Authorial note: While parts of this story, namely the trial and the Dreamsmith's forging, do in fact take place in the World of Dreams, I have decided against the convention of italicizing such sections, because I wanted to use italics for emphasis instead. 

Malevolence approached the dark cave with characteristic confidence. He wore a black lab coat, Mordite Blade strapped to his waist. His violet eyes gleamed with anticipation as he called out.

"Are you there? I seek th-"

"I know why you are here." The voice, filled with aggression, seemed to speak from all directions at once. Before Malevolence could reply, the cave's mouth moved, shadows within twisting into knife-like teeth as it careened forwards, swallowing the young villain whole.

--

Malevolence stood in a plane of endless shifting mists. Faces form out of the darkness all around him, some unfamiliar, others terrifyingly so. One shape, with the features of Malan, formed from the shadows and spoke in Omen's voice.

"You would seek the Dreamsmith? You, a villain of the highest caliber?"

Malevolence shivered, staring into the face of a villain dead by his betrayal. "I... Yes. I know that other villains have sought out the Dreamsmith and been rewarded. Rebus, Ivisyre. While Desolation was turned away, the other more recent examples prove his desire to forge a weapon for anyone he believes can benefit from it."

Omen stared at Malevolence through the accusing eyes of a dead man. "Very well. But know this: Your trial will not be easy. And the Dreamsmith will not make a weapon merely for destruction, even if you do survive."

Malevolence hesitated. This was a gamble, perhaps a greater gamble than any he'd taken so far. To put himself into the hands of Omen, into the hands of the Dreamsmith... But it was necessary. The return of the Witherlord was imminent. The Antagonist was running free.

"This is no time for easy trials." Malevolence's confidence seemed to push back the shifting smoke, dispel the images of the dead. "I will face this trial, and overcome it. I need an edge for what is to come."

"Very well." Murmured Omen. And all went black.

--

Malevolence stood in a room that had long been seared into his memory. Before him sat a room full of children. Beside him stood a teacher. At first glance, it was an ordinary classroom. On second glance, discrepancies began to pop up. The teacher's face was covered in scars, an eyepatch covering one eye. The remaining eye that scanned the classroom held none of the care or respect that might be expected of a teacher. Instead, it held nothing but loathing and scorn for the children.

The children. Yes, that was where the differences were most apparent. The children looked to be about twelve or thirteen years old, and they did not fidget. They did not glance toward the door longingly, nor were there any conspiratorial whispers passed along the rows. The children sat at perfect attention, eyes shifting suspiciously around the room, towards their teacher, and towards their fellows.

"Ah." Malevolence whispered softly. "The School of Evil. I should have known you would bring me here. And, if I remember correctly, this is..." He scanned the classroom more carefully. "Ah, there he is." One boy was not scanning the classroom for suspicious behavior. One boy was staring at Malevolence with pleading violet eyes. A younger Malevolence, with hair not white but brown, sat before him.

"Well do I remember this day." Malevolence murmured. "Not everyone at the School was a student from infancy, as I was. Indeed, some were even child heroes before being captured and twisted into villains. I trusted one of those, fool that I was, with my plans to escape. This... was my reward." He opened his mouth to speak the words that would condemn his younger self to weeks of punishment. Not simply torture, no, not yet. He would be beaten, but not too severely. It would not do to stunt the growth of a prospective student. The teachers would declare him weak, holding onto ideals of Good. He would be reassigned to remedial classes, forced to work to exhaustion and beyond. He would eat nothing but maggot-filled bread and water for weeks on end. Nutritious, due to the genetically modified strain of maggot, but revolting. But worst of all was ostracization of the other students. None of them would come near Malevolence or even speak with him, save to insult or demean him. It would not do to be seen having empathy for the downtrodden. Indeed, the cruelty of the students, desperate to please their teachers, was far worse than any punishment they could have meted out.

"Well?" Prompted the teacher. "Speak, Inhumanity. You told me you had something to say."

Malevolence hesitated. He was in the position of Inhumanity, the student who had betrayed him. Perhaps-

Omen's voice interrupted his thoughts. "I thought you should see this through another's eyes. Look, Malevolence, and see the truth behind this child's betrayal."

--

He was in another place. A darkened room, strapped to a chair, with two teachers standing above him, a bright light shining into his eyes. "Hello Inhumanity. We heard you've been plotting escape."

"I have not!" The voice came from Malevolence's lips, a voice not his own. "And my name is not Inhumanity! My name is Eric!"

The teachers laughed dryly. "Is that so? Then what, pray tell, is this?"

The bright light dimmed, revealing a screen. A camera recording, by the look of things. It showed Malevolence and Inhumanity, lying down on their beds in a dark room. Malevolence had a tiny device plugged into an outlet on the wall, and he typed into it frantically. Eventually, he glanced at the ceiling, then smiled. He turned to Inhumanity and spoke in a hushed voice. “I think that does it. The cameras are disabled. Now I can tell you about my plan.”

The recording cut off, light returning to near-blinding intensity. The two teachers leaned in close. “Do you still deny your involvement? Or will you listen to what we have to say? If you listen well, you might just escape punishment.”

Malevolence felt a desperate spark of hope swell within his chest. Again, Inhumanity’s voice spoke through Malevolence’s lips.

“What… What do you want me to do?”

The teachers looked at one another and grinned. They began to speak, but the words faded, as did the blinding light.

All faded to darkness.

--

Malevolence stood again in the place of shifting shadows. Omen stood before him, this time taking Inhumanity’s shape.

“Do you understand now, Malevolence?”

Malevolence stood still, his mind reeling with implications.

“I… do. I… should have believed. That is how they operate. The teachers… they saw an opportunity to crush an aspiring hero, and perhaps to motivate a promising young villain with hatred.” He looked at Omen, eyes narrowing. “I see the trial now. You want me to see this, one of my foundational moments as a villain, and realize that the boy I have hated for so long was just as much a victim as I was. You want me to acknowledge that I too would have betrayed myself, in Inhumanity’s position.”

Instead of responding, Omen merely waved a hand. Shadows lengthened, and all went black.

--

Omen was back in the classroom, seeing the world through Inhumanity’s eyes. This time, he felt Inhumanity’s emotions too. Guilt, crushing guilt, flooded through him. But stronger than the guilt was the fear. The fear of punishment, the fear that he would simply be killed, too much trouble to rehabilitate. Hating himself for it, Malevolence raised his hand and pointed at younger self. The horror spreading across that face as he opened his mouth and spoke, condemning that child, himself, to a horrible fate, was too much too bear. Malevolence squeezed his eyes shut.

--

Malevolence stood before Omen in the place of shadows. A simple wooden door stood before him. This time, Omen was in his native form, one with the shadows and the smoke. “You have passed your trial.” Said he. “Through this door, the Dreamsmith is w-

“No.”

Omen froze. “…What?”

“No. I have not passed my trial.” Malevolence’s face was twisted with emotion. He stepped forward, thrust a hand into Omen’s form. “You think I am evil because of what was done to me? You think I cannot see the truth of this world, that good really does exist? You are wrong!” The shadows seemed to wrap around Malevolence as he ranted, almost like a suit of armor.  “You do not know me! You want to know why I seek evil? I WILL SHOW YOU!” Darkness rippled, a device in Malevolence’s palm activating, drawing upon Omen’s power and Malevolence’s memory.

Blackness enveloped them.

--

Omen and Malevolence stood in what looked like an ordinary doctor’s clinic. Malevolence looked younger than he was in reality, but not by much. He was perhaps seventeen years of age. Beyond the difference in years, there was a difference in how Malevolence walked, in his bearing. He was less confident, more angry. He walked with a quick step to the reception desk and spoke in a falsely cheerful voice. “Hello! I’m here for my 3 o’clock appointment. My name is Ven G. Ance.”

The vision shifted, accelerating events. Malevolence waited inside an examining room, tapping his foot on the floor. Eventually, the door opened and an old man entered. He wore a doctor’s coat, a pair of spectacles, and a kindly smile. That smile vanished as soon as the door was closed, replaced by a villainous smirk.

“So.” He said in a voice colder than ice. “The escapee in the flesh. You think I’m not ready for you? Please. “Ven G. Ance”. Standards must be dropping if idiots like you are escaping my school.” He raised his voice. “Protocol alpha.”

As the evil doctor laughed maniacally, mechanical arms shot from the walls… then grabbed him. He gasped in shock and pain as the arms forced him to his knees before Malevolence, who stood up, a sneer building on his face.

“I hacked your system before I ever stepped foot in this building.” Malevolence gloated. “Now, will you beg for your life? Perhaps if you do, I will make this quick.”

The old man struggled briefly, then stopped. Then he looked Malevolence in the face and laughed. “Beg? Please. I am content with my legacy. Hundreds, even thousands of lives ruined by me! You may kill me, but every graduate from my school, every villain inspired and created by me will continue my work.” He continued laughing, even as he was ripped apart by the arms.

Malevolence turned to Omen, body and demeanor shifting into his present-day self. “I killed Inhumanity first, you know. He begged for his life. Told me he’d never meant to hurt me, told me he’d been forced to by the teachers. I didn’t believe him. But now… Yes, now I see.” He forced his mouth into a twisted grin. “You want to know why I seek evil? The answer is simple. In evil, there is freedom. When I have achieved my goal, I will be able to laugh, no matter my fate.”

Omen hovered silently. The device on Malevolence’s hand cracked, then dissolved into nothing.

“You are a fool. You could have been lost in this world forever if that device had not worked properly. However… the trial has still been passed. Step through the door, and speak to the Dreamsmith.”

Omen gestured angrily, and the doorway reappeared.

Malevolence stepped through the doorway without further comment.

--

Malevolence stepped into the Dreamsmith’s workshop. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he walked across the dimly lit room, approaching the forge and anvil where the Dreamsmith waited.

The Dreamsmith stood at the villain’s approach, blazing eyes contemplative. “Hello Malevolence. What sort of weapon shall I make for you?”

Malevolence reached down to his side and drew his Mordite blade. He levelled this weapon at the Dreamsmith, then set it down on the anvil. “I acquired this blade during a brief alliance with some particularly dangerous rabbits. However… I am mortal, and despite my technology, lack the ability to use this blade properly. I understand that you are capable of manipulating the soul more expertly than any? Well, my soul is rather ordinary, in terms of power. So I wish you instead to bond my soul to that Blade, allowing me to safely tap into some of the destructive powers of the Mordite.”

The Dreamsmith blinked. “You want me to bond a Mordite blade to your soul? Safely? That is…” He cocked his head. Yes, it was a near impossible task. But perhaps… Inspiration struck, and The Dreamsmith nodded. “Very well. I shall do as you ask.”

And so the Dreamsmith set to work.

He closed his eyes, examining Malevolence’s soul carefully. He found that for once, Malevolence had told the truth. His soul was twisted and warped by evil, and there were some odd residues from the various powers the villain had meddled with, but there was nothing within Malevolence which the Dreamsmith could forge into a weapon worthy of its own ambition. Eyes still closed, the Dreamsmith looked down at the Mordite sword before him, seeing clearly the cruel power contained within. Corruptive power, eager to destroy. The Dreamsmith felt an ache in his shoulder just looking at the terrible blade, but opened his eyes and raised his hammer nonetheless.

First, the weapon’s form. The blade before the Dreamsmith already had a form, but he did not find it particularly suited to Malevolence. So instead, he looked up at Malevolence once again. To his eyes, the twisted soul within seemed to resemble… yes. The Dreamsmith brought his hammer down upon the Mordite, sending a *CRACK* of power through the room. His hammer rebounded, nearly ripping itself from the smith’s grasp. The Dreamsmith grunted, readjusting his hammer and gathering his strength, burning eyes flaring with intense heat. He struck again, then again, then again, hammer burning with a red heat matching that of his eyes. The blade resisted. reality rejecting the touch of a dream, but the Dreamsmith was relentless. Each blow of his hammer poured more power into the blade, ordering it to change to his liking. Soon, the Mordite began to glow with a dark light, cracks forming along its surface. The Dreamsmith struck one final blow, and the sword shattered, deadly Mordite shards shooting out in all directions.

The Dreamsmith held up a hand and the shards froze in midair, several merely inches from skewering the watching Malevolence. He made a fist, and the shards coalesced, fusing together to form a dagger. The shards fit together well enough to make a point, but the jagged edges and gaps formed together in such a way to create barbs that would make removing the dagger near impossible.

Satisfied with the Form of the dagger, the Dreamsmith moved to his next task. The weapon’s power. This task was both simple and terribly dangerous. For the blade already had power, a terrible, corruptive power of darkness. To bond such a blade to Malevolence’s soul would doom him to a pitiable fate, a slow descent into darkness. But the Dreamsmith had just the tool for such a job. He reached down and pulled forth a four-pointed medallion, holding it over the dagger. He thought of Platypus, the chimeric being of many powers. And so, he reached within the dagger’s soul and, ever so carefully, commanded it to change. A small, delicate change. A shifting of alignments at the core of the blade’s being, a tiny instability in the blade’s essence. Carefully, gently, he pulled a strand of power from that core, a single weak point by which the dagger’s essence could be transformed.

Lastly, the name. The Dreamsmith reached into Malevolence’s soul, placing the strand of power from the dagger there. The name would be a link between the villain’s soul and the dagger’s power, a seal upon the dagger, making it immutable to any influence save that imbued by the shape and essence of Malevolence’s soul. “This dagger,” The Dreamsmith said solemnly, “is changeable. Just as your soul is changeable, just as your path is changeable. So too, the name shall be changeable. To change this blade, , you need only change yourself.” He looked directly into Malevolence’s violet eyes. Eyes that burned with evil zeal. “And Malevolence, you can change yourself. I will not try to convince you of it, but there will come a time when you question, when you have a chance to be other than evil. When that time comes, remember my words. Remember this blade.” The Dreamsmith reached out, pressing the sword into Malevolence’s hands. “I name this blade ‘Cowardice’. For it is the blade of a coward, of a man who hides from pain, a man whose greatness is based on deception and backstabbing.” At his words, the connection was completed. Cowardice and Malevolence became one.

Malevolence examined Cowardice, feeling power flood into him. He looked back towards the Dreamsmith. “I can’t dismiss it.”

The Dreamsmith shrugged. “You wanted it to be safe. Where do you think that Mordite would go if you dismissed it? It can’t safely be stored within your soul, like my other blades that can be dismissed.”

Malevolence nodded in acceptance, expression inscrutable. Thank you, Dreamsmith. I will put this Blade to good use.” He turned and walked out of the workshop, lab coat tails billowing out behind him.

The Dreamsmith watched Malevolence go with a somber expression. Did I he wondered, do the right thing? The Dreamsmith had made many weapons, but, for once, he feared how this one would be used.

His eyes shifted towards a darkened corner of the workshop. “I know you are there. How you got in here without Omen noticing you, I have no idea. But I know why you are here.”

Slowly, hesitantly, the traveler stepped out of the darkness.

To Be Continued