Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death

***

{Inside The Projection}

Indeed, Malik was no angel, and despite himself, he saw his third step as most important.

Figure out what the fuck Huda’s part in this really was.

He shook his head once.

Tight. Controlled.

The question kept repeating in his mind.

And though he shook it off each time, it always came back.

Was she part of it? Or was she just… there?

No.

Again, no assumptions.

For now, Malik kept walking, searching for a spot that could ensure him privacy.

A spot where no one would follow. No nobles. No servants. And especially no guards.

To find a way to detox himself was a large ask, and it certainly wouldn’t help if he wasn’t set for it, making what was already impossible even worse.

He had to go about this methodically; it was the only way out he saw.

But the more he walked, the worse the poison got.

And so, his mind repeated a prayer.

‘Breathe.’

‘Think.’

‘You’re alive.’

It kept him on track.

‘Breathe.’

‘Think.’

‘You’re alive.’

It kept his mind active.

‘Breathe.’

‘Think.’

‘You’re alive.’

That wasn’t all he did, though.

His fingers tapped a controlled rhythm on his thigh.

It seemed that he was using his thoughts and tapping as some sort of metronome to keep the poison under control, helping him know when to push or to pull.

This showed just how used to death and Corruption he had gotten.

The night bit colder the further he walked.

His jaw was clenched so tight it ached.

His heart? Beating like war drums.

His fists? Bloodless white.

And eventually…

His mind couldn’t keep up.

The poison had taken it.

Now it was empty.

Just flashes.

The taste of poison.

Blood on his lips.

Huda smiling.

Every breath he took felt wrong. Heavy, laced with knives.

But still, somehow, his boots hit the marble and kept going.

He needed to breathe, find that place to hide; he couldn’t stop.

And yet, even he… even a man of his experience couldn’t keep going.

The poison could no longer be contained.

The second he neared one of the outer gardens, it hit.

The world spun sideways, and his whole body screamed.

His knees buckled, and he…

‘…No.’

Dropped.

Malik’s palms smashed against the marble, face barely missing the edge of a steam tree.

His vision shook, then pulsed black, as if he were blinking.

The cold didn’t help.

Neither did the air.

It all felt thick. Slow. Like time itself was dragging him under.

His fingers twitched, reaching for something, anything—

But there was nothing.

Just the sound of the wind whooshing.

A church bell tolling somewhere deep in the city.

And a presence.

Something was coming.

Something small.

He could feel its presence in the Aether.

This presence was a dangerous one.

Yet he could not do anything about it.

His body was paralyzed.

Poison, still doing its work, crawled up his spine, numb and hot and burning all at once.

He tried his hardest to move. He couldn’t. Just his eyes now. That was all he had.

Malik managed to roll them upward, just barely catching movement from above.

Black.

This presence was entirely black.

Ink that refused to reflect light. Void wrapped in skin.

It hovered as it approached, making no sound… no breath.

Malik’s heart thundered in his chest.

So that’s who was waiting at the end?

They came here to finish what their friends had started?

‘Hm.’

That was fine.

That was just fine.

Malik stared up at it, exhausted, and the creature moved closer.

One long limb extended—

And stopped.

Pausing completely.

It took a moment and repeated the same motion.

This presence acted like it was… careful?

Right, it was being careful.

“Ma…”

A sound.

A voice.

Low. Soft. Warm.

“Malik.”

He blinked.

…What?

“Malik.”

There it was again.

His name.

But—

“Malik.”

It was familiar.

This couldn’t come from the monster.

It came from inside him, or… beside him?

He couldn’t tell anymore, his ears ringing loud.

‘Save your breath… there’s no one here.’

Using all he had left, he thought those words to the voice.

“Malik.”

But the voice didn’t seem to care for his thoughts.

Either way, it quickly stopped mattering.

Malik couldn’t hear them calling for him anymore.

All he could do was stare at the black before him.

And only now did he realize what he was looking at.

The soft rustle of feathers made it obvious.

This black thing was a bird.

A small, round-bodied owl.

Midnight black with a shimmer of gold across its feathers.

It stood directly in front of his head, staring him down with two bright pink eyes… waiting for him to die.

Hm.

It seemed that his pet owl originated from Al-Sayf.

Perhaps his Black joined him due to the scent of Sinbad and Huda sticking on him.

…How ironic was this?

It reminded him of the first owl he saw.

That bastard Rafiq… and right after, Cyrus.

[The dove had cried for the loss of its chick to an owl…

But its cries had only invited another of its kind to supper.]

Indeed, an owl’s presence was a sign of death.

Malik had cried for the loss of his little brother, and an owl came to take what was left.

Was this another of that kind? Had it seen him struggle and had come to devour him?

He wasn’t sure… for this owl was gentle.

Once his near-dead mind processed his final thoughts, Malik did nothing but stare at it, for that was all he could do… it was all that he wanted to do.

It wasn’t because it was strange-looking, though it was.

But because that feeling…

That presence…

It wasn’t new.

He knew those eyes.

Those eyes had watched over him for years.

The owl had always been there.

He had always been there.

He had followed him through every tragedy.

He waited as Malik bled to death in deserts.

He flew silently as Malik cultivated on his back.

He searched ahead when no maps could guide them.

And at last, Malik realized just who he was looking at.

It wasn’t one of Al-Sayf’s owls.

It was his own.

‘Black…’

His pet had returned.

He just looked a little different… older.

‘You’re back.’

As if knowing his thoughts, Black stepped close and laid his head on Malik’s.

He cooed, softly rubbing his feathers on Malik’s face, his wings embracing him.

Malik’s dying body felt warm, so warm, so peaceful… he could finally let go.

But just before he did…

“Elder Brother.”

Two words hit him like a punch to the ribs.

He didn’t bother to think why he could suddenly hear again.

He could not.

All of his attention was on the bird now.

Those two words he heard made him reach a ridiculous conclusion.

A conclusion that sounded more ridiculous the more he thought about it.

A conclusion that he could not dare hope to be true.

A conclusion that he had to make sure of—HAD TO.

Somehow, his mouth opened, and he asked:

“…Sinbad?”

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