Chapter 332: Hate Me
***
{Inside The Projection}
Malik paused, his eyes landing on Zafar.
He was met with a mountain of killing intent and yet…
His blade remained undrawn.
Zafar didn’t care for that.
He was already drawing glyphs in the air, runes with no medium or surface.
The boy was on the cusp of becoming a Jinn, so that meant that as a Kahin, an Arcanist, a weaver of runes, he was only a Wordsmith, the ninth class within the specialized Kahin ranking system.
Unlike the Dune Guardian specialization, Sahirs and Kahins don’t unlock abilities; they either weave or draw them into being.
So their skill is measured differently.
Sahirs have ten classes; the closer the number is to zero, the stronger they are. Kahin have twelve, the same idea, only more spread out.
That naturally made the Kahin path more rough in the beginning.
The first four classes are barely useful compared to other paths. Runeweaver Novitiate, a twelfth class, could only perceive runes or Aether. An eleventh class, Elemental Enchanter, could only weave basic elemental buffs. And only a tenth class, Rune Artificer, could start embedding runes into armor and weapons.
The ninth class is where it actually began.
It was when Kahins could finally summon abilities with runes, but they still needed a surface to draw on. Walls. Skin. Paper. Any medium.
Glyphs, though? What Zafar just drew? That was a seventh class skill. Warder of Glyphs. That was when a Kahin could start drawing runes straight onto Aether itself. Which practically removed the need for a medium, as, technically speaking, air still was a medium of sorts.
Of course, that meant that they could draw in their own thoughts, but that was for later, way later.
Now, glyphs were supposed to be reserved for Jinn. A whole Major Divine rank above Zafar’s current one, and two classes above his current one.
So the fact that he was doing this casually, with seemingly no preparation, meant only one thing…
Zafar didn’t give a damn about the risks.
One wrong stroke and the glyph would blow up in his face, kill him, but he just didn’t care.
He wanted to be the self-sacrificial hero.
Or maybe he just didn’t think of the consequences.
Either way, he wanted to kill Malik with his everything.
And, well, his chances weren’t all that abysmal.
At that moment, he was the most accurate definition of a wild card.
If and once all his runes are activated, he could rival those two Minor Divine Ranks above him.
Whole two Minor Divine Ranks!
So yes, Zafar was the walking definition of a gambling den with life as collateral.
One that had just experienced the birth of a heroic mindset.
With that birth, a torrent of fire was launched.
Whoosh!
It hit Malik.
Smoke exploded.
The wall behind him cracked.
But when it cleared… Malik was unharmed, standing with sand coating him like a veil.
Mimicking Roya just a minute earlier, Zafar didn’t stop.
Another glyph materialized.
It was messy, unstable, and leaking raw Aether from the lines.
A true gamble, a Fortune’s Wheel spinning faster than he could see.
FWASH—BOOM!
An ocean of water erupted from it, crashing forward.
Malik walked through it calmly, water evaporating before it could even lick the hem of his cloak.
Zafar was already mid-draw again, his fingers blurring, runes forming in sloppy loops.
He was skipping structure now, letting the Fortune’s Wheel decide what came out.
CRACK!
It was a thunderbolt.
And, well, it didn’t hit Malik.
It struck the ceiling, which cracked and dropped rubble at Malik.
He stepped back and away, easily dodging the… attack.
But just as his foot touched the ground, it… slipped?
Malik, a Jinn, nearly a Mithqal, slipped.
…Seriously?
He stared down at the approaching ground.
’Hm.’
His right palm shot out, pushing himself away.
A twisting fire rune made itself known.
A wind glyph layered behind it.
Boom!
The floor where Malik was about to fall on turned into a storm of heat and blades.
Nothing hit him; he was already far.
Just as he landed on his feet, he slapped away the remnants of the attack and placed his hands behind his back, boots skating smoothly on the marble, cloak fluttering behind.
He almost seemed to be enjoying himself.
Zafar was far from that, however, barely surviving.
He spun, dodging the aftermath of Malik’s slap while painting another glyph.
This back and forth of theirs repeated a few times until Zafar had had enough, his newest glyph glowing black.
It pulsed unnaturally.
Malik’s eyes narrowed.
…That one would kill him… Zafar.
It was too wrong even for the Fortune’s Wheel to fix it.
Malik raised a hand, and flame ripped up from the ground, swallowing it whole before it could activate.
“Don’t.”
Zafar didn’t listen, drawing another, this one even bigger.
His breathing turned ragged, eyes bloodshot, arms shaking like Hell.
His very skin began to fray at the edges, Aether leaking from his fingertips.
The Wheel spun again.
It stopped.
He won an impossibility.
A beam of light shot out, clipping Malik’s hair at once.
It was about to crash into the wall, but it curved, veering wildly at the last second, and attacked Malik from behind.
He craned his neck once more, casually dodging it while leading it straight into a wall.
BOOOM!
It carved through it, easily disintegrating everything around the point of impact.
Zafar coughed blood, still drawing another.
One glyph cracked, half a circle, far from finished.
It trembled, trying to stabilize.
“Kid—”
Malik moved toward him.
“NO!”
Zafar roared in defiance and drew a final glyph over it—
BOOOM!
It exploded.
Right in his face.
The impact slammed him back, seared his chest, and blew out the windows nearby, shards flying in every direction.
His limbs twitched, spasming as the Aether within him turned wild, ready to tear him apart from the inside out.
His eyes rolled, his body dying in moments.
It should’ve been over.
But then—
“Cease.”
Malik raised one hand and gripped the air itself.
Zafar froze, and the core inside him stilled; the Aether, once threatening to rip him open, went silent, arrested in place by his professor’s sheer control.
Malik held it.
Tight.
Then, slowly and carefully released it.
The boy’s body lay fully.
Limp.
But just as his head was about to hit the ground—
Crack!
Malik’s boot connected with the side of his skull, slamming him sideways into the wall.
Zafar crumpled, his unconsciousness guaranteed.
Malik only wanted to make sure he’d stay down.
He wasn’t letting off steam or anything.
Not metaphorically, at least.
Anyhow, the glyphs faded.
The Wheel stopped spinning.
Zafar’s death was no longer true.
Malik crouched beside him and looked down at his soot-covered face.
“You, boy…”
His golden orbs flickered a little.
“Are not ready to understand me yet.”
He noticed the anger still twitching in Zafar’s brow, even when unconscious.
“But that’s good…”
It made him smile a little… a twisted, twisted smile.
“Hate me.”
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