***
{Inside The Projection}
Darkness.
A familiar kind.
It was oppressive and suffocating, pressing down from every direction.
That darkness materialized in an underground arena.
One carved deep beneath the world. Ancient, likely to have existed before the concept of "surface" was even a thing.
Indeed, this was Al-Fawra's Second Layer...
And Malik stood at the dead center of that.
He had come back to what once made him tremble.
His golden eyes calmly locked forward.
Far. At the very far end of the arena.
There it was.
An upside-down cross.
Massive, towering, and crooked.
Nailed to it was a man. Bearded. Robed. Tattered. Ragged. Skin cracked and peeling but not decayed. No. This thing wasn't allowed to rot. His arms were wide. Hands speared through the palm. His feet stacked. Ankles crushed beneath stakes thicker than Malik was tall.
The head was tilted down at first, chin to chest, eyes hidden beneath a wild mane of hair.
He was still... lifeless, until—
Creeeaaak.