Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death

Malik was usually the one looking at people stronger than him in anger, not the other way around, so it was good to be in this position for once.

Sure, he’d received that look in the war many millions of times, but he never really paused to look; only victory was on his mind during those times.

Woof! Woof!

The smaller wolves gave way, parting for their leader and the black-clad death that approached.

Malik didn’t say a word and kept walking forward, his curved sword—Spine Splitter—low in hand.

The Ṭāghiya bared its fangs. Its aura exploded, frost screaming through the air.

And then…

BOOM!

Their clash rang through the mountains, a bell that tolled for the underworld.

The wolf bit down on the sword with enough strength to crush bone, yet the moment it did, the beast knew—knew—it couldn’t win this fight; its opponent’s blade could not be blocked.

It let go, retreating, howling as walls of ice erupted between them, attempting to stop him from following its retreat.

Too slow.

Malik crashed through all five walls in an instant, sword-first.

The Ṭāghiya landed on the ground, its paws painting the snow red from impact.

He was upon it almost immediately after that, swinging down, not giving it a chance to breathe.

With a snarl, it summoned something massive—a wolf twice its size, forged from pure ice.

The summoned wolf lunged upwards from the snow and bit Spine Splitter, throwing Malik’s strike off-course.

Indeed, his swing missed its target.

…The beast lived.

Malik didn’t expect that.

He landed on the ground and gave a small nod.

A silent sign of respect.

Then his stance shifted.

Sword raised to his chest. Left hand pulled back, shoulder tilted.

His breathing slowed. The fire in his body quieted for just a moment.

He was done taking it easy.

GRRRRRRR!

Having gotten a moment for itself, the wolf managed to weave its spell.

Dozens of ice clones formed, howling, snarling, and encircling him.

Then, under Malik’s watchful eyes, it vanished into the snow, melting into it, its presence vanishing completely.

…Huh.

A Ṭāghiya was still a Ṭāghiya, it seemed.

Malik didn’t chase the real one.

He welcomed the game.

With a silent exhale, he stepped forward—

BOOM.

One wolf exploded.

BOOM.

A second’s head flew off its shoulders.

BOOM.

A third, fourth, and fifth died in a blast of fire.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

He attacked again and again, never pausing for even a moment.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Those ear-rumbling booms weren’t caused by his attacks, at least not directly.

They were caused by his steps, as he moved faster than sound itself.

It was a speed he once found incomprehensible but could now easily control.

He weaved through them, filling the air with arcs of fire and unstoppable steel.

A slash opened one from jaw to tail.

A palm burned another’s skull to ash.

His foot caved in the ribs of a third.

In seconds, they all returned to snow.

Silence was all that was left, though only for a moment.

The snow began to howl.

Not the wolf. The snow.

Malik paused mid-step, just for a flicker, before the air around him turned hostile.

A storm formed. And it didn’t gather slowly, no. It collapsed on him.

This wasn’t a fight of brute strength, the beast was thinking. It was learning.

It knew Malik’s blade would cut through anything. It knew Malik’s speed could carry him through a thousand traps.

So it did something else.

It called the sky.

It called the snow.

It called the storm.

But that wasn’t all.

Before Malik could move, the darts of ice came. Hundreds. Thousands. Tiny spears of compacted ice, shaped like needles.

They didn’t aim for the kill. They aimed to slow. To stab joints. Slice ligaments. Cut the air itself from around him.

And for a second, just one, Malik staggered. His foot dug deep into the snow, not from force but from drag. The storm wanted to keep him there. Pin him. Bleed him.

But Malik just…

BOOM.

Shook it off.

He vanished, and darts passed through afterimages.

BOOM.

A gust of golden fire trailed him, melting every spear before it hit.

He blurred, zigzagged, dipped low, spun sideways, ran up the air itself to dodge—too fast to follow, too fast for the storm to catch, even though it slowed him.

Still, it pressed harder. The snow thickened. The darts came even faster, dozens per second, ripping through boulders.

Any one dart would’ve squashed a mortal to paste, and yet Malik seemed unbothered.

He was scanning it, finding himself a path to the storm’s heart.

And eventually, he found one.

He stepped forth, raising his sword.

Spine Splitter pulsed a deep gold, its fire flared, a screaming blaze that seared the snow from existence.

Then, once his left landed, he cut.

One swing.

A wall of heat.

A scream of steel.

A line of death carved into the heavens.

The storm split.

Literally.

Down the middle.

Fire raced into the fissure.

The cold died.

And all that was left was Malik. Standing alone. Steam rising. Eyes glowing.

He won that clash, but he didn’t pause to celebrate.

Learning from earlier, he appeared above, his body suspended midair, his cloak flaring behind him as he pointed his curved sword downward.

The ground quivered below as clones began to form once more, frost and spirit gathering into shape, announcing the third round.

Too slow.

“FALL.”

He stabbed the sky.

A golden whip of fire lashed from the tip of Spine Splitter, slamming into the snow.

The moment it touched the earth—

FWWWWWOOOOOMMMMM!!!

The entire region exploded.

A mushroom of golden flame swallowed the terrain, exploding high into the sky.

Stone and trees disintegrated. Ice boiled. Snowflakes suspended in the air. The wolves standing far were incinerated. Sound vanished. Wind died. All that remained was white-hot annihilation stretching out in a perfect circle.

And when it ended…

“Hm.”

Malik dropped to the ruined ground, smoke curling off his shoulders.

Snow melted around his boots as he walked forward, the sound of his footsteps the only thing alive in the aftermath.

Grrghh…

Or not.

The Ṭāghiya.

There it was, crawling from beneath a scorched boulder, one leg gone, eyes burning with fury.

Blood poured from its mouth, from the stump of its shoulder, and from dozens of charred wounds.

GRRRRRRR!

It growled a second time, defiant.

Still fighting.

Still alive.

But not for long.

Malik stopped a foot away.

His sword lowered once more.

“I need your core.”

The beast trembled.

WOOOF.

Then, in a final act of hatred, it lunged.

Malik raised his sword.

“Don’t forgive me.”

The wolf froze mid-air.

Its body cracked. Its spirit collapsed.

BOOM.

The Ṭāghiya erupted into light and ash, scattering its essence into the sky.

The earth burned golden, and left behind in the snow, pulsing with power, was the core.

Malik knelt, picked it up with one hand, and stood over the crater he had made.

Fire reflected in his golden eyes… then vanished.

As did he, leaving death without a word.

The hunt was over.

Now it was time for war.

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