Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death-Chapter 86: Burn The Whole World VII

***

{Outside The Projection}

Those outside asked the obvious as soon as Safira’s detached reaction played out.

"What. The. Hell."

"Did he just—"

"Yup."

"And Lady Safira just—"

"Yup."

"Wait, what?!"

"That’s it? She just let it go?"

"That’s all she had to say?!"

"No way..."

The noise was immediate yet muted.

No one dared admonish the Fairy to her face, so they kept low.

A few debated amongst themselves, others scoffed, calling it cold, while her camp tried to rationalize her behavior.

"She’s grieving!"

"You can’t expect someone to react to something that shocking!"

"Grieving? Shocking? Do you really believe that all it was?"

"Yeah, I don’t think it’s that simple."

"You could see it in her posture—she’s conflicted!"

"Lady Huda just didn’t show it like most people do."

"Conflicted, sure, but what made her conflicted? Relief. Don’t act like you didn’t notice it."

Heads turned toward the man.

Some people exchanged wary glances; others nodded reluctantly.

"...She did seem oddly calm about it."

"But why?"

"Can’t say. Maybe she was afraid she’d be left behind."

"Doesn’t mean she’s happy..."

Another countered.

"A twisted relief, maybe. But not happiness. I don’t think anyone watching would honestly claim that she didn’t love Jasmine."

"Still, though... it isn’t just that. She’s also scared of the Sultan."

"Exactly. What kind of man admits to killing someone like that?"

Zafar was the first to speak from the group near the front, using this random’s words to pile on Malik like usual.

"What? Would you rather him lie?"

Azeem, who had been casually sitting on the ground, straightened up.

"Is it only extreme ends with you? Can’t he just—"

"Sugarcoat it? No. He already suspected Lady Safira to be abnormal. She was mature enough to know the truth. Besides, I don’t think anyone in his place would’ve done it any better. I’d bet my entire wealth on you breaking down with just a fraction of what he went through."

Mad at being cut off, Zafar ignored his response and continued:

"Don’t mistake it, everyone. The Villain’s displaying cold. Not strength. There’s a difference. And it’s not something to be praised."

Noor rolled her eyes, her regal demeanor somehow making even that look graceful.

"Oh, spare us the lecture... hero. You’re missing the point entirely."

"And what’s the point, Empress?"

Zafar shot back, frustration clear.

"That she didn’t leave."

Her eyes, sharp and knowing, didn’t leave the projection.

"Our Fairy didn’t run. Didn’t scream. Didn’t accuse. She stayed. That says more than you’re giving her credit for."

"Or it says she was scared out of her mind."

Zafar muttered under his breath, but he didn’t push it further.

He knew better than to show disrespect for someone he wished to court.

Meanwhile, Huda was sprawled on the back of Crimson, head tilted as she watched the crowd’s reactions with undisguised amusement.

"Man, you guys are dense... She’s playing it smart. You think she’d actually start something now, when she’s alone in that cave with him? Pfft."

Roya shook her head.

"She’s not wrong. Even back then, Safira had more sense than most."

Though she was being complimented, the "Fairy" was in a state near despair.

Most of what they said about her was true—and that was what made it worse.

Every word made her feel sick, like absolute trash.

At that time, yeah, she was scared of him.

Malik. He was terrifying.

But that wasn’t the real reason she was falling apart inside.

It wasn’t what made her so conflicted.

No, the real reason? It centered around something else.

Something entirely different.

Jasmine.

Those Magi were right about her. Completely right.

...Safira felt relieved by her death.

And that’s what had been eating her alive.

It wasn’t for the reasons they thought, though.

She couldn’t help it. She grew to love Malik to a ridiculous, unhealthy degree.

Fascination, infatuation, obsession—whatever you want to call it.

She wasn’t proud of it, but she couldn’t stop it, either.

She was consumed by him.

Her entire world spun around him.

It was ridiculous how fast it happened.

One random day, she was just Safira—a random girl living a random life, in a random time, in a random place—and then, poof.

She ceased.

Thrown into this insane, foreign world in some girl’s body.

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Her life got flipped upside down in the worst way possible.

Safira had become a slave.

Do you have any idea what that meant?

To be a slave meant… she was not a person anymore but a property.

She was cast out from society. She was completely denied any honor. She was completely denied any personhood. She was perpetually and violently controlled.

No rights, no dignity, no safety. Nothing.

The simple concept of owning was forbidden. Yet to survive, she needed coins, and she...

She had nothing but her body to sell. But guess what?

Even that she couldn’t control. Even that wasn’t hers. Her OWN body wasn’t hers.

It belonged to them. Her so-called "masters."

They took photos of her. Humiliating, awful photos using a weird-looking Holy Relic.

Put them up for auction like she was some piece of meat, one sold to the highest bidder.

By then, the slavers only needed to hide her and those with her until they could get the official paperwork done, make this transaction the least bit lawful.

It wasn’t going to take much longer before they were sent back out of Al-Fawra and into the homes of filthy, creepy, disgusting, degenerate, depraved, despicable, pedophiles who’d—God, she couldn’t even think about it.

However, before that bleak future could take place... he showed up.

Malik.

He killed them.

Every single one of them. Brutally, beautifully. One by one.

And she watched it all.

He was like this… this blinding light cutting through the darkness.

A savior. A hero. A prince, no, a king in shining armor.

How could she not admire him?

It was only natural.

What wasn’t natural, however, was how those feelings evolved.

They spiraled way too fast, turning into this all-consuming obsession she couldn’t control.

It didn’t help that he was so damn kind. So good.

When a chance for her to stay behind presented itself, she almost jumped in joy.

You see, her gifting of the Holy Relic wasn’t out of the kindness of her heart.

No. She wanted to stay, be with him for a little longer.

She wanted him to look at her, see her.

And now, with Jasmine gone… she had him all to herself.

No competition. No one else.

It was perfect.

Now she could make him hers. Fix him. Change him. Maybe even shape him into someone entirely different. Someone who could love her back.

Because Safira?... She, a transmigrator, knew who Malik was. Knew what he was supposed to become.

How? How did she know? Not magic. Nothing fancy like that. It was way simpler.

She read about him. In a novel. Yes. A novel.

Yeah, she knew how insane that sounded. But it was true.

This world? It was straight out of a book she read.

And Malik—he was the "villain."

The man who painted rivers red with blood.

It took her a while to realize at first, but eventually, it became obvious.

Too obvious to miss. The "villain," matched too closely with the man before her.

It had to be him. It would’ve been too coincidental otherwise.

So, though she barely remembered the novel, she made it her mission to stop it.

To change him.

Did Jasmine have to die for that? No.

Was she relieved when she did? Yes.

And that was the part that dug into her heart.

That relief—it was disgusting.

Every time she felt it, it ate at her.

She hated herself for it. For being such a selfish bitch.

Before, for an entirely different reason, and now. Same thing.

This word seemed like it’d haunt her for the rest of her life.

***

{Inside The Projection}

Malik sat in the middle of a sea of rotting corpses.

Only a faint flicker of light reached him, but he didn’t mind.

Now... darkness felt more fitting.

The weight in his chest hadn’t eased.

If anything, it had grown heavier.

’Jasmine’s gone. Really gone.’

The thought killed him, but he didn’t cry.

This time... he was going to uphold his promise to Sinbad.

But that wasn’t the only thing he held back.

Anger. Rage. Fury.

The fire burning in his chest.

Malik didn’t do that to stay calm.

No. He held back his emotions because he wanted to hold on to them.

Let them shimmer within until the day they needed to be let out.

The day he would judge Cyrus... complete his revenge.

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For now, he’d settle them with a few words.

Words of anguish that his guardian always sang to him.

A twisted bedtime lullaby.

’If I tell the sorrows in my heart…’

His eyes closed, lashes trembling with the effort to hold back the flood.

’It’ll burn my tongue.’

His hands clenched into fists.

’If I keep it in my heart…’

He fluttered them open and glanced at the corpse beside him.

Its face was half-rotted, its identity long lost.

’I’m afraid it’ll burn me from the inside.’

He thought of the crimson owl.

The way it had stared at him.

The way it had helped him bury her, without asking for anything, without judgment, without pity.

Was that thing even real?

"..."

The corpse didn’t answer his unspoken question.

It didn’t matter.

Real or not, it hadn’t changed anything.

Jasmine was still gone.

’But if I let it out…’

His jaw tightened as he looked at his hands.

For the thousandth time, he replayed it: the way her body had gone limp in them, the warmth leaving her as he held her close.

The way she had smiled.

The way she had thanked him.

The way she had accepted her death.

...But he hadn’t.

’I fear it’ll burn the whole world.’