Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death-Chapter 95: A Man’s Grin

"Woaaah..."

The first thing Malik noticed was the force of the drop.

Aether and wind were pushing against him, shoving him downward.

The second thing was the absolute silence, like the darkness above the first layer.

It was sudden, eerie, and it wouldn’t be so far from the truth to say that he had just been swallowed by the world itself.

No wind. No shouts. No worms. No thoughts. Just a void.

And then—

Gravity came into play.

It took him, yanking him down and plummeting him further into the darkness.

His stomach flipped, his body twisting uncontrollably. He reached for anything, but there was nothing to grab, nothing to slow his descent.

All that was left was the sensation of endless falling.

And to make things worse, time itself became distorted... elusive.

He hadn’t counted at the start, and now? He was screwed.

Minutes? Hours? Days? Who the Hell knew?

Every time he tried to keep track, the numbers slipped right through his mind—just like sand through his fingers. Gone before he could even hold on.

Though, despite him losing the concept of time, he was sure of one thing.

It was taking long. Much longer than his first descent. Making him feel lost, feeling like a different person altogether.

Without any landmarks or audio cues, such a result was only natural

But then, just before he could through an identity crisis, the air changed.

It was as if he was jolted awake, the fall became slower, controlled.

Gravity, Aether, and wind no longer dragged him down but cradled him, guiding him through instead of just letting him smash into the unseen below.

Malik kept his eyes open, forcing them to adjust to the dim, pulsing light around him.

The deeper he went, the more he saw—strange, bioluminescent plants clinging to the rocky walls all around him.

Here, the air was thick, damp, and heavy with Aether, more than he had ever felt before.

It wasn’t like the dry, harsh Aether of the desert. No, it was alive, pressing against his skin, filling his lungs.

He felt relaxed for a second, like he was back home, in bed, alone, knowing that the slavers weren’t coming any time soon, a cold piece of bread in his hands.

A soothing feeling, making him feel sleepy—

’Focus!’

Just as he snapped out of that, the wind shifted again.

Suddenly, he wasn’t falling anymore.

The ground came up nearly in an instant and he landed surprisingly softly.

"...The maw’s more gentle than its inhabitants."

With that, Malik stood, catching his breath while glancing around.

He was in a cavern, massive and stretching far beyond what his eyes could see.

Stalactites hung from above, glimmering with faint, unnatural light.

The rock beneath him pulsed, like something alive was breathing beneath the surface.

Malik felt... small.

A frog in an ocean.

He had no idea where he was.

He had no idea how to get out.

And worst of all—

He wasn’t alone.

Turning around, he noticed them.

Rows of statues.

Their forms were... elegant? If that was ever possible. Yet still unnerving.

Stone women with wings, their faces serene, their hands reaching towards... him.

Some were posed as if mid-step, others mid-flight. But none moved. Not an inch.

Malik swallowed hard and continued to stare at them.

He quickly noticed something peculiar. Though everything about them was paused, tiny stones dripped from their eyes, mimicking actual tears.

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"Angels... crying angels? Are they really monsters?"

Malik stepped closer, slowly, and stopped directly before one of them.

He raised his right hand and waved it in front of its face.

"Hello?"

"..."

No reaction.

Frowning, he touched the cold stone surface.

Solid. Unmoving.

’Just statues, then.’

Malik looked away, heading in the other direction.

’Nothing to worry about—’

Grk...

Cutting off his thoughts was a sound. A faint shift in the air.

His body roared, and he twisted, dodging by instinct alone.

Whoosh!

A fist cut through the air where he had just been.

A stone fist.

’Holy shit!’

If he hadn’t moved, that thing would’ve caved his skull in.

His heart pounded as he jumped back, eyes darting towards the same statue he touched, the owner of the fist that nearly killed him.

It was motionless.

’Did it attack me because I touched it or...’

He looked at the others, noticing that they had moved as well.

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’No. They move if I don’t look at them... damn bastards.’

Malik exhaled heavily and backed away slowly, never taking his eyes off them.

He took careful steps, inching backward and searching for an exit.

The moment he turned his head—even slightly—he heard the faintest whisper of stone grinding against stone.

Nope. These angels were too fast for him to handle; he couldn’t even glance at where he was going; all his attention needed to be on them if he wanted to survive.

And so, he kept his gaze locked, his steps picking up pace as he got used to walking blind.

Eventually, he felt the cavern shift around him, the tunnel widening.

Then, he stepped out—somewhere—his right foot landing on smooth stone.

He blinked. Took a breath. Turned on his heel and dashed out of the cavern.

But there was nowhere to go... nowhere he could escape.

Malik stopped, chest rising and falling, taking in the new space.

An arena. A massive, circular pit carved into the cavern itself.

The walls stretched high, impossibly high, covered in carvings—old, intricate, probably telling some story only scholars or nobles would know.

It was ancient, untouched, the sheer size of it making him feel like an insect, not even a frog.

And then, he noticed it.

At the far end of the arena.

A cross.

Huge. Weathered. Stone, maybe. Or something tougher. The man nailed to it was bearded, draped in tattered robes. His head hung low. Hands splayed. Feet stacked. His face was solemn, peaceful even. Carved in exquisite, unnerving detail—all pristine despite the passage of time.

Malik’s breath hitched.

’What?’

He blinked, thinking that his eyes were playing tricks on him...

’This—’

But then everything turned wrong. Everything. Ending his thoughts.

The cross was now upside down.

The man’s head, once bowed, was now tilted up. Looking straight at him.

He was grinning. Wide. Stretched too far. Too real.

Malik’s body locked up. Every nerve screaming, every instinct telling him to run.

He took a slow step back.

And then—

Pain.

White-hot. Splitting. Unbearable.

His vision blurred. His balance shattered. The world tilted—no, spun.

He fell, hitting the ground. Hard. But his fall was wrong.

Something was missing... His body. It didn’t follow.

It wasn’t attached to him anymore.

His head tumbled across the cold stone, rolling, rolling, until it stopped.

Malik couldn’t move. He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t do anything but watch.

And the last thing he saw before everything faded...

’Bastard.’

Was the man’s grin growing wider.

Blink.