S1C05: The Solution

She flinched, her lips parting, desperate to cling to some argument, any escape. "All the more reason I shouldn't be the one for this," she said, voice sharp with rising panic.

But he only laughed, short and bitter. "No."

The word cracked through the air like a whip.

"That," he said, tilting his head as if amused by her naivety, "is exactly why you should."

His smile was calm—too calm. A thin, cruel thing stretched across a face carved by divine indifference.

He stared down at her like a cat watching a dying mouse, one paw already pressed to her throat. "You've already surrendered, haven't you?" he asked, his tone indulgent. "Accepted your fate. Good. It makes things easier."

Then he crouched, bringing himself eye-level, close enough that the cold of him sucked the warmth from the space between them. "Let me explain your role, little priestess."

His voice softened, took on a sickly sweetness, like sugar coating a slow-acting poison. "Your task is simple."

Visions flickered behind his words—monsters and men alike, their limbs bound in golden chains, their snarling mouths muzzled by something unseen. They fought, strained, raged—and yet were tethered. By her.

"All you have to do..." he whispered, lips curled in something too close to fondness, "...is catch them."

"Snare them in promises. Bind them to a purpose. Force them to find peace," he said, trailing his fingers lazily through the air, weaving invisible threads between them. "Make them swear loyalty to the same dream."

His smile widened, almost boyish in its cruelty.

"So they stop tearing each other apart... not because they've changed—" He leaned in, breath brushing her skin, "—but because they'll all be too busy protecting the same thing."

Her breath caught. The weight of it pressed down on her, as if the world itself were trying to crush her chest.

He whispered, close enough to chill her spine. "And what, you ask, should they protect?"

A soft, amused chuckle slipped from his lips.

"That," he murmured, "is the easiest part of all."

He placed a hand over her heart. It burned like ice. Her body locked.

"You."

She looked up at him, heart sinking.

Betrayal by her own god wasn't the kind of death she'd imagined—but it cut deeper than any blade ever could.

A bait.

An anchor.

That's what she would be.

That's what she will be.

"I... need to make them fall in love with me?" she asked cautiously, barely able to breathe the words.

"Love?"

The god laughed—a cruel, hollow sound that cracked through the chamber and bounced mockingly off the stone walls. "Ha! Those freaks don't understand love, little priestess," he sneered, voice thick with derision.

He prowled around her like a living shadow, movements smooth, silent—yet every step crushed something invisible beneath its weight.

"They're chasing a chemical rush, that's all. Like filthy addicts begging for their next high!"

With a flick of his fingers, visions flared to life—grotesque and radiant. S-Rank hunters, too beautiful to be real, adored and feared, stood in gold-tinted glory. Their eyes, however, were hollow. Their smiles, empty.

"They clawed their way to the top," he said, voice dropping to a mocking hush. "And at the summit? Love, hope, desperation... they don't exist anymore. They're not needed."

He leaned down, his breath cold against her ear.

"In your little world, being strong means being seen. Being worshiped."

Illusions twisted around her—masses of faceless people screaming in ecstatic worship, their cries deafening. Above them, godlike figures stood tall and distant, untouched, unmoved.

"You know what I mean, don't you?" he whispered, and the words coiled around her spine like smoke. 

He rose, flicking his hand as if brushing away dust. "And as they rise, the crowd clings harder. Parasites. Leeches."

The cheering masses warped—eyes bulging, mouths stretching too wide, flesh melting into grotesque shapes as they screamed endlessly, trying to get closer, trying to consume.

"And hope?" His voice went cold. "Gone. The only thing they believe in now—"

He snapped his fingers.

"—is their power."

Nothing else. Not now. Not ever again.

He moved to stand directly in front of her, blocking the firelight, casting her in a sharp, jagged silhouette of shadow. She was small beneath him, a flicker beneath an eclipse.

"And desperation," he continued with a low, pitying laugh. "Pfft. Must I even explain?"

Her breath hitched. The air was too heavy, pressing down like a mountain. Her heart thrashed in her chest, frantic, cornered.

He lowered his voice—soft, delighted. "The privilege of strength..."

He grinned, cruel and wide.

"...is being the predator."

"You don't feel desperation anymore, little priestess."

The shadows around her stirred, inching closer, hungry.

"You cause it."

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