The knight in the big world of American TV series

Chapter 2354

Without exchanging any words, the two started fighting immediately.

This is completely contrary to theatrical aesthetics!

Many people have probably encountered this situation while watching movies: the villain finally has the hero under his feet, weapon pointed at his head. Just as pulling the trigger will end everything—he suddenly launches into a heartfelt recollection of his childhood trauma! He passionately discusses social injustice! He even pulls out his phone to show the hero a PowerPoint presentation about his revenge!

result……

The hero turned the tables and successfully turned the tables.

You were so angry you almost slammed a potato chip onto the screen: "Can you just stop talking and start shooting?!"

Don't rush to conclusions. This "villain is bound to lose" script trope isn't just something the screenwriters are collectively being lazy about. Behind it lies a secret deep within human nature.

When we rant and rave about what's on screen, we're actually overlooking a fundamental fact—stories need winners, and winners must be good guys. A protagonist with unlimited power throughout? That's children's animation. The villain laughs last? That's horror. The essence of film and television is creating dreams, and human dreams need the sense of security that good and evil are ultimately rewarded.

Look at these statistics: 97% of films and television dramas end with the villain failing.

More than 50% of viewers explicitly stated that they would feel bad if the villain won.

This is not just a rule, but a fundamental human psychological need. As one netizen said, "If demons and monsters succeeded in Journey to the West, how terrible would the world be? There would be those who drink human blood and demand young boys and girls. How could we live like this?" We need this sense of certainty that "justice may be delayed, but it will arrive."

Besides, do you think the villains don't want a quick victory? They simply can't control their urge to vent. There's a key concept in psychology called cognitive dissonance—when people act against their own self-perception, they experience excruciating pain.

Imagine the life of an assassin: raised from childhood to believe that "killing is wrong," yet now he himself is killing people. His brain thinks, "This doesn't make sense!"

To avoid going insane, villains must rationalize their crimes. Like Smith in *The Matrix*, who compares humanity to a virus and euphemistically calls his killings "purifying the earth." This incessant sermon is essentially a form of self-help psychotherapy. At a deeper level, they need to be "seen." Like the New York serial killer "Son of Sam," who proactively wrote to the media after committing his crimes; in reality, 75% of murderers return to crime scenes, even speaking to corpses. Why? Because "only the dead never betray themselves." This twisted loneliness inevitably erupts on the eve of victory.

You think he lost because he talked too much? Actually, he lost because he was "too human".

Top villains often resonate more deeply than protagonists because they expose the darker aspects of human nature: The Joker (The Dark Knight) sees through the hypocrisy of society: "Madness is like gravity, a gentle push is enough." The chaos he creates is the ultimate mockery of an orderly society.

Littlefinger (from Game of Thrones) climbed from the bottom to the Iron Throne: "Chaos is not a bottom, it is a ladder." He is just like us, who become corrupted after being battered and bruised in the workplace.

These villains embody the shadow of collective repression. As one viewer poignantly put it, "Who hasn't fantasized about being as willful as a villain? They dare to overturn tables and retaliate, living the kind of life we ​​wouldn't dare to live." Precisely because of this, their failures become our safety valve—releasing our dark desires without having to pay a price.

Why do we insist that good people win?
The truth might be a little harsh: the more stifling reality is, the more film and television need a bright ending. When young people complain about workplace injustice, housing prices crushing love, and the endless cycle of relentless competition, the arrival of justice on screen becomes a compensatory outlet. As one netizen lamented, "Living in such dire straits, if even justice can't be found in dramas, how desperate must people be?" The existence of villains doesn't just drive the plot; it's also an outlet for societal emotions. When we applaud the Joker's madness and breathe a sigh of relief at his defeat, we are essentially testing our own dark side within a safe zone.

Therefore, the subtext of the villain's inevitable defeat is actually—"Please believe that even in the most chaotic world, there are still bottom lines."

Even if it only applies in the story.

Next time you see a villain commit suicide on the eve of victory, don't rush to blame the screenwriter. That absurd deathbed speech might be the character using their life to ask you—if we set aside all rules, who do we really want to be? And the gun the protagonist raises ultimately doesn't shatter the villain's head, but rather a beam of light shining into our hearts: everyone has the urge to indulge in darkness, but choosing the light always requires more courage.

Of course, this is just a drama.

Drama is not reality.

Drama needs villains, but reality doesn't.

Why must there be villains in movies and TV dramas? Because conflict drives the plot forward, and controversy creates interest.

Villains typically embody goals and motivations that oppose those of the protagonist, creating dynamism and tension in the story. For example, in the classic *Hamlet*, Claudius is a quintessential villain whose desires and schemes drive the entire plot. Villains can also highlight and accentuate the protagonist's traits. Through the struggle against the villain, the protagonist's courage, wisdom, or kindness are showcased. In the *Star Wars* series, Darth Vader is a powerful villain whose presence further underscores Luke Skywalker's heroism and justice. Furthermore, villains add complexity to the story and increase audience emotional engagement. Viewers often feel anger or unease due to the villain's evil deeds, and this emotional response enhances their sense of participation and immersion in the story. Therefore, villains play a crucial role in drama; they are not only drivers of the story but also focal points of emotion and visual interest.

But reality is not a drama.

It's even more... chaotic!
There's a saying that goes, "Stories need logic, but reality doesn't!"
Literature requires logic, especially in character development, setting, and plot construction. This logic largely originates from real life; in other words, literary logic is an artistic representation of real-life logic, but it is not entirely equivalent to real-life logic. Literary creation involves designing plots, the time, place, and characters, as well as the cause, process, and result of the story, all following a logical order. Even the internal language relies on logic; it cannot be disjointed or nonsensical. The connections between different time periods, plot development, character changes, and environmental shifts all depend on logic. Of course, there is also the unifying thread. This thread can be a person, an object, or even a shift in time or place, all driven by logic. As for narrative style, whether chronological, flashback, or interspersed, it all requires logical support; otherwise, the story will fall apart and become unreadable. These literary logics originate from the logic of real life, not from mere imagination or fabrication. Even science fiction works are written according to certain logic, fictionalizing scenes, characters, and plots from real life, but they also have innovations, creating a fictional logic independent of the logic of life. For example, Kafka's *The Metamorphosis* begins with the protagonist being transformed into a giant beetle and unable to leave his home. This absurd situation seems to be the starting point of absurd logic, a unique logic of development, although this logic still bears the shadow of real-life logic. The room, the characters, the beetle, and people's attitudes towards him are all based on real-life logic, not deviating too much, but the opening provides a fictional logical starting point, from which it develops, leading to an absurd process and ending. Another example is Joseph Heller's *Catch-22*, where the protagonist faces the logic of the Air Force: only the insane can be exempted from flying, but they must apply for it. Once you apply, it proves you are a sane person, yet you are still doomed. Catch-22 also stipulates that pilots can return home after flying 25 sorties. However, the regulations emphasize that you must absolutely obey orders, or you cannot return home. Therefore, superiors can continuously increase the number of flights a pilot can take, and you cannot disobey. This cycle repeats endlessly. Behind this absurd logic lies the cruelty and ruthlessness of reality, and it certainly doesn't escape the underlying logic of reality. While the author seems to have created a unique set of logic, it actually originates from real life—perhaps it's a part that originates from reality but transcends it.

Sometimes, deep thinking reveals hidden commonalities among many things. Take the meaning of life as an example; this question actually explores the essence of "meaning." We find that meaning is something humans assign, not something animals can understand. Although animals may crave food, they don't assign meanings like "sustaining life" or "bringing pleasure" to food like humans do. Similarly, people's preferences for food are subjective. While some may find a certain food incredibly delicious, there will always be others who disagree. This subjectivity is particularly evident in defining the meaning of things. For example, foods like stinky tofu, durian, or houttuynia cordata may be unpalatable to many, but delicious to others.

In conclusion, meaning is largely subjectively defined. When creating stories, we must adhere to this principle, ensuring their logic and plausibility. At the same time, when describing reality, we must recognize that some phenomena in the real world, though seemingly unbelievable, are indeed real.

Just like in many stories about "mahjong," authors often create extremely lucky hands to enhance the plot, even though the probability of such hands occurring in real life is extremely low. In fact, these fictional scenarios are often even more absurd in reality. For example, in a Japanese (or world-class) mahjong tournament, someone won with a "Kokushi Musou" hand in the first few rounds—a hand with a probability of only 027%, and an even lower probability of actually winning. Yet, reality is amazing; this actually happened in the competition, shocking everyone present. Similar situations occur in other fields. For instance, the yo-yo tricks and special effects shown in the TV series "Fireball Boys" were initially thought to be impossible. However, when they accidentally saw videos of yo-yo competitions, they discovered that real-life yo-yo skills and performances were even more outrageous than those in the TV series. This further confirms a principle: when people talk about logic, they are often talking about their subjective understanding of logic. You subjectively believe a certain scenario won't happen, and if it does, it's illogical. But this "illogicality" is limited to your subjective perception, not reality itself. Reality often creates incredible possibilities, and these possibilities naturally conform to the logic of reality. Feeling something is illogical simply means our own logic cannot explain its occurrence. Let's return to the beginning of this article: many things share certain commonalities. These commonalities reveal that although we seem to live in reality, we often live in a world full of subjectivity. We confuse our personal subjective judgments with the objective existence of reality, thus creating the illusion that "my judgment is the objective fact." This illusion leads us to mistakenly believe that our judgment is the only correct one, resulting in the misconception that "reality doesn't need logic." However, the truth is that reality still needs logic, but it doesn't need the logic we personally hold; rather, it needs a broader, more objective logic.

Nar and Ger are examples of this.

Nar could, of course, spout a whole bunch of nonsense to justify doing all this.

He is Knull, the void of the universe. It is only natural for him to pull the universe back into nothingness; it is a responsibility he has borne since the universe's birth, just as a plant, once it touches the ground, naturally absorbs nutrients and sunlight to grow. The title "God of Darkness" was originally given to him by others. He does not represent darkness; he is simply doing what he should do, and what is reasonable and justifiable…

But the problem is, Ger won't accept it!

In reality, no living being in the universe could accept such a reasonable explanation!

So it's all for nothing.

The same goes for Ger; he could naturally righteously denounce Nar, recounting his own tragic experiences and Nar's cold-heartedness.

and then?
Nar doesn't care!
They wouldn't feel they had done anything wrong.

He doesn't even care about himself, so why would he care about a nobody like Geer?

So there's no point in talking about it, let's just get straight to the point.

The fight between the two... could hardly be called a fight; it was more like two wild beasts desperately tearing at each other.

This is actually true.

As mentioned before.

This is not a clash between two great powers.

It is a battle of wills.

It is the most primitive and purest collision.

There aren't many fancy or complicated things.