Night woke up.

  ...Where was he?

  He looked around him. There was darkness. Endless darkness. Almost as if a black wind surrounded him.

  He looked at himself - he was still wearing his usual clothes. Purple hoodie, black trousers, all the same.

  Then where the hell was he?

  He took a few steps in a random direction. Nothing happened.

  Night took another few steps in a different direction. Nothing happened.

  Wait, how did he even get here?

  He thought back—not that there was much to think back to. He remembered his home and his family.

  Wasn't there an explosion?

  Night screamed out into the darkness. His voice didn't echo; it faded out, as if the world didn't care about him at all.

  He tried to reason with himself. He thought you can't just teleport somewhere; there has to be a process to get to that location. This isn't a normal place. Is this magic? Has to be. But why? Who would care about a non-magic like me? Who would bother?

  He stopped.

  Somewhere in the darkness, there was something else. Walking towards him, before disappearing, before reappearing somewhere else.

  He peered closer.

  Something was out there.

  Something in the shape of a man.

  

  Night woke up.

  ...Where was he?

  He first heard the gentle hum of what appeared to be a... Mana Generator? Yes, that was it. A healing type. He read about them during his long times in the school library.

  Why did he need one?

  Above him stretched a high stone ceiling. Much too grand for a hospital. He tried to get up. Immediately, he felt a wave of aches and pains wash over him. He hesitated - but ignored it and sat himself into a sitting position. It wasn't a pretty scene.

  Around him lay dozens of rows of beds, identical to his. Through their open curtains, Night could see each carried an injured passenger; A few were propped up and reading books. Some were asleep. Some were crying out in pain as people, presumably healers, rushed and flowed around them. Most were missing a limb.

  Most were missing two.

  Seeing him wake up, one of the healers scampered over from one of the other patients and approached him, quickly pulling the hanging white cloth around his bed, obstructing his view. "Oh, uhm, hello! You're... Night, am I right?" The man looked like a low-skilled healer.

  Only the cheapest for us. No offence, Night thought, shifting in the bed. "...Yes, that's me. Do you know where my family is?"

  The dark spots on the healer's shirt grew more prominent. "W-Well, erm, yes! Yes, we do..." He pulled up a series of floating runes before him and began searching through them, apparently looking for something. Looking from behind, Night could make out a few words. His name, age...

  "Why does it say orphan?" He asked quietly.

  The crappy healer quickly whisked the runes away. "Oh, um, yes! Well you see-"

  "I thought you said you know where my family is!?" Night didn't know what to feel. Anger? Sadness? Probably both. Yeah, both. Maybe envy? I don't know. Who knows? Ha, I do! No I don't. Healers don't either. Those rich Heroes don't know. Goddammit. Maybe they do know? Do you know? Is this a bad nightmare? Has to be. When can I wake up? Please wake up.

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  "Well, so, like, um, we know where they are, it's just that, um..." The healer stammered. "Basically-"

  "They're dead?" Not his fault. It's not his fault. Not his fault.

  The healer hung his head. "...Yes."

  Not his fault. Please don't blame him. Don't-

  "GET OUT!" Night cried, his dismal screech ringing through the hall.

  The healer fled, dropping his pen as he went. The hospital, infirmary, or whatever went silent for a minute. Then it recovered and returned to normal, with the cries and shouts of people filling it once more.

  The world didn't care about him at all, huh?

  

  Days went by. Maybe weeks? Night didn't know. Nor did he care. It was in a dream he slept. It was in a dream he awoke. It was in a dream he ate, before going back to sleep. The only measure of time he had was the subsiding pain - physically - and the healers telling him how his condition was improving.

  Why are they treating me so well? He thought, staring into the orange of the soup they had placed before him. Part of Night wanted to throw it at something out of an emotion he couldn't grasp, but he wouldn't waste food. His family would be appalled. Normally they get us no-magics walking and throw us out again.

  It was true. He had seen countless people ushered out, even those with missing limbs, while he received celebrity treatment. Hell, they even gave him a councillor, who was now walking towards him.

  A god damn councillor?! When everyone outside had to rebuild their barely-holding-together homes with their own two hands!? He wasn't even that bright.

  "Hello, Night!" The man wearing a white shirt sat down with is face. Well practiced.

  "...Hi." Night didn't move.

  "So, how's things? Are you thinking about the things that I told you? Are you alright?"

  "...I am not well."

  Pulling out a notepad (filled with things completely unrelated to their current situation), the man Night knew as 'Jack' sighed. "Night, you can't just want to kill every villain." He shook his head. "Remember, if you kill a killer, the number of killers in the world stays the same."

  Night turned towards him. "Kill two."

  "...What?"

  "Kill two killers."

  Jack blinked, before coughing. "N-Night, I believe you're missing my point."

  "You talked about this yesterday, right?" Night cocked his head. "If there are five killers in the room, and you kill one, there will still be five remaining."

  The man was visibly sweating. "Yes-"

  "But if you kill those killers too, how many will remain?"

  "Well..."

  "How many?" Night pressed 'Jack'.

  "...One."

  Satisfied, Night leaned back into the pillow of his bed. "Not so hard, was it?"

  Stunned, his councillor paused, before clearing his throat and flipping to a different page of his notepad. "Anyway... The results of those scans came in. The ones who are those heroes who picked you up requested."

  "..." Night was curious, but didn't show it.

  "They say... They say you're a magician."

  Night smirked. "Yeah! Of course I am."

  The councillor didn't blink.

  "Wait... For real?"

  "They say you have a magic type, but they wo- Can't, tell me what it is." Looking down, 'Jack' sighed. "Even so, being a magician, with a certified magic type, you have been granted a place at Valour academy." He glanced at Night. "Normally, whether you go or not is up to your parents, but... Yeah."

  Me? A Magician? Never. Night's head was left spinning. Is this why they're treating me so well? Just go outside and help everyone else! Can't they see all the messed-up shit outside? Stop coddling me and help rebuild someone's house!

  Unaware of his thoughts, 'Jack' continued. "So the responsibility has fallen onto you. Of course, you could refuse, but... Well, it's highly unrecommended." He stood up. "I'll leave you to think about your choice."

  As the footsteps slowly faded away, Night was left sitting, alone.

  Valour Academy? ...I shouldn't go. Night swung the cloth off his body. The bandages were still there, but he had enough injuries to know that they had all but healed. Well, mostly. That place is for the rich kids. I don't even have proper training! But Night knew it could give him something he needed.

  He had been turning a plan around in his head during the time he had been left in the hospital. It was stupidly dangerous, but he didn't care.

  He remembered the moment of the attack now. He remembered the expressions on people's faces when the dragon's shadow covered the town in darkness.

  It was pure... Fear. Terror. With screaming horror soon to follow.

  Those villains knew nothing but hunger, wiped all life from the outskirts in their search for power. And yet, they remained unsatiated.

  As for him...

  They had taken everything from him.

  Leaving nothing. Nothing but perfect hatred.

  Villains can be bastards, He thought.

  But I can be a bastard too.