Inside the laboratory.
Feeling the surge of Ra's psychic power, Orsaga remained utterly unmoved. Even with Ra standing almost within arm's reach, Orsaga made no defensive move—he simply let that force come close, as if it were nothing at all.
No reaction. No alarm. Nothing.
Yet Ra's prized psychic assault could not touch him. As a higher-ranked being who controlled the rules of this Multiverse—indeed, one of the five Chaos Gods and among the strongest—Orsaga was immune to any attack in this universe except from his fellow Chaos Gods. Planet-shattering strikes, universe-ending abilities—none of it mattered. Ra's effort was no more than a breeze against him.
What happened next was worse for Ra. With only a thought, Orsaga froze Ra's attempt to withdraw, stopping him mid-motion as if he had become a preserved specimen. Ra's heartbeat, blood flow, and other physiological responses all halted; only his consciousness remained lucid. He stood rigid, immobilized.
Orsaga propped his left elbow on the armrest, rested his chin on his palm with an air of leisure, and smiled faintly.
"Don't be so tense," he said. "I came with an offer. I think you ought to consider it."
It was hubris and condescension wrapped in velvet. In terms of sheer power, Ra was no weakling—after millennia of accumulation, he had reached a level comparable to many of the Aeldari's top elites, species born with natural psychic endowments and lifespans far longer than Ra's. He had devoured rare resources for training, and his talent was genuine. Even so, the gap between Ra and a Chaos God like Orsaga remained vast.
Resistance was illusory.
The material universe's totality was less than one of Orsaga's figurative fingers; how could a single protagonist hope to contest him?
At last, Orsaga finished speaking and Ra's mobility returned. This time, wiser from the prior experience, Ra did not act rashly. He thought for a while, then asked the question that mattered:
"You told me what you want. What price will you pay?"
Orsaga did not reply verbally at first. He slid his right hand, and Ra's entire life unspooled before him, pulled like a scene from a film. From birth to the present, Ra's years accelerated across the river of time. Watching his own life like a movie, Ra froze—helpless. Orsaga's uncanny methods revealed secrets Ra had never expected to be exposed.
Orsaga's voice narrated as he watched a particular memory—Ra, standing as an avenger, killing the uncle who had murdered his father.
"I looked through your past," Orsaga said. "You're… predictable. Boring in some ways—detached from petty desires. You don't chase power, wealth, lovers, or glory. Your origin traces back to the shamans of ancient Earth: an embodiment of their attachment to humanity. Your purpose became to ensure the survival of the human race."
"Under that premise, here is my offer: I give you humanity's future. A glorious future where survival is no longer a worry. If you agree and deliver, I promise the human race will become the hegemonic species of this cosmos. The term? A span covering ten thousand cosmic births and natural deaths—ten thousand cycles of universe birth and decay."
Ra did not erupt in shock, joy, or rage. He simply stared, perplexed. That number—ten thousand universe-cycles—sounded like a tall tale. It was the kind of promise that would make a beggar asked to join a contract that suddenly offered the keys to the kingdom. Questions flooded his mind.
Orsaga expected this. He only smiled, unconcerned. From his vantage, the entire galaxy was a mere well; Ra was a frog at the bottom. Trying to explain the sky beyond the well to such a creature was pointless. Still, Ra was no ordinary mortal. As a protagonist of the material universe, he had potential for further advancement—he could someday touch higher realms and grasp what a Chaos God truly signified.
"So," Orsaga said more calmly, "you're just too weak right now. When you can see more—when you are strong enough—you'll believe me."
Through the thread of time, Orsaga could plainly see Ra's fate and how far it would carry him. When Ra finally reached his peak, when he truly understood what being a Chaos God meant, he would appreciate the offer's reality.
Orsaga was not in a hurry; if it took thousands of years, so be it. Only when Ra became strong enough would his role as a "protagonist" be fully meaningful and workable. Orsaga's early visit was simply to plant a seed—an advance notice, a foundation for what would come. He could have forced Ra's death instantly and then restarted the universe if he wanted—no force in the material universe could prevent him—but that route would be inelegant and final.
He preferred to be subtle.
"When you are strong enough," Orsaga concluded, "give me an answer I find satisfying. If not… I will wait for the next time."
With that paradoxical remark—mysterious to Ra—Orsaga vanished as quietly as he had appeared.
Ra stood motionless for a long while, scratching his head in bafflement.
"Strong enough… the next time?" he muttered. "What kind of nonsense is that?"
He began to piece together some tentative guesses from Orsaga's words.
— "Strong enough" meant that when Ra achieved sufficient power, he would automatically understand Orsaga's terms.
— "The next time" seemed to imply that if this deal failed now, there might be another opportunity later.
Only the first guess was correct. The second missed the mark.
What Orsaga truly meant by "the next time" was darker: if this round's bargain fell through, Orsaga could—and would—destroy the universe and start it anew, waiting for the next timeline to unfold and the next protagonist to be born. He would simply try again with another candidate.
Orsaga was a blunt, pragmatic abyssal demon. He did not linger on pleasantries or beg for retries. If the present target proved unsuitable, he would move on to the next generation. Simple, efficient, ruthless.
And so the offer hung there—a cosmic wager that Ra could barely conceive, let alone accept.
..
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