Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death

***

{Outside The Projection}

Useless indeed…

The coalition had been too fragile since the beginning.

Those in Fam Iblis, especially the hall, all felt… weird now.

They were quiet, but the quiet was full—full of thought, judgment, and that uneasy understanding that the mighty were not so far from the rest of them after all.

It was a strange thing, watching people they had been constantly told were outstanding, their very leaders, sitting around a table, bickering, arguing, and tripping over each other’s pride and pettiness like street merchants fighting over a coin’s difference.

Stranger still, when one of those faces belonged to Roya… who, not long ago, they had seen kneeling headless before her camp.

To hear her speaking again, calmly, like nothing had happened…

It had unsettled them, making the air feel crooked.

It was a very weird experience all around, reminding them of their feelings at the beginning of this showing.

Meanwhile, some found themselves glancing toward Safira’s empty spot in the hall, as if she might appear and bask in the discomfort brewing around her.

Oh, she would’ve loved this, seeing the fracture lines showing so clearly.

She would have worn a smug little half-smile and maybe even nodded in approval.

Duban too. His and her people, led by Faqir, would brag about their leaders’ words, happy to be represented by them.

But Noor?

Oh, she’d look like she wanted the earth to swallow the whole thing.

Embarrassment would take over the indifference she hid behind.

Back in the days of her constant wars with those allied to Malik, she’d truly believed she was giving him a real challenge.

She had lived comfortably with that thought and even let others believe it, speaking as if it were fact in that very meeting.

A few days earlier, when only she knew the truth, it hadn’t affected her all that much.

At least not until the forever imprisoned part, but yes, relative to now, it was… nothing.

Because now, to have everyone in this world see her brag about what was so hilariously wrong? Seeing her flaring and snapping across a table? That must’ve stripped all sense of pride right off her, wherever she currently stood in the world.

And she wouldn’t be the only one.

Zafar would have hated this, too, if he were here.

This, before them all, was someone extremely pathetic.

The hall still wasn’t used to his new change, his ‘redemption,’ so this old him felt rather familiar, and somehow, not all that embarrassing to watch; it rather felt like comfort, a time when everything seemed black and white, just so much easier to accept.

But to the man himself? This would be sure humiliation.

Lucky for him, he wasn’t here to feel it.

Yeah, Zafar was truly lucky.

Or perhaps Huda was luckier.

At that point, she hadn’t yet accepted this little round table, too busy going mad.

Her training had taken over her when they contacted her, and she’d only joined them way later, when finally, she couldn’t take it anymore, his kill count piling way too high.

If she saw herself there, no doubt she’d have screamed in pain once more.

It’d likely be even worse, throwing the entire Holy Palace in the air.

And Layla—oh, she was easily the luckiest of them all.

This scene gave her yet another flicker of warmth.

A strange little satisfaction that she needed.

Yes, she had failed him, abandoned him.

She’d been carrying that weight every day.

But being reminded of their failure…

Of how they went after her and never succeeded.

It made her realize she hadn’t lost him entirely.

Even back then… somewhere, buried deep…

There was a thread binding them together.

Never had she completely let go of him.

And for that, she couldn’t be happier.

***

{Inside The Projection}

Since then, years folded over years…

A blur of faces and fires, of meetings and marches, of promises made and blood paid in full.

Malik moved through it all…

An inevitable tide.

One with cold waters.

Ever since the day Layla had gotten ‘sick,’ he and she were barely seen together.

Yeah, Malik couldn’t bear to see her, not after what he went through.

Her eyes… oh, her eyes, reminding him too much of her.

The same purple… a beautiful purple.

With them came his choice.

The one choice he had to make.

A daughter whom he’d deprived Layla of.

He didn’t call himself a Goddamned fool for nothing.

The circle of fools continued and never left.

Yet, he still taught her when he could.

She grew harder and softer in equal measures.

Mithqal was on the cards for her, something that he made sure of.

Dunya tried and continued to try to get them back together, but again…

Layla had given up, and Malik found that to be… easier for him.

Azeem tried as well but was met with the same failure.

Though it wasn’t like it was his place to talk, getting a new fiancée every time the old one asked him for marriage, making it something of a joke that Sinbad teased him with.

The identity of Azeem’s Lord certainly didn’t help his relationship status, but both seemed to conveniently forget that fact in their teasing.

And yes, ‘their’ teasing.

Sinbad was teased back, his harem joining him everywhere.

The little ones reached a point where they could speak better than most humans.

Ulukas, or commonly known as Crimson Owls, were birds capable of speech, even as weak beings in their Cursed Hierachy, when they were no different than mortals, so one could only imagine what they became as they ranked up, nearing their father and husband in strength.

It was always chaotic to have more than one of them in a room now.

Crimson Owls were so damn opinionated, never caring for human cues.

To escape them, Malik spent most of his time in rooms filled with maps.

He pushed and pulled pieces until borders eased away, signed further agreements with the West, and watched merchant ships change their courses to match his will.

He changed their laws, ignoring what they called divine, banning slavery, and introducing a new way for mortals to become Magi, an Incubator, a contraption he’d created himself, using some of the technology he destroyed as reference.

His control over the Heroic Coalition continued.

Noor’s wars flared and cooled, matching his tempo without ever realizing it.

Roya did her worst, her propaganda against him reaching newer heights.

Something that he certainly didn’t help with by ‘flipping a coin’ every other week.

Zafar’s popularity skyrocketed as Malik’s was buried six feet underground.

He had become the figurehead of the “resistance,” with many standing under their banner, their numbers rapidly increasing by the day.

Nasir Al-Sultan, with Safira and Duban leading, the Speakers, and a few others, kept their hands clean of it all, staying on the sidelines and simply growing their forces in preparation for a war they were sure would come once the Sultan’s head sat on a spike.

Malik’s men, Shurtat al-Khamis, personally tracked all their movements.

He needed information to come quickly if he ever wanted to be accurate to his Silent Requiem. Oh, and speaking of, the number of caves he’d reached was now in four digits, meaning thousands of them were filled with bodies.

Thousands.

He kept track of them the way other men counted taxes.

Everyone grew so terrified of the number that even Scheherazade was pressured enough to act, though all she did was announce that she was injured and not in a state to fight someone as strong as he was, essentially giving him free rein without ever squashing the voice of her people, a bastard’s way out.

Of course, behind closed doors, the two met quite often, discussing all there was to discuss, while ensuring that by the time Malik could no longer hold back the Corruption’s flood, his hourglass full, the world would survive whenever IT decided to attack.

He did it all, and the world rearranged itself around that doing.

Nothing of note really happened until one day…

Azeem announced his marriage.

Finally, ten fiancés later…

He’d found the one.

Badroulbadour.

Source: .com, updated by novlove.com