malcolm. when he arrived in the town, nothing changed. at first. but whispers began. they crept through alleyways, lingered in unclosed windows, and slipped into the quiet of night. people didn’t notice at first; then, they couldn’t ignore them. lies, murmurs. it was as if a sickness had woven itself into the fabric of the village. and one day, malcolm was gone. he never came back. but everything he left behind remained.
god. for six days, he shaped, built, and created. on the seventh day, he stopped. he sat down and observed. “how beautiful it is,” he said. but there was a pit in his voice; an unfilled void. because perfection, in the end, always leads to the same place: boredom. “i need some amusement,” god said. and he gave malcolm permission.
the village. a place tucked into a forgotten corner of a map, where the wind blew in the same direction every day, and the sea always looked gray. every morning, people patched up fishing boats and pushed them into the water; every evening, they waited for the wind to calm. and one night, even the wind stopped. the bell tower echoed with the sound of a bell no one had touched. that night, malcolm was in the village. and no one was ever the same again.
prologue: god’s mistake
the universe was still young; so young, it felt like it might trip and fall at any moment. every morning, the sun climbed over the horizon, strutting as if to say, “look how magnificent i am,” while the wind pretended to join in the spectacle. trees swayed flirtatiously with the valley, and even the stones by the stream stood with a kind of fake seriousness. humanity? ah, they were walking pollyannas! innocent like children, unaware of everything, as if all the troubles of the world had been buried underground and flowers planted over them. but someone was watching this overly neat, overly sterile picture—and the perfection of it all was starting to grate on his nerves. because god, looking at the magnificence of his creation, realized this: perfection is dreadfully boring.
and above it all, god was watching.
he admired the flawless harmony of his creation. everything functioned like a divine clock, working exactly as designed. but as days stretched into centuries, a discomfort grew within him, a nagging irritation at the immaculate splendor of perfection. there was no event, no challenge. humanity wasn’t meant to be like this, he thought. the perfection of the world was becoming sterile, too flawless, and far too predictable. people competed in kindness, stars burned with unending patience.
“too smooth,” god murmured, pacing the heavens. this dissatisfaction felt like an itch that couldn’t be scratched. “what good is perfection without challenge? how can beauty be understood without contrast?”
finally, he made a decision. god dimmed his light slightly and descended to earth, kneeling carefully on the delicate ground so as not to shatter it. with his hands, he dug into the soil and began to shape it, deliberately crafting a flaw. the clay resisted, like a stubborn child; uneven surfaces formed, with jagged edges and crooked contours. when he breathed life into it, the being opened its eyes—eyes that reflected no light, only infinite depths of darkness.
the being tilted its head, neither friendly nor hostile, and simply looked at god with curiosity.
“who are you?” god asked, his voice trembling with an unusual uncertainty.
the being’s lips curled into a crooked smile. “i don’t know,” it said. “but i feel… i might be a mistake.”
god paused. he had expected disobedience or confusion, but this answer touched him. a mistake, yes—but wasn’t it intentional? wasn’t that, in itself, perfect?
“perhaps every flaw has a purpose,” god murmured. “your name will be malcolm. now go. walk among humanity. discover who you are and what you are. challenge my creation. but remember: the choice to create meaning—or destroy it—will always be yours.”
malcolm rose to his feet, his shadow stretching unnaturally in the morning light. without another word, he walked away, leaving behind dark footprints that vanished with the touch of the wind.
-1-
nestled in a valley, a village of identical houses lay hidden. tucked among green hills, it was a marvel of symmetry. roofs sloped at precise angles, stone paths were immaculately clean, and gardens were arranged in flawless order. even signs of life felt overly controlled. this place resembled not a real village but a model trapped under glass. everything was better than it should be—and that was the problem.
malcolm stopped and stared. for a while, he stood silently, his gaze fixed on the village. the corner of his mouth curled upward, but it wasn’t admiration. it was the smile of a predator catching the scent of control. there was something wrong here. as there always is with anything too perfect.
“too beautiful,” he said, his voice low but certain. “perfection… the greatest lie.”
the moment he stepped into the village, the order began to suffocate him. the streets were quiet. disturbingly quiet. children played, but there was no chaos. no noise. their movements were in harmony—not a natural harmony, but a rehearsed choreography. women laughed, baskets in hand, but behind those laughs was an emptiness. a hollow, unsettling void.
malcolm walked slowly, observing, catching details. nothing was out of place. nothing was missing. everything was exactly where it should be.
as malcolm wandered the cobbled streets of the village, he watched the lives around him. or was it life? were these people, or some kind of imitation of people? each one was too… right. too balanced. the smiles on their faces carried an almost mathematical precision.
in one corner, anna and thomas looked at each other. no, looked wasn’t the right word; they devoured each other with their eyes. every movement was like a scene from a romantic play. the white scarf on anna’s head never slipped, and thomas’s hands were always reaching for hers. “what would happen if he let go of those hands?” malcolm wondered. “would she fall? lose her balance? or does gravity here only work when couples are holding hands?”
a few steps ahead, there was lena. lena’s garden… it wasn’t a garden; it was a magazine cover. lavender lined up in perfect rows, vegetables arranged in geometric precision. lena patiently polished each tomato. “yes, definitely natural,” malcolm thought to himself. “you wake up in the morning, and your first thought is: are my tomatoes shiny enough? should i envy this woman for having no other worries in life, or pity her?”
lena looked up at malcolm and, after a moment of hesitation, greeted him with a bright but empty smile. malcolm gave a slight nod, but inside he thought, “what if i dropped one of those tomatoes and watched it smash apart?”
further ahead, there was a group of children. they were playing, or something between playing and pretending to play. everything was too orderly. “where’s the pushing, the crying, the drama?” malcolm wondered. one of the children stared at him with unblinking eyes. “okay,” malcolm thought, “this kid is definitely a robot.”
then there was the old man by the well. a face that should have carried the marks of years, but was oddly smooth. one hand held a cane, the other stroked his beard. but he never actually used the cane. “shave off that beard,” malcolm thought, “and this guy’s just an old-fashioned young man. not old—just outdated.”
as malcolm walked through the village, everything felt like part of a staged play. scenes were acted out, roles were performed, but nothing, no one, was real. “god’s perfect creation,” he murmured to himself. “but someone in this scene has even manipulated god. the stage lights are too bright.”
and beneath those lights, something was terribly wrong. with every step, malcolm could sense it. “perhaps that’s why i’m here,” he thought. “to break it.”
-2-
near the edge of the village, by a stone wall, a figure crouched: edgar. he was scraping at scattered branches on the ground with his hands. hands? no, more like shovels. cracked and calloused… each mark a smudge of dirt on the pristine surface of the village. edgar was the village’s “faint shadow.” too quiet, too ordinary, too… insufficient.
malcolm watched him for a while. a hunched back, hands fumbling to accomplish something, though they seemed unsure what. “inept,” malcolm thought. “but a good kind of inept. hardworking, desperate, and—most importantly—useful.”
“edgar, isn’t it?” he called out, his voice as light as a feather but his words as sharp as needles. edgar raised his head, looking slightly startled, slightly timid. his eyes held the nervousness of a naive animal. like a rabbit. malcolm loved it.
“um, yes…” edgar muttered, breaking a branch and tossing it aside. “do i know you?”
“not yet,” said malcolm, still seated, as if moving wasn’t worth the effort. “but i think we should get acquainted. you seem… different.”
edgar furrowed his brow slightly. “different? no, i… i’m just doing my work.”
malcolm let out a soft laugh, cold and mocking. “of course. just doing your work. fixing the fields, mending the walls, cleaning up everyone else’s mess… and never thanked for it.” his voice slithered like a snake, thin and deceitful. “is it always like this, edgar? always you doing the work while no one says, ‘thank you’?”
edgar’s gaze dropped to the ground. silence. then a faint murmur: “well, it’s not important. everyone has their duties.”
malcolm leaned forward, his tone dropping to a near whisper. “everyone’s? then why is it only your back that’s bent like this?”
edgar’s hands froze for a moment. his lip twitched. then, with a sudden motion, he grabbed a branch from the ground and angrily flung it aside. “some people are just too… too comfortable. yes. but i don’t complain.”
“of course you don’t,” said malcolm, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “because everyone loves an edgar. quiet, hardworking, obedient. do they care for you? no. they just use you. you’re so worthless to them they don’t even notice you.”
something flickered in edgar’s eyes at these words. a spark of anger. small, but strong enough. malcolm felt it. it was sweet. addictively sweet.
“but you know,” malcolm added, standing as he spoke, “sometimes people get what they deserve. sometimes they’re punished for being so comfortable. and sometimes…” he paused, turning back to edgar and leaning slightly closer. his eyes pierced into edgar’s. “…sometimes those who deserve punishment regret ever taking you for granted.”
malcolm turned away and walked off slowly. but edgar, at that moment, had already etched his words into his mind. they planted themselves like a poisonous seed in the soil of his thoughts. and malcolm, impatiently, waited to see how that seed would grow.
-3-
as malcolm left the square, he spotted anna and thomas, the village’s most envied couple. they sat beneath the shade of a large tree, their fingers interlocked, their eyes locked on each other with admiration. from the outside, they looked like part of a perfect painting. but malcolm knew that paintings were always confined by their frames.
“oh, what a lovely couple!” he exclaimed, with a burst of enthusiasm that startled them. thomas immediately looked up at malcolm, while anna tried to smile. but in malcolm’s gaze, there was something unsettlingly knowing.
“to witness such strong love is truly inspiring,” malcolm said, leaning against the tree. “it’s clear the two of you trust each other completely.”
“of course we do,” anna replied, her voice firm yet faintly defensive. thomas didn’t notice that she gripped his hand just a little tighter.
“ah, wonderful,” malcolm said, tilting his head. “but i do wonder… could a doubt, a hesitation, even a tiny secret ever harm such a strong bond? of course, in your case, it’s impossible. you’re perfect.”
anna smiled faintly, but her eyes flicked to thomas. thomas, meanwhile, tightened his hold on anna’s hand, trying to ignore malcolm’s words. but malcolm’s voice echoed once more.
“you know, love is a wonderful thing. but it shows its true face when it’s tested. just a thought. who knows, you might even discover new things about your perfection.”
as a flicker of doubt lit in anna’s eyes, malcolm left the couple and walked away. the seed had been planted. now it was time to move to the next target.
-4-
malcolm wandered around the village for a while before returning to lena’s garden, where he stood admiring the colorful flowers. lena, the proud owner of the garden, approached him.
“what a beautiful garden,” said malcolm softly. “just like its owner’s beauty.”
lena’s cheeks flushed. “thank you. working with flowers brings me peace.”
malcolm bent slightly, picking a flower and holding it out to lena. “but that peace is as delicate as this flower, only understood by someone like you. to anyone else, this is just a garden.”
lena, captivated by malcolm’s words, felt something stir within her. this stranger had shown more attention to her garden and her efforts than anyone else in the village ever had.
“perhaps,” lena said, her voice trembling slightly, “even our gardens grow tired of being alone.”
malcolm smiled faintly. “loneliness is sometimes just waiting for the right person to arrive. and maybe that person is closer than we realize.”
-5-
malcolm’s next step took him to the village blacksmith’s shop. thomas was hammering iron when he gave malcolm a puzzled glance.
“stranger, what are you doing here?” thomas asked, placing his hammer on the table.
“just looking for some conversation,” malcolm replied with a friendly tone. “anna is a wonderful woman. you’re a very lucky man.”
thomas smiled. “yes, anna is amazing.”
malcolm nodded. “ah, yes. but… doesn’t perfection ever feel monotonous? always the same face, the same words, the same life. have you ever… wondered about more?”
thomas frowned. “what are you trying to say?”
malcolm shrugged innocently. “have you ever noticed how lonely lena looks in her garden? like she’s searching for something. perhaps someone like her would be much happier with a strong man like you.”
thomas chuckled nervously. “lena’s just a friend. i’d never betray anna like that.”
“of course,” malcolm said, narrowing his eyes. “but sometimes… the heart drifts to places the mind forbids.”
-6-
malcolm’s words lingered in thomas’s mind. that evening, he found himself walking toward lena’s garden. at first, it was just to admire her garden, or so he told himself. but lena’s warm smile and gentle voice drew him closer with every visit. the first few visits were entirely innocent; lena even asked for his help trimming a tree with his strong arms.
but one night, as thomas and lena sat near a flower bed, malcolm’s whispered words came back to haunt him. lena leaned slightly toward thomas.
“talking with you,” she said, “feels like i’ve found something i’ve been searching for years. anna is very lucky, you know, to have a man like you.”
thomas’s heart raced. “you… you’re very kind. but sometimes… i don’t know. life feels monotonous.”
lena seemed to seize the moment. “monotony,” she said, “feels stronger when we’re alone. but you’re not alone, are you?”
thomas swallowed hard. “your garden… it’s such a beautiful place,” he murmured. but his eyes trailed down lena’s slender figure, lingering on her waist. her dress, barely illuminated by the moonlight, clung to her hips like a gentle breeze. her every move was both powerful as a storm and soft as a whisper.
lena straightened slightly, her movement catching thomas’s attention even more. “gardens,” lena said, her fingers brushing the soil, “only thrive in the right hands. the wrong hands… let them wither.”
thomas’s mouth went dry. “your hands… they’re the right hands,” he said, almost involuntarily, his voice low and rough.
lena tilted her head, her hair cascading over her shoulders as her smooth neckline glistened in the moonlight. her eyes met thomas’s, a glint of invitation within them. “maybe,” she said with a sly warmth, “your strong hands would also find use in this garden.”
thomas’s fists clenched instinctively. the muscles in his arms tensed at lena’s words. his strong arms, which had always carried wood and hammered iron, had never trembled like this at a woman’s touch. lena’s gaze followed the line of his arms from his elbows to his fingertips. her lips parted slightly. “your arms… strong enough to carry a woman.”
thomas tried to resist the pull of lena’s words. but every move, every syllable wrapped around his soul like a chain. when lena shifted her knees slightly to the side near the flower bed, her dress slipped just enough to reveal more. thomas’s gaze fell to her hips, the curve beneath the fabric drawing him further into confusion.
“thomas,” lena said, her voice like a soft breeze but with the authority of a command, “why are you so tense? is it… me? do i make you uneasy?”
thomas unclenched his fists and took a deep breath. “no,” he said, his voice breaking. “you… mesmerize me.”
lena chuckled lightly, placing her hand on his strong shoulder. “perhaps,” lena said, letting her hand drift toward his neck, “being mesmerized is a new feeling for you? but i shouldn’t make you feel bad.”
thomas shuddered under her touch. lena’s fingers traced his neck gently, her warmth more real than anything else in the world. in that moment, anna’s face faded away. lena’s presence, her touch, and her gaze were overwhelming enough to make him forget everything.
the distance between them vanished. for a moment, thomas tried to step back, but lena’s hand found his and held it. their eyes met. the silence was heavier than the sound of the wind around them. and then, thomas took a step forward. his gaze slid down lena’s face, filled with resolve, and he kissed her. thomas wrapped lena’s lithe, supple body in his arms. lena leaned against his strong chest, exhaling softly. the night’s quiet was filled only with the echoes of their heartbeats. the moonlight, once an innocent observer, now became a veil over a forbidden closeness.
-7-
it was one of the village’s quiet evenings.
as the sunset bathed the village in golden light, anna and thomas sat on their porch with cups of coffee in hand. malcolm emerged from the nearby bushes, walking toward the veranda. his hands were clasped behind his back, his head slightly tilted, giving the air of a curious wanderer.
“what a beautiful evening,” he said, his voice smooth and calm. “and what a beautiful couple… watching you brings peace to the heart. did you know the whole village wishes to be like you?”
anna and thomas exchanged puzzled glances. there was something unsettling about this stranger’s energy. but they smiled politely.
“thank you,” thomas said with a slight unease. “yes, we’re happy. everything is as it should be.”
malcolm nodded. “yes, it certainly seems so. but i wonder… is truth always enough for happiness, or do small lies sometimes make it better?”
the smile on anna’s face faded slightly. “what are you trying to say?”
malcolm sat casually on the edge of the veranda, as if he were an old family friend. “oh, just a thought. you know, people sometimes hide the truth to protect their love. for example…” he turned his gaze to thomas. “thomas, have you always told anna everything?”
thomas hesitated for a moment. his eyes darted between malcolm and anna. “of course. there are no secrets between us.”
malcolm chuckled, his tone tinged with mockery. “how wonderful. but people aren’t perfect, are they? sometimes, even with the best intentions, secrets grow.”
anna’s voice sharpened. “if you know something, say it.”
malcolm gestured dismissively. “oh, no, i know nothing. but perhaps, thomas, you’d like to tell anna that you weren’t working late at the workshop last week?”
thomas’s face paled. “what… what do you mean?”
anna frowned, turning to her husband. “thomas, where were you last week?”
thomas couldn’t find his voice. malcolm, meanwhile, was smiling faintly, almost as if savoring the moment.
under anna’s insistent gaze, thomas finally muttered, “nothing happened. i just… i just needed some time alone.”
anna stepped back, her expression a mix of disappointment and confusion. “you lied to me? why did you need to be alone?”
malcolm laughed softly. “perhaps he wasn’t alone.”
thomas shot to his feet, anger flaring. “that’s enough! who are you to question us?”
but at that moment, anna’s eyes were no longer on malcolm—they were fixed on thomas. “thomas,” she said slowly, “you lied to me. and now, i’m wondering if this man is telling the truth. were you alone that night?”
thomas didn’t respond immediately. but his silence said everything.
-8-
anna could no longer bear thomas’s strange behavior. in the twilight of the evening, she quietly followed him. thomas walked down a narrow path leading out of the village. anna trailed a few steps behind, trying to control her breathing. the path led to lena’s garden. and there… she saw it.
thomas was standing in lena’s garden. lena, surrounded by flowers, had her hand on thomas’s shoulder. the space between them was gone. on lena’s face was that sly, warm smile. and in thomas’s eyes, there was a sparkle anna hadn’t seen in years.
as she watched, a wave of fury surged within anna. her hands trembled, her breath quickened. and before she could stop herself, a scream escaped her lips.
“thomas!”
thomas and lena jolted, turning to face her. anna stormed toward the garden, her face streaked with tears but burning with rage.
“you!” she shouted, pointing a finger at thomas. “you left me to come here? for her?”
thomas opened his mouth, but no words came. lena, trying to remain calm, stepped back. “anna, you’ve misunderstood…” she whispered.
“misunderstood?” anna’s voice cracked as she yelled. “i’ve spent years devoted to you, and behind my back… you come to her garden?”
-9-
anna sat on a bench, tears streaming down her face. but this wasn’t ordinary crying. every tear was a brick in the wall of her growing fury. she didn’t yet understand this new emotion building within her; only malcolm could see the fire igniting inside. he sat down beside her silently, waiting for her tears to stop.
after a while, anna spoke, her voice hoarse and trembling but carrying a tone of determination. “they… they destroyed me. took my heart and crushed it. but what can i do? nothing…”
malcolm finally broke his silence. his voice was calm, but each word dripped like venom. “nothing? anna, are you going to bow down to those who crushed you? while they ruin your life, will you just stand and watch?”
anna lifted her head, her eyes red. but the anger now spread across her face, infecting every feature. “but… what can i do? i can’t kill him. i can’t destroy lena.”
malcolm smiled faintly. “who said anything about killing? sometimes, there are far more creative ways to make people feel the consequences of their actions. to shatter their perfect little world.”
anna tried to make sense of his words, but malcolm pressed on. “they gave you fire, anna. burned you to ashes. so, why not release that fire? let it out.”
-9-
the next day, malcolm found edgar by the old stone wall. this time, he spoke in a different tone—more friendly, more genuine. “edgar,” he said, as though making small talk, “have you ever felt truly powerful?”
edgar, gazing absently at the stick he was carving, replied, “powerful? i… i don’t know what that means. i just do my work. it’s all i’ve ever done.”
malcolm nodded. “you do your work, yes. but why? do people thank you? do they even notice you? or are you just a shadow, lost in the background?”
edgar hesitated, his hands slowing. but he still didn’t speak. malcolm knew he had him. he continued, “sometimes, a shadow can become light. but first, it has to burn something.”
edgar frowned. “burn something? what are you talking about?”
malcolm looked into his eyes. “justice, edgar. in this world, people only understand pain when they feel it themselves. it’s time to disrupt their peace.”
that night, malcolm brought anna and edgar together. it was an unprecedented meeting in the village. two broken souls, molded into tools by malcolm’s hands. but every tool needed to be sharpened.
“look,” malcolm said, spreading his arms. “their world is perfect. but that perfection is built on your suffering. so why not shake their world? why not restore balance?”
anna hesitated. “but… how? we can’t kill them. i could never do such a thing.”
malcolm, a sly smile spreading across his face, replied, “who said anything about killing? everything has an end. their house is the symbol of their life. if you destroy that house, you destroy them.”
edgar finally spoke, his voice still uncertain but carrying a spark of awakening. “but… how? how do we do it?”
malcolm’s smile widened. “it’s simple. an old barrel of oil, dry branches. and a little courage. a single spark will do.”
that night, edgar and anna stood outside thomas and lena’s house. in their hands were dry branches, oil-soaked rags, and an old barrel of oil. malcolm watched them from a distance, his eyes gleaming with pride, as if witnessing his masterpiece come to life.
anna lit a torch with trembling hands. “i… i’m still not sure. what if… what if we get caught?”
malcolm stepped closer, his voice a whisper in her ear. “the only thing that can catch you in this world, anna, is your own fear. let it go. this is your moment of freedom.”
edgar took the torch from her. he hesitated for a moment. but malcolm’s gaze filled him with courage. when he dropped the torch onto the oil-soaked branches, the flames roared to life.
screams from inside the house filled the night. thomas and lena struggled to escape, but the fire had already consumed them. from a distance, anna watched the scene unfold, tears streaming down her cheeks. but this time, there was a hint of relief in her tears.
malcolm stood silently behind her, a victorious smile on his face. “this world,” he whispered, “belongs to those who create their own justice.”
-10-
in the midst of darkness, malcolm stood gazing at the ruins he had left behind in the village. his expression bore neither regret nor triumph. beneath his feet lay the remnants of life, scattered like ashes swept by the wind. suddenly, the sky split open, and a beam of light descended upon him. god’s voice echoed between the heavens and the earth.
“malcolm,” god said. “what have you done? you entered these people’s lives, turned them against each other, and plunged their harmony into chaos. such power was never yours to wield.”
malcolm smirked faintly, his gaze fixed on the light. “never mine?” he retorted. “didn’t i, too, come from your hands? if i am flawed, then those flaws are of your making. i did not turn people against each other; i reminded them of who they are. because this so-called perfect harmony you cherish—it was suffocating their souls.”
god’s voice turned harsher. “i gave them a gift: harmony. and you destroyed it. your chaos did not free them; it only deepened their chains.”
malcolm bowed his head slightly, though not in submission, but in defiance. “harmony, you say? what kind of harmony? a mindless existence, oblivious to their own essence? humanity does not thrive on order alone but on conflict, too. i gave them conflict.”
for a moment, god remained silent. then his voice rang out again, softer but resolute. “evil only consumes itself, malcolm. you claim to have given them conflict, but you gave them no purpose. your chaos brings only destruction. their souls have dissolved in the void you created.”
malcolm raised his head, his smirk now tinged with indifference. “evil, as you call it, isn’t a void. it’s a movement. a challenge to the arrogant silence of goodness. i showed them that perfection is nothing more than an illusion. humans make mistakes, god. because mistakes are the purest form of existence.”
god’s voice faltered briefly, then resumed. “mistakes are not existence—they are contradictions of it. your mistakes didn’t guide them; they blinded them. the darkness in their souls has grown, fueled by your games. you led them not to self-discovery, but to self-destruction.”
malcolm inhaled deeply before replying. “your so-called perfection chained their souls. humanity doesn’t exist solely in light but in shadows as well. i showed them their shadows. because under your light, they were all the same. no differences, no conflict. they were drowning.”
god’s light dimmed momentarily. “perfection is indeed a burden,” he admitted, his tone heavy with sorrow. “but your flaws didn’t liberate them. they destroyed them. the darkness within them turned them against one another. you didn’t bring salvation, malcolm. you started a fire. and every fire eventually suffocates in its own ashes.”
malcolm’s gaze pierced the darkness before him. “and what rises from ashes, god? rebirth, isn’t it? humanity learns to rise again from the ashes. your overly pristine world could never teach them that. only my chaos could teach them how to be reborn.”
this time, god’s voice grew deeper. “and what of you, malcolm? what have you gained from this game? you drove humanity into oblivion, but what have you become? are you a creator of destruction, or just a pitiful shadow lost in your own darkness?”
malcolm chuckled faintly. “did i win? no. but neither did you. because your so-called perfect world eventually had to face me. evil is the contradiction of good. but it’s also where good finds its meaning. without me, what would your light even be for?”
god paused. then his voice softened, carrying an almost compassionate tone. “perhaps you are a necessity, malcolm. but remember, evil always destroys itself. and in the end, only light remains.”
a faint smile played across malcolm’s lips. “perhaps,” he murmured. “but remember this, god: where there is light, there is always shadow. and a shadow can never be fully erased.”
