Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death-Chapter 134: Cruel Man II

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{Inside The Projection}

The carriage rocked gently as it rolled along, the occasional bump filling the silence.

Malik sat in the corner, the little girl resting against his chest.

She was tiny, barely breathing a sound since she got healed.

It seemed that she somewhat acknowledged her parents’ death. Yet, she didn’t cry. Didn’t scream. Just clung to his shirt like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to the world.

Ali Baba sat across from them, arms resting on his knees, watching the kid with careful eyes.

Layla, beside him, did the same, her fingers fidgeting with the ends of her purple hair, twisting, before she finally spoke up:

"She’s got a name, yeah? We should ask."

Ali Baba nodded.

"Right."

"..."

Malik said nothing.

Layla leaned forward, her voice softer than usual, like she didn’t want to startle the girl.

"Hey, um... cutie, do you have a name?"

The girl’s grip on Malik’s shirt tightened.

Her small fingers curled into his shirt, but she didn’t lift her head.

Layla frowned, then tried again, even softer.

"Sweetheart, do you remember your name?"

"..."

Still nothing.

Ali Baba rubbed his chin, glancing at Malik.

"She responding to you at all?"

Malik shifted slightly, looking down at the girl in his lap.

She was still awake—he could tell from her breathing—but she wasn’t offering anything.

After a long pause, he exhaled through his nose.

"Kid."

Slowly, the girl tilted her head back, purple eyes peeking up at him.

He raised an eyebrow.

"You got a name?"

The girl hesitated, then nodded once. Barely.

Ali Baba grinned.

"Well, that’s progress."

Layla beamed and revealed her palm to her.

"Can you write it for us?"

The girl looked at Layla, then at Ali Baba, then back at Malik.

And instead of doing as Layla asked, she just... buried her face in his chest again, tiny fingers gripping him tighter.

Layla blinked.

"Oh."

Ali Baba let out a low chuckle.

"Well, well. Looks like you’ve got yourself a new little shadow. This one’s just missing the purple hair."

Malik ignored that, shifting slightly so she was more comfortable.

He didn’t say anything; he just stared out the carriage window, eyes fixed on the stone rolling by.

Layla sighed.

"We gotta call her something. We can’t just say ’kid’ forever."

Ali Baba tapped his fingers against his knee.

"What if we guess?"

Layla shot him a look.

"We’re not gonna just guess names at her like it’s a game."

Ali Baba shrugged.

"Why not? Maybe she’ll nod when she hears the right one."

Layla pursed her lips, then looked at the girl again.

"Hmm... okay, let’s try. Safiya? Amani? Zahra?"

"..."

Nothing.

Ali Baba grinned.

"Alright, my turn. I’m thinking... Hana? Sarah? No, wait—Rasha?"

"..."

Still nothing.

The girl stayed curled up against Malik.

He was the only thing in this world she trusted... or so it seemed.

Was she just a chick that had just hatched and imprinted?

Layla huffed.

"You sure you don’t wanna tell us your name?"

Slowly, the girl shook her head. But she didn’t say, or well, write it down. Not yet.

Ali Baba leaned back with a sigh.

"Well, we got plenty of time."

Layla nodded.

"Yeah... and we should figure out what she wants to do."

Ali Baba rubbed his hands together.

"Right. So, kid, listen up. You’ve got a choice here. You can stay with us for as long as you want, alright? No pressure. But we wanna know what you want."

The girl didn’t move for a moment.

Then, slowly, she lifted her head again, eyes locking onto Malik’s face.

"You want to stay?"

And she nodded.

Layla’s eyebrows shot up.

"Wait. You mean—you wanna stay with us, like, forever?"

Another nod.

Ali Baba chuckled.

"You sure about that, little one? You got options, you know. We can send you to the best orphanage in the Holy Kingdom."

The girl’s eyes didn’t leave Malik’s face.

She didn’t nod this time, but she didn’t have to. She had already made her decision.

Layla frowned.

"Uh... Malik? You good with this?"

He didn’t answer right away. Just let out a slow breath and muttered:

"Doesn’t matter."

Layla frowned deeper.

"It kinda does. She sees you as a father figure for some reason."

Malik looked at her, then at Ali Baba, then back at the kid.

He ran a hand down his face, then finally said:

"She already decided."

Ali Baba smirked.

"Looks like we’ve got a new recruit. Train her well, Malik~."

Layla leaned back.

"Well... welcome to the caravan, sweetheart. We’ll take care of you. Promise."

The girl didn’t say anything, but this time, when Layla smiled at her, she hesitated... and then, just barely, she smiled back.

It was small. Tiny. But it was there.

Ali Baba clapped his hands.

"Alright! That settles that. Now, we just need to—"

The words died in his throat.

Layla stiffened. Malik didn’t even bother turning his head.

Because out the carriage window, in the distance, flames licked at the night sky.

Another village.

And this time, it was still burning.

Right. Just as they started to pick up stride, something just had to ruin it.

They could never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never have something go right. NEVER! FUCKING NEVER!

"Save them."

Malik heard two words.

Two words louder than anything he had heard in his entire life.

Malik’s world was concentrated on just them and their source.

A little boy.

Sinbad.

Without even asking for permission from his employer, he set the kid aside and rushed out of the carriage.

"Don’t—Malik—Malik! DON’T GO!"

Ignoring Layla’s scream, he flew into the village.

The heat didn’t hit him at first.

Not really. Not in the way it should have.

The second his feet hit the ground, his body moved on its own.

The world blurred, nothing but fire and smoke tearing at his throat.

It didn’t matter.

Because they were inside.

Because he had to save them.

His foot hit the first door, splintering it open in a heartbeat.

Flames crawled up the walls, thick, black smoke choked the air, but he pushed in anyway, eyes darting, searching—

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Nothing.

He turned on his heel and kicked down the next door.

Nothing.

Another.

Nothing.

Another.

Nothing.

Nothing.

NOTHING.

Then, finally, in the largest building in the center of the village, he found them.

Bodies. Piled together like discarded dolls, arms limp, heads lolled to the side, blackened skin, and strips of Depravity shimmering unnaturally under the flickering firelight.

Too still.

Too quiet.

’...Is this—is this another one?’

His stomach twisted.

’Is this a fucking collective suicide too?!’

It didn’t matter.

He shoved the thought away.

Didn’t matter.

Didn’t matter.

THEY WERE STILL IN HERE.