S1C04: Their Reason

He turned abruptly, his fingers brushing over his forehead as though to quell the fire burning inside him, his movements jerky, controlled yet fraying at the edges.

"In the future, a war will consume everything. A war... orchestrated by the S-ranks."

"Why...?" Her voice trembled, barely a whisper. She shouldn't be hearing this. The future. It was too much for someone like her—mortal, insignificant, weak.

"Because they seek balance." His answer was cold, void of any emotion, as though the weight of the words barely touched him.

"Balance? War? That's—"

A low, almost amused chuckle filled the air.

The god stepped forward, his voice silken and sharp. "You see, little priestess... everything must be disturbed for the world to balance itself."

Slowly, he began circling her, each step deliberate, like a predator toying with a cornered prey. She flinched as the air around her thickened, her breathing shallow.

"Take the best politicians," he murmured, and with a snap of his fingers, ghostly images flickered in the darkness — smiling faces with rotting souls beneath. "A little corruption... always necessary."

She shivered as the images shifted — faster now — to artists. Broken, twisted masterpieces smeared across her vision like blood across a canvas.

"And the most celebrated artists?" the god whispered near her ear. "A little... disturbed."

The images began flashing faster—deranged eyes, screaming mouths, hands stained in colors too dark to name—until she squeezed her eyes shut against the onslaught.

And then—

Silence.

The visions vanished.

The god's smirk deepened. "The strongest hunters," he said softly, almost fondly, "are no different. Just a little insane."

He stopped behind her, so close she could feel his presence weighing down on her like a suffocating hand.

"Insanity, little priestess," he purred, "is the faithful companion of intelligence. The deeper you peer into the truth of existence, the more your mind will gnaw and claw to destroy itself."

He paused, noticing the flicker of horror crossing her face. A slow, chilling grin unfurled across his lips.

"Ohh," he crooned, almost delighted. "You're starting to see it, aren't you? I knew I chose well."

She didn't move. She couldn't.

He stepped into her view again, leaning down to meet her eyes, his smile now dripping with condescension.

"That's right. Madness grows in step with brilliance... just as it does with magic. You must think to rise among the S-Ranks," he whispered, "but thinking... comes at a price."

Abruptly, he turned his back to her now, as if speaking to the darkness itself. "The more you understand your power," his voice deepened, velvet over steel, "the more you will ascend... beyond human frailty."

His final words dripped like poison into her ears, seeping into her very soul—

"The more you will become... Godly."

Godly... Those monsters can never be close to godhood.

"I can't understand... They need to kill each other to balance the world...?" She repeated, unsure.

The god hummed, agreeing to her point. 

The god's voice dripped with scorn, his words sharp and cutting like a blade.

"Your world can't even function without a hierarchy, can it?" he sneered, his tone thick with mockery.

He paced in a slow, deliberate circle around her, every footstep echoing ominously against the marble floor. The magical glow around him pulsed with contempt, casting long shadows that clawed at the edges of the chamber.

"Hierarchy...? You said balance—" For the first time, she lifted her head. Her voice cracked, uncertain but defiant. Her eyes, hollow from exhaustion, met his—and were struck by a look so condescending it made her flinch.

He scoffed and tilted his head like a predator playing with its prey. "Oh, you humans didn't know that?" The false innocence in his voice was razor-thin.

"Ha! How shocking." He rolled his eyes and threw his arms wide in theatrical sarcasm.

"Truly, dull-witted creatures. Your sense of balance is almost laughable." He began to rise off the ground slightly, levitating as if the laws of nature didn't dare apply to him.

"It's not about standing on the same platform, not about being treated equally, like some pathetic little utopia. No, no..." He floated just above her now, radiating derision. "It's about equalizing the power between the ranks, and you couldn't even begin to grasp how that works."

He laughed—sharp and grating, like nails dragged across stone. She winced at the sound, her fingers curling against the cold floor beneath her.

"Let me break it down for you, since you clearly don't understand." He conjured ghostly figures in the air—translucent human silhouettes floating like data points. "On the lower rungs, there are the weak—oh, the poor little weaklings. A hundred of them. Together, they barely register."

The figures pulsed, then were swept aside by another set, brighter and bolder. "Then, the middle class. Stronger. A hundred more—but stronger, double the strength."

He looked at her again like she were some blind, mewling child. "What do you think the world will do to equalize all this, hmm? That's right—eliminate."

She opened her mouth to speak, but the words never came. Something in her chest sank.

"You really think you can just play around with numbers and not expect the world to balance itself?" His voice turned mocking. "Pathetic."

He descended slowly, boots striking the ground with finality. The air around him shimmered with oppressive power.

"Then, the upper class. The S-Ranks." He grinned, sharp teeth flashing. "A hundred of them. But their strength—ha, it's not linear. It's exponential. They could erase everything beneath them, and they wouldn't even sweat."

He stepped closer, the floor fracturing with each step as if his presence alone warped reality. "So, what do you think they'll do, genius? You think they'll eliminate themselves?"

She shook her head, voice barely a whisper. "No..."

"Exactly." He leaned in, eyes burning with cold, ancient cruelty. "They'll eliminate you. All of you."

His words struck like a blade. Her breath hitched, and her body trembled—not from fear, but from a creeping, hollow dread. His voice lowered, venomous and final. 

"You're not building peace. You're building a culling ground."

Then he turned his back on her. "It's the natural order," he said, walking away as his laughter echoed through the chamber, a cruel dirge that lingered in the air like smoke.

"And you were never part of it."

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