The Best Villains Think They’re the Heroes

And Sometimes, So Do We

There’s something delicious about a villain who truly believes they’re saving the world. Not twirling a mustache. Not cackling in a tower (though I’ve written both, and they are fun to write). But sincerely convinced that their actions—however monstrous—are necessary, even noble. That’s where the magic happens. That’s when a villain stops being a cartoon and starts getting under your skin.

As an aside, season two of the Harry Strange Radio Drama had my favorite villain in Brother Sordeo played by the devilish sounding (but very nice man) Dennis Coburn. Not only was Sordeo convinced his actions were noble, he outlined them in a Power Point presentation. Sordeo delivered the line “next slide, please,” with such dripping malice that I hear him each time a presenter in Corporate America utters those same words. But I digress.

The best villains don’t just challenge the protagonist. They challenge us.

They make us squirm because—just for a moment—we see their point.

Magneto wasn’t wrong.

Erik Lehnsherr, better known as Magneto, is one of the greatest examples of the morally gray villain who sees himself as a freedom fighter. A survivor of the Holocaust, he’s not paranoid about human nature—he’s experienced it. When he says that humanity will never accept mutants, you can’t dismiss it as melodrama. You might not agree with his methods, but you understand them.

That’s the key.

Great villains make us question whether we’d act differently in their shoes.

Killmonger wanted justice.

In “Black Panther”, Erik Killmonger’s ideology is rooted in generational pain. His rage results from abandonment, injustice, and the cold indifference of a nation that could have helped but didn’t. He doesn’t want to destroy the world—he wants to empower the oppressed.

When he says, “Bury me in the ocean with my ancestors who jumped from ships, because they knew death was better than bondage,” it’s not a villain speaking. It’s a man who never had a chance to be anything but a villain.

And that’s why it hits hard.

Walter White thought he was providing for his family.

At least at first. “Breaking Bad” gave us a front-row seat to a transformation—from desperate chemistry teacher to drug kingpin. Walt insists he’s doing it all for his family, long after that lie has expired. And even when he finally admits he did it for himself, there’s a part of us that gets it. He was overlooked. Underappreciated. He wanted to feel powerful—for once.

What makes Walter White terrifying is how normal his descent feels. He’s not a comic book supervillain. He’s a guy who made one terrible choice, and then kept going.

And so might we.

Thanos wanted balance.

That’s the line he fed himself, and—surprisingly—a lot of viewers. Wiping out half the universe isn’t great PR, but the Mad Titan is calm, methodical, and shockingly philosophical. He doesn’t monologue with rage. He speaks with the weary resignation of someone who truly believes they’re making the hard choices no one else will.

The scariest part? A disturbing number of people walked out of “Infinity War” saying, “Well… he’s got a point.”

The most dangerous villains have conviction.

They don’t just commit evil acts—they do so with purpose. They have reasons. Often rooted in trauma. In logic. In twisted versions of justice. And that makes them powerful narrative tools. Because a villain who thinks they’re the hero will never stop. They’ll sacrifice anything. Anyone. Because they believe the end justifies it all.

These characters force us to confront hard questions:

• What would we do with power?

• How far would we go for justice?

• At what point does righteousness become tyranny?

Colonel Jessup said it best in “A Few Good Men,”: “You don’t want the truth because deep down in places you don’t talk about at parties, you want me on that wall—you need me on that wall.”

It’s a chilling line because he believes it. He’s not just defending his actions—he’s justifying his very existence. Jessup sees himself as the last line of defense between order and chaos, a necessary evil who does the dirty work so others can sleep soundly. And for a split second, as he stares down the courtroom, we’re forced to ask: Do we? That’s the hallmark of a compelling villain—not that they make us hate them, but that they make us hesitate.

In the end, the best villains hold up a mirror.

Not to the hero—but to us. They show us how easy it is to cross the line when you believe you’re doing the right thing. They make us question where the hero ends and the villain begins. And that discomfort? That’s where the story sticks.

So next time you meet a villain who makes you nod—just a little—don’t panic.

That’s exactly what they want.

And maybe, that’s what makes them great.

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Tony Sarrecchia