They’ll Call Me the Villain

CW: Swearing and some overall dark themes

It was overcast that day. I’d taken the long way home from school through the forest to see the leaves changing, a path I’d walked for the past eleven years of my school career. The only thing on my mind was the homework I needed to finish that night for film class, the career I’d planned to go after my entire life. For reasons that I, to this day, still do not understand, I missed the turn that would’ve taken me back home and thought I could correct it by simply taking a different one. The new route took me downhill and it wasn’t until I’d reached the bottom of the hill that I realized my mistake, a mistake that would turn out to be a blessing, then a curse.

At the bottom of the hill, hidden in the shadows of the trees and covered in twisting vines, was an old stone pedestal bearing a single, semi-translucent crystal hanging from a silver chain. At the time, I hadn’t heard about any prophecies or magic connected to existing objects. Before I learned the truth, it just appeared to be an abandoned necklace and, given the rule of finders-keepers, I grabbed it— the crystal was cold—, slid it in my pocket, and promptly went back up the hill the way I’d come so I could get home. 

That night, alone in my room and slogging through homework, the necklace was lying on a textbook on my desk, the light from my lamp making it reflect tiny rainbows along the light-colored wall. I hadn’t thought to put it on, not until it hit the hard wood of my desk and scared the shit out of me midway through my homework. When the next attempt at sitting it on the textbook failed, I grabbed it— the crystal was warm— and clipped it on. 

A jolt like an electric spark shot through my body and my skin was covered in hot pinpricks. My hands shook violently as if there was pent up energy they were holding on their own. I could’ve sworn my heart was going to give out with how rapidly it was beating. I wanted to scream, yet couldn’t push the sound out of my throat. The crystal burned against my skin and I commanded one of my shaking hands to grab it; the once semi-translucent crystal had adopted a bright rainbow glow. I made to pull it off, yet it wouldn’t budge and, upon searching for the clip, I discovered it had vanished. My breathing had to have been as quick as my heartbeat and my eyes blurred with tears of panic and pain. The hand holding the crystal burned. I dropped it to shake off the sensation, yet triggered something else— a flurry of polychrome energy that spiraled into my wall, the loudness of its collision blowing out my hearing for a solid minute. When it returned, my mother was yelling my name, yet I couldn’t respond. My gaze flicked from my cooling hand to the residual energy and glitter-like substance on my wall.

I never did finish my homework that night. 

—

The following morning, a man turned up at the door. He was old with graying hair and loose clothing. I never caught his name— he refused to tell me or my mother— but he knew mine and he knew the necklace I’d taken. 

“How do I get it off?” I had asked, to which he laughed.

“You don’t,” he answered, “because that crystal has chosen you to fulfill the prophecy.”

Before I could ask what he meant, he explained, as if running by a script, “What you have is an enchanted crystal from several millennia before you were a figment of anybody’s imagination. It chooses who is worthy enough to wield its power and, once you put it on, it doesn’t separate from its wielder. You have been chosen to protect this world from villainy and crime, Dean. That said,” he continued, “you have two options: come with me and learn how to harness your magic or stay here and have to manage uncontrollable magic.”

”That’s not much of a choice,” my mother told him, though he ignored her and kept his eyes fixed on me for an answer. 

At the time, I thought I knew how the story would play out— I’d go with him, learn to harness this odd power, and earn glory for myself and my mother. I’d be written about and played in movies. I’d have a secret identity and an awesome outfit. I really only had one option, anyway. 

“I’ll go with you.”

—

Six years. I spent six years of my life with him, far away from everything I knew and almost completely cut off from the outside world. Six years being jumpscared by the magic that had a mind of its own; six years sustaining injury after injury yet having to pull myself up to keep going; six years on front page covers on newspapers as I started going after small criminals; six years not looking back on what I missed because of my change of plans; six years playing the hero. 

Within those six years, I stayed at a base with my mentor unknown to the outside world. Any free moment I had during the day was spent on training— nothing was ever enough. My free time was in the late hours that I should’ve been asleep in my room, yet despite my exhaustion, it got close to impossible to do so. Even when the magic would refuse to even function at the end of the day from how much I’d used it, I rarely slept. My body ran on five imaginary energy drinks per day and, despite my mentor not saying so, I had my suspicions that the crystal’s magic was taking its toll.

It was a rainy winter day when my life was upended yet again. I was supposed to go out on a mission that day, he’d told me, to tackle a bigger criminal organization than I usually did. I’d been snapping my magic on and off to kill time when his laughter reached my ears, slightly muffled by his office door. However, his laugh— higher pitched and exaggerated— was accompanied by a deeper laugh I’d never heard before. Curious— maybe it was more concern than curiosity— I cut the magic and stepped silently over to the door and pressed my ear against it, holding the necklace with one hand so it didn’t swing into the heavy wood.

“How did seventeen kids believe a fake prophecy?” He was saying, his voice completely missing the idea of whispering. “Every one of them wound up dead and they really never noticed the pattern? Every stupid kid wants their fairytale ending and completely forgets a little thing called reality.”

The deeper laugh came again and an equally deep voice responded, “That’s why you enlist kids for this shit and not adults— the kids aren’t smart enough to realize they’re being played.”

My grip on the necklace tightened to prevent me from wrenching open the door and screaming— a fake prophecy. I had turned down colleges and potential job opportunities that would’ve given me a leg up in a film career. I had broken off friendships and avoided romantic relationships that had made my life whole for years. I’d left everything I’d ever known to come here and fulfill what I thought was my destiny, yet I had sacrificed my future for a fake prophecy. 

In hindsight, it should have been obvious— the vague instructions during our training, the lack of information about what effect the magic would have on my body, the fake choice over whether or not to leave home— yet somehow it had gone clean over my head. I’d tried to ignore the warning signs in favor of something that seemed so fantastical it’d felt true. 

“To be honest,” he was saying, “Ihave half a mind to just get rid of him now and trash that necklace just so I can be left the fuck alone. They don’t pay you nearly enough to deal with those stupid kids! I swear, if I have to do this with an eighteenth kid, I’ll hurtle myself off the nearest bridge.”

The deeper voice added, “Just be careful while doing it— make it look like some criminal’s fault so you don’t have to worry about being found out. You can’t be messing up now when you’ve made it this far, can you? Soon we’ll find the one we need and finally be able to extract the magic for ourselves.”

My legs were shaking, yet I managed to push myself off the door and force my legs to go back to my room, shutting the door and locking it before sliding to the ground. Seventeen kids who wound up dead because of a fake prophecy. It was almost unfathomable— almost. Six years of my life I spent on this fake prophecy and I would have nothing to show for it except the tombstone I’d be buried under. 

The crystal, still clutched in my hand, grew cold, something it hadn’t done since the first day I’d picked it up off that damned pedestal. I hesitantly brought it up to my eyes and, instead of it being semi-translucent or even a rainbow glow, the crystal glowed a lifeless blue that projected on the wall closest to me the way my desk lamp had made rainbows with it all those years ago. Within the lifeless blue space were shadows with white eyes, shadows of different heights and weights and genders, but all of them were kids. Sixteen shadows. Sixteen dead kids who’d put their faith in a bullshit prophecy. 

“Why does he want the magic?” I found myself asking and immediately felt stupid. The crystal’s blue glow, however, was shrouded in shadow as it formulated its own reply. 

Within the shadows, magic flowed from the hands of figures the color of blood, only it wasn’t polychrome like mine, but monochrome— it was in the wrong hands and that, I could only guess, meant danger.

“Kid,” my mentor called, prompting the crystal to snap out its glow on its own. “Whatever you’re doing in there, finish it fast— you’ve got to go deal with this thing.” 

I allowed the crystal to fall from my hand. I pushed myself to my feet. 

“How many other people had this crystal?” My voice was low.

“Huh? Kid, it’s a prophecy. Just you,” he answered dismissively.

The crystal flickered red, a tactic it’d shown me to tell me when someone was lying.

“Where are the other sixteen kids?” I pressed, my voice starting to raise.

“What the fuck are you on about?” 

“Sixteen other kids tried to fulfill this prophecy and all of them are dead, isn’t that right?” The crystal grew hot again.

“What are you trying to say, that I’m a murderer? Please, I’m the only reason you’re as successful as you are!”

“I’m saying you’re greedy— you always have been, anyway— and you don’t care if kids die because you still get what you want! They were children and you ripped them away from their lives with a fake prophecy and then you let them die!” 

He shoved down the door handle and I unlocked it to meet him with a violent flurry of magic. My former mentor was dead before he hit the ground and I had not a twinge of remorse. 

I knew how the story would play out— the people will find out what their beloved hero did and they’ll call me the villain, yet they’ll never know the truth, never know they would’ve done the same if it had been them.