Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death-Chapter 87: I Want To Kill A Man

***

I mourn the most for the things I never said.

I’ll keep this memory close—until I kiss it goodbye.

Little girl… would you wash the blood from my hands?

I won’t see you again… so bury your scars deep.

Let your tears fall where mine won’t.

Let them sink into me, so I never forget.

***

"Malik."

"What?"

"Why?... Why did you kill her?"

"...She asked me to."

"Why?"

"She Fell."

"Fell? Fell where?"

"Into Depravity."

"Depravity?"

"Depravity."

"Couldn’t you save her?"

"I tried."

"Really hard?"

"I... I think."

"Then there was nothing you could do."

"Do you hate me for it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I just don’t."

"I killed her."

"You did."

"I buried her in the ground and walked away like it was nothing."

"You did."

"Why the Hell don’t you hate me?!"

"Because I know you, Teach... And I know you didn’t have a choice."

"You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like to…"

"To kill someone you care about? No, I do."

"What? I—"

"Look."

The end of the voices gave way to vision.

And in that ’vision’ was a void.

But not an empty one.

Oh no, it wasn’t empty.

Two pale hands crept from nothingness.

Fingers too long, too elegant, flexed as though savoring the space, him.

They reached out, first tentative, then greedy, wrapping themselves around his heart.

The hands tightened—not painful, not yet, but commanding.

"Still beating~."

A voice purred from nowhere and everywhere at once. Amused, almost playful.

"How quaint."

Malik tried to jerk back, but the void wasn’t a place one could escape.

It wasn’t a room one could leave. It was just… there. And so were the hands.

One of the hands dragged a nail down the length of his heart.

Not enough to cut, just enough to remind him it could.

"Do you feel it?"

It was closer now. Too close.

"That little drum in your chest."

"The one that says you’re still alive."

"Still breathing, still trying... still enduring."

The hands tightened further, squeezing.

And then it came—the teasing flicker of a promise.

A promise of stillness, of quiet, of an end.

True death. Sweet. Permanent.

"I could stop it, you know. Make it all stop. The guilt, the memories, the screaming, the hallucinations. Wouldn’t you like that? No more running, no more hurting. Just silence."

The hands clutched hard, bursting his heart into nothingness.

"But not today."

It cruelly chuckled, distant now.

"This story is over, and I predict the end…"

"You’ll come back."

"They always do."

And just like that, the void snapped away.

***

{Outside The Projection}

"What the fuck was that?"

"..."

"..."

"..."

No one answered.

Not immediately, anyway.

"Uh… maybe it was just a nightmare? Y’know, guilt messing with his head or... something..."

"Did that look like a normal nightmare to you?"

The man shrank back.

"I-I mean… maybe? People dream weird stuff when they’re going through it. And he’s... well, he’s been through a lot."

"Nah, that was no normal nightmare. That was something else."

"Like what?"

"...I’m not sure.

"No, say it. If you’ve got a theory, spill."

He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck.

"Could be the one who cursed him. A Malāk... or God forbid... a Rukh. You know how it is: ’Their’ mere existence messes with the Magi of the same Path and Divine Law as ’Them,’ Corrupting their minds."

"He’s right."

A scowler grunted.

"You don’t imagine something like that. Not with that level of detail."

"The Sultan’s being Corrupted."

***

{Inside The Projection}

Malik jolted awake, drenched in sweat, his chest heaving like he’d just run a few merhale.

He blinked a few times, trying to shake off the lingering haze of whatever nightmare had gripped him.

For a long moment, he didn’t move.

Just sat there, trying to steady his breathing.

But then, he finally spoke:

"...Goodbye."

Another day had come and he needed to move on.

...

Making yesterday out to be a forgotten Hell, they continued like nothing happened.

Malik sat cross-legged in front of Safira, his posture unusually relaxed.

He watched as she cultivated, her body encased in a golden cocoon of Aether.

"Your flow’s good. But your control is sloppy. Tighten it up—focus on the core, not the edges."

Safira’s eyes flicked open, shooting him a sharp look, but she didn’t say anything.

Instead, she adjusted her posture, shifting the Aether flow as he suggested.

The glow around her grew sharper, brighter.

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"Better."

He nodded.

"But don’t rush it. You’re trying to force too much at once. Let it come to you."

Days passed like this, with him sitting nearby, giving her pointers as she cultivated.

He didn’t have to be there—she could’ve figured it out herself eventually—but he stayed.

Whether out of habit, distraction, or a lingering sense of responsibility, even he wasn’t sure.

One early morning, as light began to visit the cave, Safira broke the cycle:

"So… teach. How do you fight like that?"

Malik raised an eyebrow.

"Like what?"

"Like that."

She motioned vaguely with her hands.

"All those moves, the counters, the footwork—it’s got structure. Even I see that... So what’s the deal? Is it some famous style shared between nobles?"

He leaned back against the wall.

"Are you fishing for tips or just curious?"

"Both."

"Alright... My old man taught me."

Safira blinked, caught off guard by his straightforward answer.

She expected deflection, sarcasm, maybe even silence—but not this.

Still, she kept her expression neutral.

"Your dad taught you? Was he, like, a Knight or something?"

Malik tilted his head as if considering the question.

"Guardian, not dad, but yeah... something like that. He called it… something fancy. Never cared enough to remember the name."

***

{Outside The Projection}

No one spoke outside, too immersed to say anything of substance or simply too in their emotions to even think straight.

But Noor was in neither category.

Her thoughts ran a kilometer a second.

’So his guardian did teach him the Royal Sword Style...’

Her theory about their relationship was starting to sound quite plausible.

’...Why lie, though? Why not reveal the name? There’s no way you don’t remember it. What does it gain you? Or... what is it you avoid?’

***

{Inside The Projection}

Safira rolled her eyes.

"That tracks."

"..."

He didn’t reply to her provocation.

"What..."

She hesitated for a moment before managing to ask:

"What happened to him?"

Malik’s gaze shifted to the cave walls, away from hers.

"He’s gone."

His voice was so calm it was almost unsettling.

Yet Safira waited, sensing there was more.

"I killed him."

Her breath hitched, but she quickly masked her reaction.

"W-Why?"

He shrugged.

"Had to."

"...Do you regret it?"

That question came softly.

"No... I... I had to."

This dialogue of theirs had more than one meaning, yet neither acknowledged that.

"I see... Will you visit him after we’re out of here?"

"I won’t."

"Why not?"

"There’s nothing to visit."

That answer brought her unending questions to a halt.

But it was only momentary, as she quickly switched the subject:

"Then... what do you want to do up there?

"I want to kill a man."

Surprised, Safira raised a brow, slowing her cultivation a tad.

"Is he... is he your archenemy or something?"

Malik nodded his head.

"I guess. I’ve got no enemies but him... and a few slavers."

"That’s it?"

"No."

He also had thoughts of wanting to make the world a better place, but that... it was something that he doubted now, after what the world had put him through.

"Then—"

Before she could ask another question, he abruptly stood up, brushing the dust off his pants.

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Safira shook her head.

"No... I’m happy with that."

Malik gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod, then walked toward the cave’s entrance.

The bright sky greeted him, and he stared at it for a long time, his hands behind his back.

He tilted his head back, letting the cool air brush against his face.

And sure enough, his mind wandered back to Jasmine.

To Huda.

To Sinbad.

To his guardian.

To the countless mistakes and losses that had led him here.

’If I could start over… maybe...’

The thought came unbidden and he quickly pushed it away.

Even with this curse of his, there was no starting over.

No erasing the past.

All he could do was keep moving forward.