Chapter 310: What Lurks Beneath Compassion
The dreamscape shifted as they walked.
Gone was the open starlit canvas of swirling colors and ambient warmth. The landscape around Malik and Inariko grew steeper, narrower, the hues dimming into twilight shades of grey, blue, and black. Shapes folded and refolded like smoke made solid, as if memory itself were coalescing under their steps. Cracks formed in the dreamlike sky above them, leaking shadows like blood from an old wound.
They walked along a spiraling path carved from rock and glassy black ice, winding downward in a graceful descent. Every footfall echoed like a chime trapped under pressure. Inariko's white-gold hair shimmered faintly beside him, catching the few flickers of fading light like snow reflecting fire. Her hand never left his, but her expression grew quieter with each step—measured, focused.
Malik said nothing at first, letting the weight of the silence settle as it wanted. They were drawing closer to something old. Something angry. Something that had waited.
Eventually, Malik's innate charisma gave way to concern. He glanced toward her, his voice low but steady. "So… I've seen murals. Fought shadows. Did the whole magical memory kaleidoscope thing. But I want to hear it from you, Inariko. What happened down here? What is the shadow? And why didn't you just… end it?"
Inariko's violet-gold eyes flicked toward him—wary, but thoughtful.
"The truth," she said slowly, voice like wind threading through frozen pines, "is not one I've told often. Not even my people know the whole of it. But you've walked into my dreams and offered your hand anyway. You deserve more than silence."
Malik nodded. "I'm nosy, so. Yes. Please and thank you."
A soft laugh escaped her—a real one, if a little hollow.
She looked ahead, eyes tracing the path like she was reading echoes from the stone. "The shadow wasn't born of malice. It was born of despair."
She paused. "Centuries ago, I wasn't yet divine. I was only a spirit—a fox with a taste for mischief, illusion, and guiding the lost through hidden paths. I played games. I avoided conflict."
Malik tilted his head. "Sounds familiar."
Her lips quirked, but it faded quickly.
"But the owls came to me in desperation. Their sanctuary was being corroded—not by a monster, but by a soul." She glanced at him. "A monk. A devoted man who used his power to separate emotion from duty. He banished joy, hope, desire—all in the name of self-control. His teachings spread through the valley."
They stopped at a ledge.
Below them, the path twisted into a vast plain of black glass and swirling mist. At the far end, a massive formation of jagged ice rose like a bloom frozen mid-blossom. A prison. Alive with pressure and silence.
Inariko's gaze never left it.
"He became a vessel for what he denied," she whispered. "Those suppressed feelings festered, rotted. They gathered to him, and then through him. Until all that remained was shadow. Not just his—but everyone's. It devoured him, warped into something sentient, powerful. Angry at everything it had been denied."
Malik's brows furrowed. "And you trapped it."
"I battled it for weeks across the valley," she said, soft. "My magic could not destroy it without destroying everyone it was once part of. So I offered it mercy. I sealed it beneath my mountain, beneath layers of my own essence. Ice woven with dreams. I gave it comfort, warmth, quiet. Hoping… it would settle."
Malik stared down at the frozen bloom in the distance.
"It didn't."
"No," she said, voice heavy. "It resented the quiet. It stewed. And I… I grew weary. Holding it in check demanded more each year. The more I gave, the more isolated I became. The people thought me a sleeping goddess. But I wasn't sleeping, Malik. I was guarding."
Malik exhaled. "And now it's waking up."
She nodded once. "And I don't know if I have the strength to seal it again."
He looked at her—really looked—and saw not a trickster, not a flirtatious mural brought to life, but a tired protector. Someone who had chosen compassion and paid for it alone.
"I don't like killing," Malik said quietly. "I've done it . . .In my own way, my hands might be free of 'blood', but it still stains my clothes and the clothes of the people I treasure and love; they do the things I could never do, but when I had to. But it's not in my nature. And even if that thing is a ball of darkness and teeth… if there's still something human in there—something real? I'd rather reach it. Understand it. Help it."
Inariko looked at him, and for a long time said nothing.
Then—softly—"That's why I let you in."
Malik raised an eyebrow.
"I saw you. I watched you. Through the illusions. Through the chaos. I knew you'd ask why I spared it. I knew you'd understand. Even before you stepped into my dreams."
He stared at her for a moment—then smiled. "You say that like you weren't watching me get slammed by a dozen shadows before I smacked them with fashion-based economic superiority."
Her lips curved upward, eyes gleaming. "That was a good spell."
"The gold sparkles really sell it."
They stood in silence again, just watching the frozen bloom pulse gently in the distance.
Finally, Malik reached out, hand hovering close to hers.
"We go together?"
Inariko took his hand without hesitation.
And together, they stepped forward. Toward the ice. Toward the shadow. Toward the possibility that mercy, patience, and just a little sass might still be enough.
The descent toward the frozen bloom was slow, deliberate, and increasingly oppressive. Each step seemed heavier, pressing into Malik's chest with the weight of something ancient, something hurting. He felt the dark emotions before they reached it—raw, aching despair mixed with volcanic hatred, all simmering under layers of frigid, crystallized resentment. His empathic senses strained under the onslaught.
Inariko glanced at him, noticing the subtle furrow of his brow, the slight hitch in his breath. Her eyes softened, concern flickering in the gold-tipped depths. "Malik, are you alright?"
"I… it's a lot," he admitted, voice barely a whisper. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the turbulence of foreign emotions battering at his internal barriers. "This thing—it's not just anger. It's grief. Loneliness. Rejection. Everything painful compressed into something solid. It—"
His words broke off sharply as a wave of anguish slammed into him. Malik staggered, dropping abruptly to his knees. His breath quickened, fingers clutching at the frosted stone beneath him as if seeking something solid in the emotional torrent.
Inariko was beside him in an instant, her elegant arms wrapping protectively around him. She lowered herself gently, the shimmering silk of her robes pooling around them both, her tails softly enveloping them like a cocoon of moonlit warmth. Cradling him close, she murmured soothingly, her voice warm velvet threaded with worry.
"Breathe, Malik. Slowly."
Malik inhaled shakily, instinctively leaning into her warmth, drawing comfort from her presence. He caught himself marveling, even through the haze of pain, at just how incredibly comforting—and distractingly beautiful—the fox goddess was up close. Her silver-gold hair brushed softly against his cheek, the delicate scent of mountain frost and cherry blossoms enveloping him in a gentle embrace.
"You smell nice," she murmured softly, nuzzling his cheek with a tenderness that made his heart flutter, even amidst the crushing emotional pressure. The playful sincerity of her gesture grounded him, reminding him of warmth, gentleness, things worth fighting for.
Malik managed a weak chuckle, voice strained but playful. "Thanks. Glad my existential anguish has such good aromatics."
Her lips curled into a soft smile as she pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes with gentle intensity. "Are you feeling a bit better?"
"Well enough," Malik replied, steadying himself, drawing strength from the vibrant empathy radiating from her. "You're an excellent emotional pillow, Inariko. Five stars."
She laughed softly, reluctantly allowing him to rise to his feet. "Your humor never wavers, even in a place like this?"
"Especially in a place like this," Malik corrected gently, exhaling a slow breath, gathering himself. "Now, let's finish this."
The great blossom of ice loomed closer, its jagged petals like knives of pure shadow, the air heavy and chilled. Malik steadied himself, Inariko still at his side, readying herself.
As they approached, the shadow within shifted, tendrils of dark vapor roiling angrily behind layers of frozen glass. It surged suddenly, rushing toward Inariko with a hatred so palpable it nearly pushed Malik aside.
You.
The voice was deep, reverberating, dripping with malice and grief.
You bound me. Locked me away. Left me to rot!
Inariko flinched subtly, eyes narrowing but calm. "I only did what was necessary to protect the innocent. I gave you mercy."
Mercy? The shadow scoffed, its form rippling furiously. Mercy would have been to end it! Mercy would have been oblivion—not centuries trapped beneath ice, forgotten, unwanted!
Malik frowned deeply. He could feel every ounce of pain and rage directed at Inariko, swirling, blistering hatred tinged with genuine sadness. Yet something nagged at him.
"Hey," Malik interjected, stepping forward, hands on his hips, genuinely affronted. "Not to interrupt your little melodrama here, but I feel distinctly overlooked right now. Pretty rude, honestly."
The shadow hesitated, surprised, then turned its attention sharply toward him, curiosity mingling with its venomous disdain. Malik felt it assessing him—an invasive scrutiny crawling along his skin, probing for weakness.
And what are you, little intruder? It murmured, intrigue seeping into its tone. Human? No... you reek of magic, and something else—something unfamiliar.
Malik struck a casual yet alluring pose, chin lifted confidently, one hand resting gracefully against his hip. "Well, since you asked so nicely—I'm Malik. Charmer, baker extraordinaire, occasional savior of trapped divine entities, and as for species… I'm actually an incubus and from another world, if you really must know."
The shadow seemed genuinely intrigued now, swirling closer, its form shifting curiously beneath the ice.
Incubus? A creature of desire, emotion, intimacy… how fitting you'd come to meddle in affairs of the heart.
"I do enjoy being on-brand," Malik admitted easily, stepping boldly forward onto the icy petals, placing himself directly above the shifting darkness below. "And since we're sharing deep truths here—how about you show me yours?"
"Malik—" Inariko started, voice taut with concern, but Malik raised a calming hand, giving her a soft, reassuring look.
"I've got this, Foxy Lady," he assured warmly, turning his attention back to the shadow beneath the ice. Carefully, he knelt, pressing his palms onto the frozen barrier. It burned instantly—biting cold, searing hatred—but he held firm, voice steady, calm.
"Show me your story," Malik commanded gently. "Let me see it. Let me understand."
The shadow paused, then surged eagerly, greedily seizing the opportunity. Images flooded Malik's mind instantly—sharp, vivid, overwhelming.
He saw the monk—the one whose emotions had birthed this darkness—and Malik blinked, momentarily distracted.
"Oh, wow. Hello, beautiful," he murmured, noting the monk's almost impossibly delicate features, his ethereal grace, the soft sweep of his robes hugging a slender, graceful body. Yet beneath his beauty was something tortured—a soul strangling itself in self-denial.
Malik watched years unfold—saw the monk teaching others to suppress their feelings, saw how those emotions festered, pooled, twisted into darkness. Saw the growing horror in the monk's eyes as he realized too late what he'd created. He saw Inariko arrive—brilliant, compassionate, kind, powerful—and felt the shadow's confusion and terror as she bound it, imprisoned it beneath ice.
Malik gasped softly, the weight of the darkness pressing into his soul, threatening to consume him.
Inariko moved forward desperately. "Malik, pull back! You're going too deep!"
But Malik smiled softly at her through gritted teeth, eyes filled with gentle courage. "It's okay, Inariko. I have plenty of love to spare. I'll be back… probably."
She reached out urgently. "Malik—"
He met her eyes one final time, heart overflowing with warmth, and in his best dramatic imitation, winked playfully at her, quoting with roguish charm, "I'll be back x2."
Then he willingly sank forward, falling gracefully into darkness.
It swallowed him hungrily, shadows enveloping his form completely.
Inariko stared in stunned disbelief at the empty ice, her breath hitching softly. Silence stretched.
And within the darkness beneath—Malik drifted, steady, calm, ready to fight darkness with something far more dangerous and powerful:
Love.
The moment Malik sank fully into the heart of the frozen seal, the world vanished.
There was no sound.
No light.
Just sensation.
An immediate, greedy pull—like a whirlpool not made of water but of thought, soul, and memory. The shadow swallowed him whole, not merely surrounding his form, but ripping straight into his being. It devoured every layer of his essence with ravenous fervor, slithering through his heart, tugging at every raw emotional thread like a starving creature trapped too long without sustenance.
It wanted everything.
And Malik let it in.
His mind unfolded—not forcefully, but willingly. A door unlocked, a diary unsealed. Even as the shadow sank deep into him, fangs of sorrow and teeth of judgment tearing at every pleasant thought, Malik remained still—unflinching, open.
Take it, he thought calmly. See who I am.
And so it did.
The shadow plunged deeper—into Malik's core, where his life on Earth lay coiled like a dream under glass.
---
It saw a boy in a tall, modern home, polished and quiet, with high ceilings and too many rooms.
A boy with soft, milk-chocolate skin and curly hair that stuck up in the wrong directions. A plump child with earnest eyes and a laugh that filled empty spaces.
And around him—shadows.
His family.
Undefined, formless shapes draped in gauzy gray. A towering silhouette that flickered like candle smoke—his mother. Powerful, graceful… but distant. Her presence was warm in theory, cool in practice. Late nights at work. Occasional kisses on the head when she thought he was asleep. Her arms full of perfume and business.
Two more shadows moved around her—his sisters. Adults. Loud. Brilliant. But so far removed from him in age that they felt more like distant aunts than siblings. Their lives swirled with responsibility and ambition. When he wanted to play, they shushed him. When he asked about their father—the man who was only ever referred to in past tense—the air grew cold, the shadows became still.
Questions were not allowed.
Answers never came.
The shadow-being watching now recoiled slightly.
This... is pain.
But it also saw more.
It watched the little boy grow older, day by day, alone more often than not. His mother came home exhausted. His sisters had lives of their own. But he never sank into despair. He adapted.
There were screens. Books. Bright windows glowing with the colorful worlds of anime, comics, fantasy. Superheroes who made their pain beautiful. Warriors who turned loneliness into power. He devoured them all.
When he felt hunger, he went to the kitchen. Cooked. Burned his first few recipes. Then learned better. Books and videos replaced tutors. He baked cakes too sweet, fried things he wasn't supposed to, and in the process, found joy in flavor.
He grew chubby, happily so, feeding himself with the affection the world forgot to offer. Chubby, nerdy, and vibrant, he built a fortress of fantasy in his mind where he mattered.
And he smiled.
He laughed.
He never stopped laughing.
The shadow beast writhed in confusion.
Why? You were alone.
"Yes," Malik's voice echoed through the memory, gentle and soft, "but I wasn't empty."
The shadow hissed—and pressed harder, its hunger morphing into frustration. It tried to eat the memories. Not just view them, but consume them. Chew through the warmth of Malik's kitchen, the joy of his laughter as cartoons danced across a tablet screen. It tried to twist everything, smear it into grief.
But even as it bit down, the memories didn't dim.
They grew brighter.
The shadow shrieked.
You should have crumbled. You were abandoned. Forgotten! That pain—that pain was meant to isolate!
Malik's image stood amidst the onslaught, glowing like gold in ink. "I was isolated. But I made it mine. I found magic in solitude. And from it, I chose love."
The shadow trembled.
And then, for the first time—it remembered something else.
Not Malik's life.
Its own.
---
The monk.
He had been beautiful once—tall, serene. Slender. Wrapped in white linen robes that never stained. His dark hair fell like waterfall silk. His chakra control was immaculate—precise to the breath, his hand signs fluid and elegant.
He spoke with calm authority. People listened. They bowed. They praised his discipline.
And he hated them for it.
He had tried to erase emotion. Not because it was wrong, but because it hurt. He had loved once. Lost once. Broken once.
And afterward, he declared the fault was in feeling.
So he meditated.
Purged.
Cut pieces of himself away—not physically, but spiritually. He sheared off his joy. His longing. His desire. His dreams. His grief. Again and again until what remained was… clean.
Efficient.
Cold.
His chakra techniques became flawless, brilliant—and soulless. His body obeyed. His mind obeyed. He became powerful.
He became empty.
And in the silence, the cast-offs festered.
Hollow things grown fat on his denial. Emotions that turned to monsters.
They consumed him.
And now, as the shadow saw itself mirrored in Malik—the bright and the broken, the lonely and the loved—it recoiled in self-loathing.
You are what I should have been.
Malik reached out—not with power, but with empathy. "No," he whispered. "I'm what you still can be."
The darkness vibrated, uncertain.
And slowly, Malik stepped forward in the dream-realm, arms open. "You don't need to disappear. You don't need to fade. You just need… to be seen. You're not the pain. You're what survived it."
The shadow's form shook.
Cracks formed.
And for the first time in centuries—
It wept.
Dark tears of grief fell through the dream like obsidian rain, each drop hitting the ethereal ground with weight. Malik moved forward and caught one on his fingertip, letting it burn.
Letting it belong.
The shadow pulsed once—and paused.
Malik didn't press. Just waited.
And for the first time—
It leaned toward him.
Uncertain.
Hopeful.
The seal began to thaw.