Queen of Shadows. Black Primordial. Known to be a creepy bitch."

Fourth.

"Lady of Time. Fourth and final of the humans. Something interesting about 'Her' is that 'She' never had any Blessed. Yes, from the first record of her existence till now."

Malik squinted at that but didn't comment.

Cyrus moved to his thumb.

"Now, the real fun starts... The Sovereign of the Celestial Savanna. Giant lion-thing made of stars and dust. Roars once, and entire galaxies tremble."

Next.

"The Paragon of Infinite Flames. Yeah, it's exactly what you're thinking. Dragon. Unicorn. Pure fire and imagination wrapped in arrogance. Likes shiny things."

Sixth.

"The Keeper of Harmony. Think walking forest with a beard made of vines. Talks in riddles, thinks in music. Embodies nature's balance. Hates cities."

Seventh.

"The Warchief of the Cosmos. Big wolf, glowing bones, howls wars in and out of existence. 'He's' wilderness incarnate."

And then Cyrus stopped.

"That's eight."

Malik said quietly, and Cyrus nodded.

"Yeeeep~. And now there's nine. That little glitch in the system. The one with no star. Though this one might be with 'Him.' Someone you know very well. The True Sultan. The one they call the Sultan of Sands. Said to have a piece of his soul in every grain. Especially this planet, his turf. It's not widely known, but 'He's' the owner of Hell."

Malik exhaled through his nose.

"...Hell... Hell itself? Is that why this planet is called Fam Iblis? Al-Fawra is his jaw? His mouth? The Jaw of the Devil?"

Cyrus nodded once more, his face revealing pride.

"You're right on the coin, boy. Though. of course, not in a literal sense. And indeed... Hell's real. You should visit it one day... I don't know if 'He'll' allow it though; my... attempt was a disaster."

Ignoring the very emphasized word, Malik asked:

"These nine… 'They' worship Aether?"

Cyrus gave a mocking bow.

"Bingo. Most of 'Them' claim to serve no master, but 'They' all bow to Aether in the end. It's 'Their' maker, 'Their' myth... as it is ours."

He straightened again, his smile slowly fading, the amusement gone completely.

"You know... when you're immortal, when you're endless, things stop mattering, so it's easy to see why things ended up the way they did... Why these Gods made war in the First Epoch. Perhaps even before it. It might even explain 'Them' bowing to another... Or maybe it's all due to a realization I still fail to make. Either way, boredom is one Hell of a torture device."

"..."

Malik went quiet. Yes, even more than he already was.

He thought about all of this for a long minute. Then another. Then another.

He, indeed, didn't like any of this. Not because it was unfathomably big or terrifying—he didn't get scared anymore—but because it was unnecessary.

Sure, it was interesting, and for a long second, he indeed wanted to learn more, but, like… what did any of this help with? Didn't he come here to learn more about Al-Sayf itself? About Al-Ayan? The bastards that massacred his once-disciples' people?

He couldn't even make sense of his own feelings, his own scars, his own people—let alone understand star-eating monsters and time-walking women.

Snap! Snap!

Malik looked up, hearing Cyrus click his fingers together, annoyingly asking for his attention.

"Boy, the people don't know all this... they never will. Only we, the Sultans, know... You get me?"

He easily picked up on why Cyrus said those words, but asked the question anyway:

"Why?"

"That's a secret~!"

And, as he expected, he had gotten a non-answer.

Looking back down, Malik took a moment and shook his head.

"…Doesn't matter."

He made his decision. He would not busy himself with this any longer.

Cyrus grinned again, already expecting that answer.

"Nope... Not yet, anyway~. Not yet..."

Ignoring those insinuations, Malik stood up from his chair.

Surprising the old man, he suddenly stepped forward, getting closer to his desk.