I didn't originally plan to write a story about a supervillain.
I definitely didn't plan to write one where the villain has better employee benefits than most real companies.
But the idea stuck.
So many stories treat villains as either monsters or misunderstood heroes waiting to be redeemed. I wanted to explore something different: a villain who knows he's a villain… and still tries to be decent anyway. Not good. Not forgiven. Just responsible.
Malachai exists because I kept asking myself a simple question:
What if the most dangerous person in the world was also the one most aware of consequences?
And then a second question followed naturally:
What if he also helped his henchmen move furniture, did taxes, and made sure everyone had dental coverage?
From there, the story became something larger than I expected.
Yes, there are battles, gods, demons, and world-ending threats. But at its heart, this story is about people trying to live in a messy world where power doesn't make things simpler—it makes them harder. Heroes struggle with expectations. Villains struggle with restraint. And sometimes the scariest person in the room is the one trying the hardest not to make things worse.
The humor matters because without it, the story would be unbearable. When you're writing about grief, responsibility, and consequence, you need moments where someone awkwardly dances, burns a cake, or accidentally becomes a community pillar despite technically being evil.
Because real people are like that.
Complicated. Contradictory. Occasionally ridiculous.
This story is also about the idea that loyalty built on respect lasts longer than loyalty built on fear, and that systems—whether heroic or villainous—are only as good as the people trying to make them work.
Mostly, though, I wrote this because I like stories where power doesn't excuse someone from responsibility. Where being dangerous doesn't mean being cruel. And where the Dark Lord might save the world… but still insists on filing the paperwork afterward.
And if there's one thing I hope comes from this story, it's that other people feel encouraged to explore ideas like this themselves. Write villains who are strange. Write villains who are silly. Write villains who worry about rent, or bake badly, or accidentally become beloved by the people they were supposed to terrify. Explore random ideas. Follow the bizarre ones. Sometimes the weird idea you almost discard is the one that becomes something meaningful.
You don't have to make villains darker to make them interesting. Sometimes making them human—or absurd—is far more fun.
And most importantly: keep going.
Stories don't become stories by being perfect. They become stories because someone kept writing even when the idea felt strange or unfinished or uncertain.
There isn't one way to tell stories about heroes or villains.
So write yours too. Make it weird. Make it sincere. Make it yours.
Thank you for reading.
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