The old-school villains loved it.
That alone should have been warning enough.
---
The approval didn't come cautiously or couched in irony. It came loud, gleeful, and unmistakably sincere, pouring out of encrypted boards that had survived regime changes, hero purges, and at least three apocalypses.
These were the forums where ideology went to die and ego went to ferment.
And they were thrilled.
> Now that's villainy.
No speeches. No moral theater. Just leverage and results.
Stupid reason. Perfect execution.
That post was pinned within minutes.
---
A warlord whose résumé included two burned capitals weighed in without hesitation:
> Weapon built. World panicked. Money extracted.
Motive irrelevant. Outcome flawless.
Another chimed in, almost nostalgic:
> Back in my day we called this initiative.
There were laughing reactions. Toast emojis. Old rivalries briefly suspended in shared appreciation.
Hex, apparently, had done something right.
---
They didn't care that the reason was rent.
In fact, that seemed to improve matters.
> Did you hear him say "rent" on a live feed?
No justification. No destiny. Just honesty.
One veteran villain summarized it bluntly:
> Evil doesn't have to be smart.
It just has to work.
And this had worked beautifully.
---
A few tried to analyze it.
They failed.
> I don't understand why people donated willingly, one wrote.
Fear should've been enough.
The reply was immediate:
> Fear is common.
Honesty is rare.
That thread locked shortly after it devolved into a shouting match about whether "financial incompetence" qualified as a villain origin story.
Consensus: regrettably, yes.
---
Several old-school villains attempted imitation.
It went poorly.
Threats without transparency didn't land.
Transparency without competence didn't scare anyone.
One livestream ended when viewers realized the device was fake and donated anyway as a joke.
The villain rage-quit.
No lessons were learned.
---
Nyxara read the summaries from her headquarters, chains at rest, fire low and thoughtful. Solin hovered nearby, arms crossed, brow furrowed.
"They're applauding him," Solin said.
"Yes," Nyxara replied. "Because it counts."
"For the dumbest possible reason."
She smiled faintly. "Villainy doesn't require dignity."
Solin sighed. "I hate that you're right."
---
Far from the chatter, in a room without windows and without witnesses, Malachai read the same report.
Once.
Then again, slower.
He leaned back in his chair.
And chuckled.
It surprised even him.
A quiet sound. Short. Almost disbelieving.
He shook his head.
"…They're applauding that," he murmured.
Not the weapon.
Not the threat.
Not the restraint or the calculus or the consequences.
The audacity.
The simplicity.
The sheer, unvarnished honesty of I built something terrifying because I forgot to budget.
Malachai exhaled, the faintest smile ghosting beneath the mask no one could see.
"Remarkable," he said to the empty room. "Utterly irresponsible."
He paused.
"…Effective."
---
Outside, old-school villains raised glasses.
To chaos.
To nerve.
To the joy of seeing the world flinch for reasons so stupid they felt pure.
Heroes argued.
Governments fumed.
Economists wrote papers they would never admit they enjoyed.
And in the strangest corner of the moral spectrum, a consensus formed among people who rarely agreed on anything:
It was villainy.
Undeniably.
Unapologetically.
Embarrassingly so.
And sometimes, that was enough.
Malachai closed the report and filed it away.
Not under Threats.
Not under Allies.
But under something far rarer:
Lessons Learned — Unexpected.
Then he turned off the light, still faintly amused, and let the world wrestle with the fact that even evil, apparently, could be ridiculous.
And still work.