Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The man screamed.

It wasn't just pain—it was something deeper, something more primal.

The body knew when its core was being touched, when its very essence was being threatened.

Malik had learned that lesson the hard way... which was why he dug deeper.

"Don't care for begging. I care about answers."

The man's breath hitched, his body trembling violently.

"I—w-we were sent to—"

"Keep going."

Malik's fingers flexed, heat surging ever so slightly.

"A-attack the r-resistance—force them o-out of the village—m-make them run—"

Malik's eyes narrowed.

"And Layla?"

The man whimpered.

Malik leaned in, pressing his forehead against the man's.

"Tell me what you were going to do to her."

The man sobbed, the sound ugly.

"C-Corrupt her!"

Malik's stomach dropped, but his face remained impassive.

"Elaborate."

"A-A child of the East… the Dark Continent… She w-would spread it faster—w-we needed—"

"Who's we?"

Malik's fingers burned brighter.

"Who sent you?"

The man sobbed again, words spilling out between gasps of pain.

"The Kingdom of Light! They—they wanted to Corrupt her—to taint the village—to weaken their people—to break them—so that when they ran, we could slaughter them all, capture Naser's child—"

Malik's grip on the man's heart tightened, his rage something molten, something beyond words.

"You planned to use a child."

This had confirmed what he suspected.

"To turn an entire city into a wasteland."

Right.

Layla. They wanted to use Layla.

To poison an entire village, to turn her into a weapon without her ever knowing.

The Kingdom of Light wanted Naser Al-Sultan weakened. Wanted to push them down under. Wanted to break their hold on a nearby kingdom. And how better to do it than by using some kid unrelated to them? By using Corruption itself as a weapon?

They had planned this. Carefully. Methodically.

His fingers twitched.

The man let out a strangled sound—pleading, desperate;

"I-I told you—I told you—please—"

Malik's lips parted, his voice distant.

"Yeah. You did."

His flames flared.

And the man's heart burst in his chest.

"AAAGGHHHKKK—! Ghhkk—!"

A final, gurgled scream.

"..."

Silence.

Malik pulled his hand free, watching as the body beneath him went limp, blood soaking the ground.

His fingers trembled, dripping crimson, and he exhaled, slow, measured.

The heat inside him refused to settle; something in his chest was wrong.

Layla. Layla. Layla.

He had known war. Known cruelty. But this—this was something else.

This was rot. This was filth. And he had let it happen.

Malik had let himself be blinded.

He should have known better.

...He would burn them.

The Kingdom of Light thought they were playing a grand game.

Thought they had control.

They did not.

Malik would make sure of that.

***

{Outside The Projection}

"Oh-ho-ho, would you look at that?!"

A man in the crowd whistled, rocking back on his heels.

"He figured it out. Just like that."

"And the bastard—straight through the chest."

"Straight through the fucking chest!"

A younger man barked out a laugh, gripping his friend's shoulder.

"His fingers twisted to kingdom come! That shit was personal."

"Of course it was personal!"

A scarred older woman snapped.

"They were trying to use Madam Layla as a fucking weapon! You think he was going to let that slide?"

Murmurs rippled through the group, stirring like desert winds.

Meanwhile, eyes flickered toward the projection, where Malik stood over the fresh corpse, blood dripping from his fingers, eyes bright, burning.

He was as they said. Brutal. Precise. Controlled.

"...I almost feel like he's got it this time."

"Maybe he did."

Another voice chimed in.

"He already figured it all out in this blink, he's finally ahead of them..."

"Then that means he won."

A bearded man murmured, voice almost reverent.

"This blink, he won."

Won.

The word settled heavy in the air.

A simple word, but loaded with weight.

With everything that had happened before.

Every shattered life, blink, and victory.

Some might've celebrated, but it was too early.

They needed to know one thing first.

All eyes turned to the girl.

"Layla."

But she wasn't looking at them.

She wasn't looking at Safira who called her.

She was looking at the projection without saying anything.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, slow, quiet.

She was stuck—frozen in that moment, in that scene.

Malik... her husband. Her first and final love. She had killed him.

Sure, it technically never happened. Not in her world. But to him?

It did.

He lived with that fact.

He ate, breathed, walked, and talked with that fact.

And now, the truth was laid bare for all to see.

The Kingdom of Light had planned to use her. Use her father.

They planned to turn them into a tool for their own conquest.

To Corrupt them, to destroy everything around them—

Because of who they were.

Because of where they came from.

This revelation cut through her like a blade.

And the crowd, hearing no answer from her, turned—almost as one—to someone else.

Noor.

She felt their stares before she saw them.

Her hands clutched into the armrests of her floating throne.

Then, with a slow breath, she turned her head, looking at the expectant faces beneath her.

"Don't look at me like that."

She scoffed.

"Don't look at me like I had anything to do with this. Like I sat in on the war councils, drafting up plans to ruin lives."

She scanned their faces with utter contempt.

"It was my family in control. Not me. My name may be Noor Al-Ayan, but my hands were never on those fucking strings."

They shifted awkwardly, but Noor wasn't done.

"You think I knew about this? That I stamped my approval on this bullshit?"

Her frown deepened.

"I had no say in this. None. And you know what?"

She exhaled, shaking her head.

"I didn't even know about the Sultan's origin."

That got a reaction.

A ripple of surprise, of disbelief, of narrowed eyes, and murmured curses.

"Bullshit."

Someone hissed, hidden in the crowd, too afraid to peek out.

"Think what you want."

Noor crossed her arms.

"I didn't know. And when I tried to find out?"

Her eyes darkened, voice dipping low.

"Cyrus made sure it was classified. Even to me. Even to THE head of Al-Ayan."

"..."

"..."

"..."

Silence.

A heavy, waiting silence.

And then, slowly, someone breathed out a sigh.

"...The Former Sultan. Everything came back to him."

The truth was locked even deeper than any of them had thought.

And the only one who once held the key?

Cyrus.

A man long dead.

***

{Inside The Projection}

Malik returned to the caravan without explaining anything.

He simply asked Ali Baba to trust him. He did.

There was work to be done.

"We're getting hit. Soon. We prepare, or we die... also, I need someone to prepare me a change of clothes for later."

Time passed, and then the attack came.

The camp was ready.

The bandits? This blink's attack was the weakest.

They were no challenge. Just an uncoordinated mess.

And Malik was, as always, a force of nature in their midst.

He let out all his building stress on them, burning them alive.

A devil cloaked in fire.

For the first time, they won without a single grave injury.

Malik stood in the center of tens of corpses, chest rising and falling, blood staining his hands, but none of it was his.

He had yet to clutch his hand. Snuff out his fire.

This wasn't a triumph. Barely a roadblock.

Malik wasn't finished yet.

As the camp settled, he slipped away into the darkness, heading toward the village.

His legs carried him forward as he flew faster than ever before.

There was one more thing left to do.

He needed to talk to that guest.

Malik wasted no time, reaching the Caliph in under a minute.

"I need to see the child from Naser."

Yunan looked at him over the rim of his cup.

"You come here unannounced and demand to see my guest?... Why?"

Malik took a step closer to the throne, his eyes burning even brighter.

"Because I'm asking nicely."

The Caliph let out a sigh, running a hand through his beard.

"You Magi are a pain in the ass, you know that?"

"We are."

A moment passed, and then Yunan waved him away.

"Fine. But don't make me regret it."

Malik was led to a house near the center of the village.

He didn't knock. The door swung open under his forceful push, and immediately, a bodyguard stepped forward, hand on his sword.

Malik didn't give him a chance to draw.

With a single movement, the man was on the ground, groaning, Malik's boot pressing down on his chest.

"Don't move."

The... child? From Naser Al-Sultan sat in the back of the room, watching him with calculating eyes. Too calculating for someone his age.

He should've been no older than fifteen, but his face was lined with experience.

There was a sharpness to him that rivaled even Malik's.

The boy didn't even seem surprised at the sudden intrusion.

Was it all a front? Malik didn't know and he certainly did not care.

Malik released the bodyguard, stepping forward.

"You need to leave. Your enemies are planning to Corrupt this place and force you out."

The man from Naser tilted his head.

"And how do you know that?"

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Malik didn't blink.

"I caught someone watching us. The mastermind. He talked."

"..."

There was a beat of silence. Then the child from Naser exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.

"Oh, you've fucked up."