Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death-Chapter 259: Drowned Lotuses

Malik's silent gaze lifted to the vast expanse of the sky.

His breath nearly caught in his chest as he took in the sight before him.

A canvas of red stretched out, shades never similar, always varying, shifting from the deepest crimson to fiery scarlet, mimicking the strokes of a master painter's brush, creating an incredibly surreal atmosphere.

But when looked at more deeply, another color could be easily seen.

Amidst the sea of red, tendrils of gold wove their way, the same gold that followed him outside, which added a touch of... well... elegance to the otherwise intense, chaotic, but somehow orderly composition.

It was breathtaking.

Composing himself, Malik's gaze shifted downward, exploring the rest of the world, which he found to match the sky in its colors but not in its details, making it quite dull to look at, at least when compared to what he had last scrutinized.

Still, the one interesting thing about the landscape was that every nook and cranny seemed to have been drowned in a river of blood, actual blood, not the color of fire that filled the sky.

Perhaps this sight was meant to be terrifying, revealing just how broken his mind was, but he only saw it as beautiful, something to admire while sipping tea.

Hm, what did this crimson world signify about him?

This realm, this mindscape, this... soulscape, shouldn't it be gold and dark instead?

That was the color of his flames... his Divine Essence. His soul.

Or was he wrong in thinking that?

Thump.

As if in response to his thoughts, the sky above him flickered.

His gaze snapped upward, fixated on a single drop of paint that fell from the canvas.

The color of that drop was unexpectedly gold, not matching its origin.

Malik was right.

He was here; it was only that the Well overpowered his soul.

And that made complete sense; after all, he had surrendered himself to be allowed in.

Thump.

That realization seemed to push the world to react once more. And as if the heavens opened up, the painting above immediately began to unleash a heavy downpour upon him.

Not on the landscape, no, only him.

At this point, one might scream:

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!"

But this was Malik, not any other man.

He did not care one bit for the golden blood that fell upon him.

Goliath's Fall could've protected him from the rain, but he didn't bother trying, knowing that no abilities could be activated in here; he was no different than a mortal.

Malik did what he did best. He accepted. He accepted the nightmare.

This, what fell upon him, was his Aspect. His blood and fire.

Each drop forced a single memory of its use.

A memory where he unleashed his fire.

Whether it was to kill a man, a monster, or move forward didn't seem to matter.

That memory came in a flash, and if it was a person, their face would make sure to echo in his mind, blurred and disfigured as it was.

He didn't recall their names or their last moments.

Why would he?

Malik had never been bothered by such details.

Killing an enemy never seemed to affect him at all.

It made him think, yes, think of the consequences, who they'd leave behind, what'd happen to the village or city they were from, but never about the people themselves, the soldiers, and never did it make him pause.

He had grown up on the streets of Zawaya; this was to be expected.

To him, they were nothing more than a means to an end, an obstacle in his path.

Yet, it seemed that this world would serve as a reflection of his capacity for destruction.

Perhaps, deep down, he saw himself at home in this landscape, a harbinger of death and pain. Simply put, a killer. A man undeserving of forgiveness, a man much like the Sultan.

Malik couldn't really say; the subconscious was an uncontrollable thing.

Still, he wouldn't change who he was, and if this was the result….

Then so be it.

Plink, plink, plop!

He had other things to focus on.

Burning gold continued to fall, and it began to form something of a path before him.

This path contrasted brightly with the blood beneath, making it easy for him to follow.

It came at the right time, as the downpour grew so relentless that a mist enveloped him, assaulting his senses and forcing him to walk half-blind, without any clear sense of direction.

Step after step, he followed the burning gold beneath, not bothering to count the time that passed by, uninterested in gauging how long he had been walking into the unknown.

But suddenly, his foot failed to find solid ground, and his body lurched forward.

Time seemed to slow as he realized the ground beneath him had vanished.

Malik didn't panic; rather, he welcomed the change, surrendering to the fall.

A moment later, when he could finally see again, his eyes met what was beneath.

...An ocean of black.

This wasn't any black ocean, however.

It was Depravity. Corruption.

Lotuses could be seen.

Drowned Lotuses.

Black ones.

They were everywhere, taking over much of the surface.

But as he plummeted closer toward certain death, the truth revealed itself.

The seemingly endless black sea wasn't simply the manifestation of his Fall...

It was something far more chilling.

An expanse of hands was what awaited him, not liquid.

Like the ouroboros above his second heart, each intertwined hand was inscribed with rows upon rows of runes, giving the illusion of a vast, undulating ocean.

They weren't still, and they too reacted to stimuli.

Once he was near, the hands rose up to welcome him in an embrace.

Malik made no attempt to brace himself for impact, instead relinquishing control to the hands that eagerly invited him to join their collective mass, their longing for his presence apparent.

Thump.

With gentleness, the hands caught him.

They halted his fall and suspended him a fair distance above the surface.

He felt... weird.

The sensation was simply indescribable.

These hands possessed an unnerving quality, their grip both solid and liquid, seemingly pulsing with a twisted life of their own. Yet, as they cradled him in their grasp, forming a claustrophobic cocoon around him, their pulse began to synchronize, becoming one... becoming his, matching his own heart.

They dragged him further down, each hand playing its part in the descent.

His 'breaths' grew shallow as they further closed in around him, suffocating him.

The once mesmerizing sight now felt like an overwhelming tide demanding to consume him.

It was as if he were being pulled into the very Essence of Depravity itself.

Perhaps IT was waiting for him down there... the pressure was just that heavy.

Yet, yet, and yet, even now, his face had remained as stoic as could be.

Even as the pressure intensified in each passing moment, never once did it seem to bother him.

Malik was only waiting for it to end, not minding the pain.

It was an incredible mental feat, for this sight alone, the sight of countless hands, seemingly infinite in number, clawing and clutching at oneself, would send shivers down the bravest of souls.

Only he and a few deranged others like Cyrus could remain so calm.

It was simple for him.

Malik needed to endure this trial, confront the nightmares he avoided.

He needed to dominate them to claim the Well for himself.

He needed to revisit his past, confront what he no longer remembered.

Confront the one that brought him into this world.

The moment he thought that, his descent finally paused.

Around him, the cocoon began to relax, opening up to reveal...

A lotus.

This one wasn't drowned, however, yet to be plucked.

It beckoned for him, and he accepted its pull.

Malik reached out and touched it.

Thump.

His world blinked.