Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death

The guard scoffed.

"Fuck off. And I'm not your 'mate,' so—"

"Alright, buddy."

"I'm not your 'buddy' either."

"Alright, brother."

"I'm not your 'brother' either."

"Alright, little guy."

"I ain't your 'little guy.'"

"Alright, little bro."

"I ain't your 'little bro.'"

"Alright, little girl."

"Whatever... 'little girl.' I'm not your little girl."

"Alright, bitchface."

"KEEP THIS SHIT UP AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS."

"Alright, big strong ugly-looking man."

"KEEP THIS SHIT UP AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS."

"Alright, cool guy."

"KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT BEFORE I FUCKING KILL YOU!"

"So you won't get me out?"

Bang!

The guard slammed his foot into the ground, leaving a dent in the dirt.

"Yes, yes, I'll get you out, alright?! But in a fucking body bag, do you understand?!"

Malik revealed a mocking grin, victorious.

"Alright. I'll have my associates send the money later."

***

{Outside The Projection}

"Ahahahahahah!"

For a few incredibly rare seconds, the hall was bursting with laughter. Even those still sobbing couldn't help but let out a few chuckles of their own.

It seemed that even after all that happened to him, Malik still had his fun personality hidden deep within, only with the added benefit of it being a tad bit insane.

***

{Inside The Projection}

The angry guard's assistant sighed and waved them through.

Cassim, who held tighter on Malik's chains, shoved him forward.

"Stop giving us trouble."

They stepped onto the air vent, and the Aether surged, the wind howling, lifting them.

Unlike the other one, this didn't feel oppressive. It felt good. Great even.

And most importantly, there was no darkness.

Or rather, there might've been, but he simply moved too fast to notice.

One moment, he stepped into the air, and then...

'Ha... I'm back.'

For the first time in what felt like forever, Malik saw the outside world again, though he barely made out anything, squinting against the Shams' blinding light.

Up here, it was hot, but not to the level of the Southern Edge, dry but also humid, carrying the scent of shit and sweat.

It was far too open, quite unlike the confined box of biomes he was in... he hated it. But it was home.

'Home sweet home.'

But he didn't get to relish in that feeling for long.

"C'mon, keep moving."

Cassim pulled him forward, leading them through the crowd until they reached what could only be described as a checkpoint—a place where merchants, travelers, and criminals alike were sorted like livestock.

There, booths, old stone pillars, and banners displaying royal insignias surrounded a central plaza.

It was where long lines of people waited their turn to be processed.

Malik barely had a second to get his bearings before they shoved him toward one of the many booths, a cramped little thing with a grizzled old man hunched over a wooden desk.

"Name?"

The man barely glanced up as he dipped a quill into ink and began scribbling on parchment.

"Malik."

"Father's name?"

"..."

Silence.

The old man raised a brow, glancing at Cassim.

He scoffed.

"Bastard. Father unknown."

"Mother's name?"

A pause. Malik's jaw tightened, but he answered:

"Mariam."

"Family name?"

Another pause.

He had never needed to say it before.@@novelbin@@

It almost felt foreign on his tongue.

"Al-Zayni."

***

{Outside The Projection}

Nearly the entire hall turned to the floating throne, asking a silent question.

Its owner gave them no answer.

***

{Inside The Projection}

That name made the old man stop writing.

His sunken eyes flicked up, studying Malik with newfound scrutiny.

"Al-Zayni? As in the Al-Zayni family? Al-Ayan's family branch?"

"..."

Malik just stared at him.

The man hummed and kept writing.

"Age?"

"Thirteen... I think."

"Occupation?"

One of the officers chuckled.

"Beggar."

The old man nodded as if that made perfect sense.

He continued listing details—height, weight, build, eye color—until he got to the good part.

"Crimes?"

Cassim didn't even hesitate.

"Destruction of a lawful slave ring. Murder of twenty-five people."

The old man nodded, unfazed, jotting it down with the same bored efficiency.

"Twenty-six... make it twenty-six."

He corrected, his frown deepening.

"He doesn't admit it, but I believe he killed a slave."

That made the old man look up again.

His eyes darted between the officer and Malik, as if he was debating whether that was a joke.

When no one laughed, he simply nodded and kept writing.

Malik said nothing. He didn't defend himself. Didn't explain. It didn't matter.

The man finished, stamped something on the parchment, and waved them through. Stay updated with My Virtual Library Empire

"Next."

"Thank you."

Cassem dragged him forward, toward the stables not so far away.

Malik, meanwhile, was lost in his own world.

A bastard. A beggar. A criminal.

His mother's name—her noble blood—meant nothing.

He had no ties, no safety. He was worth less than the dirt beneath their feet.

A deep, hollow feeling settled in his stomach, making him remember his promise.

'The world will know my name... huh? So much for that.'

In no more than a minute, they reached the stables.

They stood outside just for a few seconds before a creature stepped out the doors.

It looked like a domesticated animal—but not quite.

Three humps were on its back, supported by legs as wide as the average man, its skin covered in a patchy mix of fur and scales.

A massive, reinforced carriage sat strapped to it, swaying slightly as the beast shifted.

The other officers stepped forward, but before they could get him inside, Cassim pointed a curved sword at him.

"If you don't behave in there, we'll have to hurt you. So don't give us the chance."

Malik looked at the blade, unimpressed.

"You know I don't appreciate a cute little knife being pointed at me."

The officer sighed, unsheathed his blade, and shoved him forward.

"Just move it."

They, with the exception of their designated driver, stepped inside the carriage.

It was dark, the only light coming from small, slatted openings.

The air smelled of leather, hay, and something sickly sweet.

Malik settled himself, shifting his arms in their bindings.

"We're moving now!"

With that, the steed began to move, pulling the carriage along.

Malik glanced at the youngest guard—the one who hadn't said much.

He looked nervous. New... perfect.

"These chains are really tight, you know? Mind loosening them up for me a little?"

"..."

The younger officer hesitated and looked at him weirdly, not offering a reply.

"This'll take hours, you know?... Help a beggar out."

"..."

"C'mon. I didn't resist so far, so why would I now?"

At Malik's unending urging, he looked left, looked right.

None of the others paid him or Malik any mind.

The boy had to make a choice by himself.

And he made a choice... A bad one. Bringing his arms forward.

"No! Do—"

The moment he touched the chains, slackening them, Malik moved. Fast.

Before anyone could react, he lunged at Cassim, snapping his loosened chains around his neck.

A sharp twist—Crack. His neck broke and his body slumped.

The others barely had time to draw their weapons before he spun, ready to take down the next—

Fweeeet!

But then a spike of sand punched straight through his skull.

Malik's body jerked. Fell. Then darkness took over.

Deep, endless darkness.

Blink.