Why, Hero? (Entry Two)

The hero collapsed on the ground, spitting out blood and coughing. Their sword lay in jagged pieces, shattered. 

The villain stood over them, blade leveled at their back. 

“Go ahead,” the hero rasped. They rolled over, baring their chest for the weapon. “Just make it quick.”

The villain looked down at the hero, defiant face bruised and bloodied, eye swollen shut, exhausted. “Why?”

“Why? Why what?” The hero demanded. They tried to sit up, but their arm gave out under them and they slumped back onto the ground. 

“Why should I go ahead?” The villain looked the hero up and down, wiping red off of their lips with a free hand. “What am I going to do?”

The hero looked bewildered, eyes flicking from the sword still pointed at their chest to the villain. “Kill me.”

“Why?”

“Because… That’s what you want?”

The villain didn’t answer. Their eyebrows knitted together, their lips forming one thin line. The sword point dipped and wavered. Finally, they brought it back to the ground, leaning on the crossbar. They coughed, once and wet. 

The sword clattered to the ground. 

The villain limped across the room, one leg dragging behind them. They eased back into the chair at the table, picked up their pen with a shaking hand. 

“Go home, hero.”

If you’re the one they forget, then I’ll be who they remember. If they sully your name, mine will be brought to light. A hero and a villain. If they tarnish my name, they will make me a legend. They will raise you to godlike status and bring me down to that of a rat.

I will never be a rat. If the world demands a villain, then I shall fill the role they’ve forced upon me. But I will not be a villain like you know. I will be a demon. A king. The heretical prophet who brings the false god tumbling down.

“Why are you letting me go?”

The villain glanced over their shoulder at the crumpled hero. “I’d ask one of my staff to help you out, but you’ve killed them all.”

The hero managed to force themself to their knees. “But why?” 

“Perhaps I’m not the villain you anticipated.”

“You– you–” The hero coughed and spat out red, one arm pressed against their chest.

Spinning painfully around in their chair, the villain gazed at the hero. “You really shouldn’t wear white. When you wear black, they can’t see you bleed.”

“I’ll see you bleed,” the hero vowed, staggering to their feet.  

“Time will tell,” the villain mused. “But for now, go home.”

The hero listened. They dragged their broken body out of the room, and only when they were gone did the villain hiss in pain. Only then did they sprawl over the table. 

Only then did they weep for the lives lost. The friends who wouldn’t be coming back. 

“Oh hero. Why?”