Chapter 10
It was a sign, a silent warning that this woman could erase their existence in an instant. And before Mala Qudshi could react, she vanished.
The air hissed softly, then suddenly—
A touch.
Cold fingers landed on their left shoulder. The woman now stood directly behind them, her cool breath brushing against Mala Qudshi's stiffened neck. A sacred chant fractured the silence, the words utterly foreign yet bone-shaking, as though each syllable had been carved directly into their soul.
Like a stain demanding purification, the chamber suddenly reverberated, echoing verses not from one voice, but from thousands, perhaps millions, of unseen mouths.
All speaking in perfect harmony.
Every syllable resonated at the same frequency, as if heaven and earth themselves were reciting an ancient decree. A synchronized tone, flawless in precision, formed a soundwave that seeped into every molecule of air, crystallizing into an irrefutable force.
The woman's touch still burned on Mala Qudshi's left shoulder, her vanished palm leaving behind an invisible imprint, a pulsing stigmata of pure, untainted divinity.
Divine, but not in any recognizable sense. This was older. Deeper. As though it had existed long before the concept of purity was first forged.
Mala Qudshi still floated in their meditative pose, but now their body felt heavy, weighed down by the burden of the entire universe. The layered chants carved through space, severing them from reality as they knew it.
"Resistance is futile. Flight is advised."
Suddenly, Mala Qudshi screamed.
The cry erupted from their chest, a sound they never imagined they could make, a primal roar that tore through all sanctity and grace, shattering the pristine image they had upheld for eons.
They knew. They understood now.
The mantra surrounding them was no mere sacred chant. This was the language of creation itself, words only the Absolute should utter.
Not for them.
Not for any being.
They could never access it, much less speak it, for it was essence beyond excess, trampling celestial hierarchy, rendering all of creation's understanding as trivial delusion.
And this was what nearly broke them.
Throughout their existence, they had faced legions of demons gnawing at faith, dueled rebel angels who defied their nature, even stood against cosmic ruin, none had escaped their judgment. Yet never, in all eons, had any being made the sacred particles within their body tremble in fear.
Now?
Every atom in their form quivered, not from evil, but from something too holy to approach. Something that should have been kin, yet instead reduced them to dust.
Merely scattered by divine wind.
And the cruelest irony?
It came from another holy being.
Not from darkness.
Not from chaos.
But from something so pure, so far beyond the concept of "high," that Mala Qudshi's sanctity was but a dim shadow in comparison.
Mala Qudshi shot forward at incomprehensible speed. Their perfectly suspended form flickered from one point in space to another, like light refracting through a fractured prism. Each teleportation left behind golden afterimages, remnants of sacred power eroding under sheer panic.
They tried every escape, unreachable corners of the chamber, higher dimensional layers, even the narrow fissures between existences, but nothing granted them passage. This room, or whatever it was, had locked them in.
Everything was bound.
Even within its own laws, bound only by a higher order beyond comprehension.
Amidst the desperate flight, one realization pressed relentlessly upon them.
They had to find the Extension of Power, the divine authority capable of halting this catastrophe.
Mala Qudshi moved with lethal precision, every inch of progress feeling like piercing through layers of unconventioned reality. Their posture remained flawlessly upright, legs folded in meditation, radiating the dignity of sacred authority—yet beneath that composure, fear vibrated through the core of their being.
They were just a pawn. A piece in a far greater game.
They knew it.
And yet, Mala Qudshi pressed forward, because this was what they had been commanded to do. Because there was no other choice.
The woman, the entity that had terrorized them with incomprehensible divinity, still haunted their thoughts. The lingering touch on their shoulder burned like an unhealed wound, a reminder that there existed a hierarchy even higher than the protections they had relied upon for eons.
Mala Qudshi had no choice.
They had to reach that space, the sanctum where the Most Holy who commanded them resided, the only place that could guarantee their safety.
"Perish, be cursed for eternity, Ophisthu!!"
Huffffffh!
Duaarrr!
The moment Mala Qudshi crossed the threshold, the door behind them slammed open violently before sealing shut again—no thunderous echo, just a tremor that shook the walls.
The air inside, which should have still glowed with the golden remnants of Nebetu'u's transformation, had turned murky, as if drained by an unforeseen presence.
And Nebetu'u was no longer in their usual form.
No longer the unassuming eight-year-old boy.
Now, suspended upside-down from the ceiling, feet adhered to the stone as if the sky itself had become their floor, Nebetu'u hung like a grotesque chandelier. Their head dangled, pupil-less eyes staring blankly into the void. In their hands, a strange object, not quite a pendulum, yet swinging slowly, left to right, following a rhythm only they understood.
They had carried it since first entering these ruins, part of some unspoken ritual.
Each swing emitted eerie vibrations, thickening the air, warping time and gravity within the chamber.
The remaining light dimmed, devoured by creeping shadows that slithered from the darkened corners, setting the stage for something—
Something far older.
Far more terrifying.
Than just an inverted child.
Nebetu'u's head, which should have been whole, both male and female, now showed only the face of the boy. The feminine half was gone, wrapped in unseen cloth, or perhaps erased from existence entirely.
Mala Qudshi had no time to question why.
Without warning, their body jerked backward, yanked by an unseen force, as if pure, primal fear had taken physical form and seized them.
The panic was not unfounded.
Behind them, something, or someone, had been waiting.
The woman.
How long had she been there? Floating silently, as if she had always been part of the lurking darkness.
Then, her hands clamped onto Mala Qudshi's shoulders.
A grip so cold it burned.
Pale nails pierced through layers of sacred cloth like daggers cutting through mist.
And all the while, Nebetu'u's pendulum kept swinging.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Right.
With each pass, it felt like something was being pulled from Mala Qudshi.
Not just form.
Not just flesh.
But essence.
It was like being flayed alive, skin peeled slowly from bone, yet there was no pain.
Only the horrifying awareness of unmaking.
To be continued...