On the peak of Mount Lambfall, atop a pile of sacrificial lambs and spilled natural coloured jelly beans —beans that seemed to hum with a spiteful life of their own— a black goat was born under a moonless sky. His name, whispered into the icy winds by forces unknown, was Villainese. With fire in his mismatched eyes and a heart heavy with destiny, Villainese knew one thing: he was meant to destroy the world.
But there was a problem.
Villainese, through no fault of his own, had a peculiar habit of flipping words in his mind. What he understood as "evil world" was simply "world" to him, and so he set off on his great quest, determined to rid existence of its darkness.
His first target was a decrepit village perched at the mountain’s base. The villagers, haggard and beaten by poverty, whispered tales of the "demon goat" that would one day descend to wreak havoc. Villainese, fueled by his grand mission, stood at the village gate, puffed out his fluffy black chest, and proclaimed, "I am here to destroy you!"
The villagers screamed and scattered, but a small child remained, clutching a ragged doll. "Why?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Villainese paused. He hadn't considered why. He just knew.
“To rid the world of evil!” he bleated, stamping a hoof for emphasis.
The child tilted her head. "But we’re not evil. We’re just... sad."
The goat blinked. This was unexpected. He pondered for a moment, then said, “Then I’ll destroy your sadness!”
Thus began Villainese's first unintended act of kindness. He offered the child a bean from his cursed birth mound—meant to spread malice, but apparently ineffective in small doses. She giggled as the bean sprouted into a tiny, cheerful sepian-coloured plant.
Word of Villainese’s peculiar antics spread. Everywhere he went, he announced his intent to destroy the world, only to be met with puzzled stares and requests for help. A farmer asked him to rid his fields of weeds. Villainese summoned his might, imagining destruction, but ended up pulling weeds with surprising efficiency. A lonely baker begged for a cure to her isolation; Villainese, believing he was "ending her existence," shared a meal with her instead.
Each act of destruction only brought more life and light. Villainese couldn’t understand why his efforts to obliterate the world seemed to leave it... better. But he trudged on, convinced he was making progress.
One day, as Villainese rested under a twilight sky, a crow landed beside him. “You’ve got it all wrong, you know,” the crow cawed.
“What do you mean?” Villainese asked, nibbling on a blade of grass.
“You’re destroying evil by accident. Not the world. That’s why the humans love you.”
Villainese froze. The words sank into his mind like pebbles into a pond, rippling outward. “But... I was born from hate. I’m meant to destroy.”
The crow tilted its head. “Maybe. But maybe destruction isn’t about fire and ruin. Maybe it’s about breaking cycles and building something new.”
For the first time, Villainese doubted his mission. Could it be true? Could his confused, dyslexic aspirations have been guiding him toward something greater?
The black goat sighed. He didn’t know the answer. But as the stars emerged and the world felt just a little less dark, Villainese decided he didn’t mind being wrong.
And so, Villainese’s legend grew—not as the destroyer of the world, but as the strange, kind goat who unmade evil one baby step at a time.