Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death

Malik frowned.

"Explain."

The child leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"If that bastard you killed was the mastermind, then he was the one keeping the bandits in check, making sure they followed the plan. Without him, they won't wait. They'll attack the village blindly, in full force."

Malik's jaw tightened.

In all his rage, he seemed to have forgotten something so very obvious.

He should've expected this. With the leash cut, the rabid dogs were loose.

"We leave now... there's no hope in this fight."

Naser's child stood.

"And you? Your people are likely under attack."

Malik calmly nodded.

"I'll fight and die."

The child stood up and stepped closer to him.

"My name is Duban, old tongue for Wolves. And you?"

Malik reached out for a handshake.

"King... Malik."

Duban clasped his hand.

"May God be with you... and may peace be upon you."

...

In a wider area of the canyon, just outside the village, steel clashed against steel, arrows, and small conjurations of elements flowed amidst.

Malik?

He stormed through them without thought, slaughtering all that was before him.

The ones that had chanced upon him were mortals, beings who hadn't glimpsed even the tiniest of Aether's secrets.

They could do nothing against the future Sultan, except bow their heads.

Granted, the heads weren't exactly attached to their bodies anymore.

A small spike found itself in front of his eyes as he was quickly surrounded by two opponents, scimitars both flowing towards his neck.

One fool came from behind and the other in front.

He deflected the fool in front of him, forcing his blade to meet the spike.

Malik then sidestepped as the spike hit by the blade deviated, striking the scimitar behind him.

He spun on his foot as another came from above, hammer swung down.

A tongue of flame left his free palm, piercing the throat of the airborne.

Before his body could crash into him, Malik punched the corpse, sending it flying to the fool still in front of him.

He did not take any chances to catch his breath as another attacked.

This time it was a spear stabbed from behind.

A quick sidestep had gotten him out of harm's way.

Persistent, the spear followed only to get blocked by his curved sword.

He used it to his advantage, allowing it to push him away from that little fray.

Malik landed near the first fool.

He looked down. Smiled. Raised his leg.

Crack!

The fool's neck was stomped before he could even escape his dead comrade's weight.

More spikes came from behind again.

Malik paid them little attention and stepped right.

They went past him, making a perforated lantern out of the spear user.

Without confirming his death, Malik kneeled, both palms facing the sand.

He tensed his feet.

The ground was set ablaze in a condensed form, almost like a laser.

With that, he propelled upward, flying above the battlefield.

He saw hundreds of bandits, no, at least a few thousand.

But that wasn't his focus.

His free hand revealed a stone he swiped up from the ground a minute earlier.

Just as he reached his highest, coming to a halt, he spun, transferring all of his momentum.

His hand lit on fire, blurred, and a golden glint flew across the canyon.

Crack!

The stone crashed against something in midair, just before Ali Baba.

A beat passed, then blood spawned, showering the surrounding area.

"INVISIBLES!!"

Ali Baba quickly took control, giving information and redirecting formations.

He knew how to hold his mettle.

But a question remained in his mind.

How did Malik know? And from that distance?

Well, it was thanks to his blink. Unfortunate... but Malik couldn't answer.

The moment he landed, he was pressed from all sides, with the ground itself swallowing him.

It seemed that the bandits who had glimpsed Aether finally joined the fray.

Sands rose like sea waves, attempting to ensnare him.

Malik danced within it, busy setting priorities.

Who must he... identify first?

This Sahir of Sand?

The camouflaged bastards?

Or that DAMNED spike shooter?!

A Sahir that only knew how to annoy him?

And speaking of...

Whoosh!

Two more spikes flew across the chaotic sky, and then two again.

Those melee did not give him a break either, a hammer almost slamming him into a blink.

He needed space.

And fast. Stay tuned for updates on My Virtual Library Empire

So he did the most sensible thing he could do.

Malik spun.

Fire burned bright in his left, and he gripped his curved sword tighter.

The sand around him turned into glass as his palm became a roaring cannon.

None could get close to him, and yet they surrounded him, wanting to get him.

That was good... Why?

Well, he didn't see one Sahir up the cliffs.

Hence, at this moment, their allies themselves blocked the Sahirs's vision.

A second... he had a few seconds to breathe. Identify. Count. Formulate.

A scan of the surroundings followed and ended as fast as it began.

He stopped spinning and put his left arm behind his back.

His short sword paused in front of him, almost as if he were praying with one hand.

"Those who wish to fall... Step forward."

"..."

None did.

Malik took that opportunity to check on Ali Baba.

The man seemed to be taking good care of himself, his vanguard protecting him while he weaved spells left, right, and center.

Some of his remaining archers were perched atop the carriages, arrowing everything around them with pinpoint accuracy.

Shield bearers remained close by, thwarting any attempts at shutting down the long-range oppositions.

Two more guards, terrified yet steadfast, guarded their backs.

Fortunately, they had managed to turn the wagon into a non-climbable wall, so there wasn't much the bandits could backstab.

Malik noticed one more thing in his temporary lull.

Their caravan had lost most of its men. It was a massacre.

He couldn't pinpoint where the women and children were kept.

...Layla might've died already.

Malik returned his attention to the fools surrounding him.

"Cowards."

It took only the simplest of swipes of his burning blade and heads rolled.

More blood was now on the sword, joining the singing souls of countless that he had slain.

Thud.

One more joined the singing souls.

Thud.

Another did.

Thud.

Malik no longer paid attention to who he was killing.

There was no need to. All the ones that were worth remembering were killed.

How did he kill the trash in front of him?

That wasn't a question, and neither did it need an answer.

He moved against them, so they were dead.

That was all that he needed to know.

Malik graced along The Royal Sword's path—oblivious to its name, reaping lives wherever and whenever his sword desired.

It sang the notes of glimmering fire.

The notes of drowning blood.

The notes of carnage.

Absolute—CARNAGE.

Malik was not a man people could go around angering willy-nilly; after all, he would walk from the grave and back to finish his job.

Literally.

He may have been many things, but there was something he was more than others.

Responsible.

And he had taken responsibility of Ali Baba and Layla.

He would see it through.

Even in another life.

Blink.