Malachai joined Habitat for Humanity on a Tuesday.
No announcement.
No press.
No dramatic rebranding of villainy.
He filled out the form correctly.
That alone caused problems.
---
The coordinator stared at the clipboard, then at him, then at the clipboard again.
"You… live nearby?" she asked carefully.
"Yes," Malachai replied.
"You want to… volunteer."
"Yes."
She hesitated. "With… tools?"
"Yes."
Another pause. "You know this is unpaid."
"I am aware."
She sighed, checked a box, and handed him a hard hat. "Try not to intimidate the homeowners."
"I will make every effort," he said sincerely.
---
By noon, the neighborhood was buzzing.
Not with fear.
With confusion.
---
Malachai carried lumber like it weighed nothing, but he didn't show off. He waited for instruction. Asked questions. Followed local codes to the letter. When someone pointed out a better way to brace a frame, he thanked them and adjusted immediately.
He hammered nails straight.
Every time.
Someone whispered, "That's unsettling."
Someone else whispered back, "It's kind of impressive."
---
Children peeked from behind fences.
At first, they were afraid.
Then they noticed something important:
He held ladders steady.
He picked up dropped screws without comment.
He remembered names after hearing them once.
A kid finally asked, "Are you really evil?"
Malachai considered.
"I have done terrible things," he said. "I am trying to do fewer."
The kid nodded. "Okay."
And went back to playing.
---
By mid-afternoon, the house frame stood solid.
The homeowner—a woman who had lost her place during the war—stood with her hands over her mouth, eyes shining.
"I don't know how to thank you," she said.
Malachai wiped his hands on a rag. "You do not need to."
She frowned. "But you're—you know—him."
"Yes."
"And you're helping."
"Yes."
She laughed, a little hysterical. "This is going to start arguments online."
"Most things do," he replied.
---
The arguments started anyway.
---
A local news drone caught footage.
DARK LORD SEEN BUILDING HOMES
COMMUNITY DIVIDED: THREAT OR THERAPY?
Comment sections ignited.
> This is propaganda.
He's trying to launder his image.
My cousin worked with him. He really does this.
Why is he better at mutual aid than the city council?
City officials held a meeting.
"He's… technically following all regulations," one said, baffled.
"And paying for permits," another added.
"And donating anonymously," a third muttered.
Silence followed.
---
Back on-site, Malachai helped pour concrete.
Someone handed him a water bottle without thinking.
He took it. Drank. Said, "Thank you."
That might have been the most unsettling moment of all.
---
By the end of the week, he was a fixture.
He showed up early.
Left late.
Never took credit.
When asked why he was doing this here, of all places, he answered plainly:
"This is my neighborhood."
---
The local hardware store owner blinked when Malachai walked in.
"You need help finding anything?"
"Yes," Malachai said. "Drywall screws. The good ones."
The owner nodded automatically, then stopped. "Wait."
Malachai waited.
"…Aisle six," the owner said finally.
---
Captain Arienne Vale watched from a distance one afternoon, coffee in hand, jacket unmarked.
"He's building houses," she murmured.
A nearby volunteer snorted. "He's been doing that all week. Brought donuts yesterday. Didn't even eat one."
Vale smiled despite herself.
"That's restraint," she said quietly.
"No," the volunteer replied. "That's being a good neighbor."
---
Director Ilyra Chen received the report and pinched the bridge of her nose.
"He's becoming a pillar of the community," she said flatly.
An aide ventured, "Is that… bad?"
Chen stared at the photo of Malachai holding a beam steady while three volunteers secured it.
"…It's inconvenient," she said.
---
By the time the house was finished, a small crowd gathered.
Not cheering.
Not protesting.
Just watching.
Malachai stepped back as the keys were handed over. He did not linger.
The homeowner hugged him before anyone could stop her.
He froze.
Then—carefully—returned it.
---
That night, lights glowed in a home that had not existed a week earlier.
Children slept in real beds.
A roof held against the wind.
And somewhere nearby, a Dark Lord washed concrete dust from his hands, reviewed tomorrow's volunteer schedule, and set his alarm like anyone else with an early start.
The world continued to argue about what he was.
The neighborhood, meanwhile, had already decided something simpler:
He showed up.
He did the work.
He didn't ask for anything in return.
And somehow, impossibly, that made him not just a villain who lived nearby—
But a neighbor people trusted to help rebuild when things broke.
Which, depending on who you asked, was either deeply unsettling…
Or exactly what the world needed next.