Misunderstood Hero: My Family Are All Villains

***

"A fight between Angels can last for days..."

Such words echoed through the Sultan’s Hall, bouncing off the high ceilings.

Sinbad sat on the armrest of the Golden Throne, his small form dwarfed by it.

His wistful eyes were fixed on it.

Or rather, at its empty space.

"You mustn’t worry unnecessarily."

Those words seemed almost directed at himself.

"Elder Brother is fine."

He turned his head, looking out at the gathered family.

Layla stood nearest to him, Amal next to her.

Those two were nearly always together.

Safira stood by a window, her hands clasped in front of her.

Noor leaned against a pillar, smoking a pipe.

Azeem stood at the massive gates, his rings glinting in the torchlight.

Huda sat on the floor, her pink eyes fixed on Sinbad.

"We cannot continue to act this way every time he is gone."

Sinbad hooted out a sigh.

"Elder Brother is an Angel. He will do things that we simply cannot help with or even fathom."

His little head turned towards Layla.

"Layla, you know this very well. We all have our own stage."

Malik’s wife smiled bitterly at him.

The expression did not reach her eyes.

"We do."

She glanced around at Malik’s people, her family, and her daughter, then turned back to Sinbad.

"Let me join you."

The owl tilted his head.

"Join me where?"

"The Last Stronghold."

Layla’s words made everyone pause.

She, in all those years that had passed, had not fought much. Only when circumstances were incredibly desperate.

And no, she was not against fighting; it was more that she simply saw no reason to.

Yes, she would have greatly helped them. Her Death Runes could have turned the tide of countless battles.

But then what?

What would she live for besides Amal?

Her husband, the love and tragedy of her life, was gone.

Layla would not dare make the same mistake she did with him. She would spend all the time she could with her daughter.

But now... now her husband had returned.

Life was worth living.

"I’ll fight the Demons."

Sinbad looked at her for a long moment, then dipped his little head.

"Then I will take you there myself."

Unsurprisingly, none of them mentioned the one missing from the group.

Sweet, sweet Dunya.

They all knew what she was doing.

And none of them could hope to stop her.

***

A freshly clothed and bathed Malik stood in the shade of night, his dark robes blending with the shadows.

Zayna stood beside him, her scarred face painted with charcoal to dull her features.

Rafa and a few others waited behind them, pressed against the rocky wall of the hill.

Before them, the military outpost rose from the narrow pass between two hills.

It was not that far from the kingdom, perhaps an hour’s march, maybe less.

The outpost sat astride the only path through this region. A natural choke point carved by centuries of wind and water.

The rocky hills rose on either side, their slopes dotted with thorn bushes and scattered boulders.

Since the outpost enjoyed nature’s protection, it did not need walls to surround it, only in front and behind. The hills themselves had made it a fortress.

The rebels were scouting it out.

And yes, Malik had indeed joined them.

Surprisingly, they had not needed much convincing. Well, at least not for a reconnaissance mission.

Malik had convinced them to test him with this, to see if he was made of strong stuff.

Those who had seen him half-dead, carried his broken body through the tunnels, and laid him on a cot in the medical tent knew that he was made of something beyond "strong stuff."

But they did not complain.

This seemed to be some sort of initiation ritual. A way to prove that he was not just another mouth to feed.

"Zayna, are you ready?"

Her hand rested on the hilt of her dagger.

"I’ll take the lead."

Zayna went forth, moving through the darkness like a shadow.

There was no doubting that she was from the Guard of the Fifth.

Her steps were way too silent; Malik wouldn’t have known that she was there if he wasn’t directly behind her.

So he made sure to follow her closely, his eyes constantly scanning the hills above and the outpost ahead.

The rest of the group stayed where they were, pressed against the rock, watching.

Slowly, the two made their way through the hill.

The ground was uneven, covered in loose stones and dry grass.

Zayna picked her path carefully, testing each step before committing her weight.

Malik matched her pace, his longer legs making the trek easier.

They reached the base of the hill and began to climb.

Malik helped Zayna with his fire.

A small burst from his palm boosted him upwards.

He reached down, pulled her up after him, and went again.

They climbed in tandem, leapfrogging from ledge to ledge, using the scattered boulders as cover.

Once at the top, they paused.

The outpost sprawled below them, a collection of buildings and barracks arranged in a rough grid.

Unfortunately, most of the outpost was covered by the hills around it.

The top side connected to the other, forming a natural bowl that hid the interior from view.

But it wasn’t too bad.

They had multiple access points they could squeeze through, mainly narrow paths that wound between the buildings, alleys that led to the gates, and gaps in the soldier patrol routes.

Malik and Zayna dropped down from the hill, landing in a backstreet corner.

Immediately, the two held their breath.

The ground was hard-packed dirt, scattered with straw and horse dung.

Even worse, vomit and other such... liquids were about.

It smelled terrible!

No wonder that area was left open from above, it was too disgusting to attack through!

Quickly, the two moved on from that, passing buildings on either side with shuttered windows.

Zayna led Malik through the narrow path, sticking close to the walls of the buildings.

Her hand never left her dagger.

They reached the south gate of the outpost, the one that faced the rebels’ camp and the kingdom beyond.

The gate was open, with torches burning on either side.

Gathered before the gate was a congregation of people.

Maybe hundreds of them.

They stood in clusters, their faces turned towards a platform that had been erected near the gatehouse.

Up above, on the platform, a figure stood.

He was barely visible from their position, just a large silhouette against the torchlight.

"Dammit..."

Zayna cursed under her breath.

"Let’s risk it."

She approached the crowd, her head down.

Malik followed close behind, hunching his back to make himself appear shorter.

They quickly pushed through the press of bodies, ducking between shoulders and raised arms.

Thankfully, no one looked at them.

Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the platform.

They were stunned by this curious figure, or rather, were perhaps welcoming him.

A figure that the two finally saw.

"Ah."

Their mouths hung open.

Yes, even Malik’s.

His eyes reflected a man with bright gold hair, pulled back into a rat tail that hung down his back. A man with glowing golden eyes and a most handsome face, too handsome to be anything mortal.

His body was muscular and giant, dressed in dark robes that looked almost exactly like the ones Malik always wore.

It was too familiar.

A mirror.

’This...’

...he was the Sultan?

But no, that was impossible.

Because Malik was right here, standing in the crowd, staring up at his own face.

’Hah...’

Malik, the real one, almost laughed.

’The bastards are impersonating me!’