Misunderstood Hero: My Family Are All Villains

Malik remembered it all.

It had begun as something so simple.

There weren’t enough Holy Relics for all the girls he had saved to get back to the surface.

The Abyss was not kind to the weak, and the path was long. But he made sure they had the chance.

Thus, two remained.

Two who had become his disciples.

He started teaching them about Rukh.

They called it Aether back then, before Devil’s Maw decided to resist even in word, not wanting to be the same as those attacking them.

The two learned quickly.

Jasmine was faster, more intuitive.

Safira was steadier, more curious.

They balanced each other the way siblings did.

Then they found that cave.

The first touch of IT’s Corruption.

Jasmine... Jasmine was taken.

IT cast its shadow upon her, and she was claimed.

Malik failed to save Jasmine from IT.

Only Safira survived.

And since that tragic day, he had been forever changed.

That ’man’ he wanted to kill was Cyrus.

He was the one who took Huda from him.

The one who watched Sinbad die and become what he now was.

There were likely many more reasons.

Reasons for revenge that came after all of this.

But still, it didn’t change the truth of why Malik killed the Former Sultan.

Malik was to bury Cyrus’s Corruption from the public. To stop Devil’s Maw from knowing his secret.

And, well, he was to take over.

"Haa..."

Malik now found himself surrounded by an expanse of complete and utter darkness.

It stretched in all directions, an eternal void that seemed to devour all traces of light.

He was suspended in that disorienting emptiness, floating... or standing—he could not tell which.

Malik extended his arm, hoping to find something to follow.

But, of course, his hand went through the darkness, feeling no resistance.

The absence of sensation might have made others feel lost and panicked.

But this was Malik.

He saw no problem with the void.

It was certainly not the first time he had interacted with it, and it was certainly not the worst thing he had gone through, for there were far worse candidates than this.

"But... now what?"

As soon as his voice failed to echo in the void, a sudden shift took place, as if in response to his rhetorical question.

Blink.

Malik found himself on a green hill.

The change was so smooth it almost tricked him into thinking that he had never been in the void. And somehow, he found this place very familiar, enjoying its gentle breeze.

Beneath him, growing from the grass at his feet, was a black flower.

Its petals were dark, drinking the sunlight instead of reflecting it.

The stem was thin, yet it stood straight and tall, as if it had been waiting for him.

Malik looked at it for a while.

Then he knelt and plucked it from the ground.

He brought it up to his face, staring at its dark.

The flower blinked.

It transformed into a snake, black as the petals had been.

It coiled around his fingers, its head darting toward his wrist, fangs bared.

Malik burned it.

White fire erupted from his palm, consuming the snake before its fangs could touch his skin.

It crumbled into ash.

The dark flakes fell to the ground.

And from them, a little girl appeared.

Black flowing hair, a pale, beautiful face, lovely eyes that held warmth.

It was his disciple, Jasmine.

A lake appeared beside them, as well as trees that bowed towards the water, their branches heavy with golden leaves that fell upon the surface and floated there, undisturbed.

But Malik did not notice the lake or the trees.

He was too busy staring at the little girl who looked up at him with the brightest, sunniest smile—one so pure it nearly hurt to look at.

"Malik."

"...What?"

"Why? Why did you kill me?"

"...you asked me to."

"Why?"

"You Fell."

"Fell? Fell where?"

"Into Depravity."

"Depravity?"

"Depravity."

"Couldn’t you save me?"

"I tried."

"Really hard?"

"I... I think."

"Then there was nothing you could do."

"Do you hate me for it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I just don’t."

"I killed you."

"You did."

"I buried you in the ground."

"You did."

"Why the Hell don’t you hate me?"

"Because I know you, Teacher... And I know you didn’t have a choice."

"You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like to..."

"To kill someone you care about? No, I don’t. But I don’t care."

"What? I—"

Without a hint of restraint, the girl launched herself forward.

"Teeeaaaacchhheeeeeeeerrr!!"

Malik staggered slightly, more out of habit than impact, revealing no particular reaction to her smacking into him.

He stood still as her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, her arms around his chest, her face buried in it.

"Hehehehehe!"

Malik lowered his gaze.

Then—like a man remembering how to be human—he raised his right hand and patted her back.

Strangely, it was not awkward.

After a while, the girl let go, hopping back with a breathless grin.

She looked up at him, cheeks flushed pink, and then, without a word, she spun around, plopped herself down on the grass facing the lake, and patted the ground beside her.

Malik followed, folding his long legs beneath him, and sat.

The girl leaned her small head against his shoulder, sighing happily.

"It’s been a while, hasn’t it?"

He nodded.

"It seems so."

"But I’m angry at you, Teacher."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Hm? Why is that?"

"You didn’t stick to your promise!"

She huffed and looked away, her lower lip jutting out.

Malik somehow did not remember this promise... did it happen after her death?

With her Soul?

A scene like this one?

He didn’t know.

But he acted like he did, fully trusting that his past self had done the best he could.

"I tried my best."

"Hmmmmm, fine!"

It seemed the little girl could not even fake being mad at him.

Her little fingers reached out, slipping into his much larger hand.

She giggled as she squeezed, sounding exactly as he remembered.

"Your hands are even rougher now."

"It seems like it."

"Hehe... you’re even worse than before."

"...Hm. Things haven’t been all that good."

Her fingers tightened further around his.

"I’ve been cheering for you."

Malik’s head turned slightly, his golden eyes meeting her dark ones.

"...You have?"

Jasmine nodded multiple times.

"Always! We’re all watching and cheering for you up there!"

"All?"

"Yes! Rehan, Hasan, Faqir, Yusuf, Mahdi—all of them!"

Malik knew Rehan, of course.

Layla’s father.

The man he had been forced to kill to save her.

The memory of that choice still ached, somewhere deep.

Hasan, he knew as well.

Surprisingly, it was Duban’s father.

Apparently, the two had a close relationship.

A man he had fought beside, laughed with, lost somewhere along the way.

Faqir was well... a fellow soldier in the war against bandits.

The one Malik spoke of in the Golden Throne’s description.

Little Yusuf’s father.

And finally, there was Mahdi.

Completing the cycle, it was likely his guardian.

The one who had raised him before Zawaya, who had died, leaving him all alone in a world that had cruelly abandoned him.

’Hm. It seems I have a knack for getting close to fathers.’

Fathers who all ended up dead.

His many complacencies.