The man fell silent.
He leaned back slightly in his chair—if it could even be called a chair in this endless void—and tapped a gloved finger against the smooth surface of the round table.
His face, still obscured, tilted ever so slightly, like he was pondering some deep philosophical dilemma.
I narrowed my eyes. 'Why is he taking that long? He's probably just gonna ask some random shit anyway.'
I was damn sure of it.
Finally, with a small sigh, he straightened and spoke. "Alright. My question is… do you think a person can change? Specifically someone who's committed grievous crimes. Do you believe they can truly reform?"
'Can they?'
That was a loaded question. A trap, maybe. But it didn't matter. I had my answer already.
I'd never believed in the whole "tragedy breeds monsters" narrative. That kind of thinking always rubbed me the wrong way. Sure, some people had it rough.
Horrible childhoods. Painful betrayals. Unthinkable losses. But not everyone who went through that ended up hurting others.
Some people cheated in exams and felt guilty for weeks. Others could slit a throat and sleep like a baby.
People didn't just commit crimes because life treated them unfairly.
They did it because, deep down, it was easier.
Easier to steal than to work. Easier to lie than to face consequences. Easier to hurt than to heal.
And sure, society loved romanticizing villains with tragic pasts. Gave them a reason, a justification.
But we forget something important.
Psychopaths exist.
There are people who don't need a reason to enjoy blood. They don't become that way— 'they are that way. '
They weren't corrupted by circumstance. They sought out darkness because it resonated with them.
People don't become monsters from watching horror.
They watch horror because something inside them already wanted it.
I shrugged. "No. I don't think they can change. Not really. A person's nature… it can't be rewritten. It's wired too deep."
The man nodded slowly, his fingers interlaced in front of him.
I leaned in, no longer waiting. "Then it's my turn. Why did you kill me?"
That amused spark returned in his obscured face, and he chuckled. With a lazy flick of his wrist, two porcelain cups materialized between us.
Steam curled delicately from the top, carrying the rich, sweet aroma of tea. It smelled like honey, tea leaves, and something nostalgic I couldn't quite place.
He lifted his cup and took a leisurely sip. "Tell me… have you ever killed an ant?"
I blinked. "That's a question. You're dodging again. Cheating."
He leaned back, nonchalant. "Yeah, I cheated. So what? Are you going to report me to the void council?" He gestured around dramatically. "Oh no, who will ever save you?"
'Bitch.'
He laughed, spluttering some of his tea. "He—hahaha—hey, language, buddy."
I sighed and took a calming breath. "Yeah, I've killed ants. A lot, probably."
He nodded, pleased. Another flick of his finger, and the spilled tea vanished without a trace.
"Good. Now tell me this—have you ever played with them? Put little obstacles in their path? Captured them in a jar just to watch what they'd do? Maybe pushed them back every time they got close to their destination, just for fun?"
I didn't answer. Just stared.
Eventually, I gave a slow, reluctant nod.
He tilted his head, as if studying me. "That's exactly what you are to me."
He said it so casually it made my skin crawl.
"An ant," he continued. "Something to step on. Or trap. Or observe. Something I can experiment on without the slightest moral dilemma. And the best part?" He smiled behind the veil of shadows, I could feel it. "You're sentient. You struggle. That makes it so much more interesting."
I let out a breathless chuckle. There was no anger left in me—just dry acceptance. "And I can't do a damn thing about it, can I?"
He shook his head with genuine admiration. "Spot on."
I slumped deeper into the chair, letting the weight of everything crash down on me. My arms—if I even had any in this non-corporeal form—felt heavy, as if resignation itself had form.
"So," I muttered, voice flat, "what exactly is your experiment?"
The tuxedo-clad man chuckled, his tone light and almost sheepish. "Oh, nothing too serious. Just trying to change the fate of a tragic story. You know—one of those cursed worlds where sadness is etched into every damn stone. Sprinkle in a little humor here and there for flavor."
He tapped the table with a thoughtful hum. "Ah, yes. A destined tragic world, of course."
I tilted my head—or at least imagined the motion. "So, you're trying to challenge destiny?"
He shook his head immediately. "Nope. This isn't about destiny. This is about a bet. I challenged a friend of mine—Nyx."
The name dropped like a stone in a quiet pond.
He went on, nonchalantly. "She's a bit of a drama fanatic. Said tragic worlds were peak storytelling. Full of suffering, pain, betrayal—blah blah blah. I told her she was wrong. Peaceful worlds are better. Happy endings. Comedy. And you know... 'that' stuff."
I raised an eyebrow. "You're supposed to be a godly being or whatever, and you can't say 'sex'?"
He did a motion that could only be described as a divine eye-roll. "Kids these days. No appreciation for the allure of the unknown."
'Unknown, my fucking foot,' I thought bitterly.
'There's nothing "unknown" about it. Who the actual hell doesn't get what you meant?'
Naturally, he ignored my mental complaints.
"She scoffed," he continued. "And said I could only use one person. Just one. Drop them into one of her beautifully tragic worlds, and if that one soul could change the ending, she'd grant me anything I wanted."
I gave him a dry look. "Let me guess. You asked her for 'that'."
Another roll of his shadowed eyes. "No, you moron. We're not like you humans. Carnal desires are a thing of the past for us. Forgotten. Left behind."
'Yeah, I call bullshit.'
This guy was way too smug, too human in the way he acted for me to buy that crap. But I let it slide.
He sighed like a tired uncle explaining a joke for the fifth time. "So, I agreed to the bet. And I started dropping people into her little horror shows. People from all kinds of worlds—different species, genders, cultures, timelines. You name it. I ran the same experiment with countless souls. Some failed, some... succeeded."
He smirked, taking another sip of tea.
"It became kind of a running gag for me. You'd say meme in your world, right?"
I scoffed. "So now you've chosen me for your entertainment. Just needed a new lab rat, huh? Destroyed my life on a whim."
He nodded, completely unbothered. "Pretty much, yeah."
'And this guy has no carnal desires. Riiight. Total horseshit.'
This time he actually snapped his fingers and conjured a small plate of cream-filled biscuits beside the tea. He picked one up and munched on it with an exaggerated crunch.
"And don't flatter yourself," he said between bites. "You were going to die anyway. I practically saved you."
I narrowed my eyes. "Oh yeah? How exactly was I supposed to die?"
He raised a brow. "You seriously think messing with the daughter of a very influential man wouldn't come back to bite you? You think that girl's father would just forget everything you did?"
My posture stiffened.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You practically shattered her life. Public humiliation. Digital infamy. You think a man with that much power wouldn't make you disappear quietly?"
I tried to keep calm, but the words hit harder than I expected.
"I… erased every trace," I said, stumbling a bit. "I used throwaway accounts. Wiped everything. My MewTube presence was untraceable. I never even used my full name. There's no way they could have—"
He clicked his tongue, almost sympathetically. "You forgot one tiny, insignificant detail, Ren."
He took another bite of his biscuit, chewed slowly, then pointed a finger at me.
"Your brother."
I froze.
"You never told anyone your real name. Always used aliases, fake handles, VPNs, all that jazz. You were smart. Careful. But your little brother? He adored you."
I felt the blood—or whatever passed for it in this void—drain from me.
"He bragged about you, didn't he?" the man continued softly. "To his classmates, his teachers, even online in some niche forums. Just a few breadcrumbs. But for the right person with enough resources? It was more than enough."
My mind reeled.
'Fuck.'