"And for what?" he asked. "For them? For people who will fear you the moment they understand you? People who will classify you, regulate you, and perhaps lock you in some research facility if your existence ever feels too unstable?"

Ruel's face went pale.

He knew enough about the Federation to know those words were not entirely empty.

Michael's gaze did not waver.

"Is that what you think I am doing?" he asked quietly. "Standing on their side?"

The old man smiled again.

"I think," he said, "you have not yet chosen a side at all. You are experimenting. Testing your strength. Seeing how far you can go within their rules before you outgrow them."

He spread his arms slightly.

"I am simply telling you that there is another path. A path where people like us decide our own limits. Where we are not punished for being stronger."

"And what is that path?" Michael asked.

"The greater path these fools call demonic," the old man answered without hesitation.

He tilted his head.

"You see it too, don't you? The hypocrisy. The Federation calls our kind demonic because we reject their control. Yet when they need power, they can do worse. Tell me I am wrong."

Michael did not answer.

Because on some level, he knew the last part was not a complete lie.

There was no great power that had not dirtied its hands, and this did not have to be related to the supernatural.

Varun took a step closer to Michael, voice low and tense.

"Whatever he is saying, remember this," Varun said. "The demonic supernaturals are killers. They have killed millions before just to vent. If they gain ground in the future, worlds burn. Cities vanish. Families die. You don't have to see enough death to know what that means."

The old man clicked his tongue softly.

"Ah, Federation rhetoric," he said. "Always the same story. If you don't obey us, the universe will collapse."

His eyes sharpened as they locked back onto Michael.

"You are a necromancer," he said. "Your very existence makes ordinary people uneasy. Do you really think they will allow you to keep rising forever? That they will accept you without trying to collar you?"

He smiled faintly.

"We will not ask you to kneel," he said. "We will only ask you to take what you are owed."

The air seemed to thin for a moment.

Michael looked at him quietly.

"So," he said at last, "you think what I am doing is wrong because I am fighting you."

"Exactly," the old man replied. "You are wasting your potential on the wrong battlefield."

Michael's eyes lowered briefly toward his own hand.

When he lifted his gaze again, his eyes were calm.

"Let me make sure I understand," he said. "You call this a wrong cause because the Federation restricts you, because you want freedom, because you want dignity."

The old man nodded.

"Yes."

"And to gain that dignity," Michael continued, "your side attacks people who had nothing to do with your personal grudge. You sealed an entire floor."

The old man's smile did not fade.

"So what?" he asked. "Power is never taken peacefully."

Michael tilted his head slightly.

"So your version of dignity," he said softly, "is trampling everyone weaker than you along the way."

The old man's eyes narrowed.

"Careful, boy," he said. "You are not weak. You belong on our side of that line."

Michael gave a small, almost imperceptible smile.

"That," he replied, "is exactly why you are wrong."

Ruel and Varun both stiffened, something in their chests easing even before they fully processed the words.

The old man's expression cooled.

"Oh?" he asked. "And what side do you think you stand on?"

Michael answered without raising his voice.

"On my own," he said. "Not yours. I help where I decide. I kill who I decide. I am not changing that because you are trying to dress selfishness up as dignity."

He lifted his hand.

Far away, Ghost slowly turned his head toward the old man, as if awaiting permission.

Michael's eyes stayed on his opponent.

"You want freedom," he said quietly. "I understand that. I even agree with parts of what you said."

His gaze hardened.

"But if your freedom means turning everyone else into corpses and fuel, then you are not asking for dignity. You are only asking for a different cage, with you holding the key."

"Besides, you people put my loved ones in danger with your existence."

For the first time, the old man's smile faded completely.

The air around him trembled.

"Interesting," he murmured. "Truly interesting."

His eyes gleamed.

"In that case, boy, let us see how long you can keep that attitude while standing in front of me."

The ice under his feet shattered completely.

Power surged.

Was Michael fearless? One could not say he was the bravest, but he was certainly not a total coward.

As long as it was not related to his immediate life and death, Michael could be quite bold.

This was why he dared to say something offensive to the old man who had hell focused on him, just to keep his attention.

Yet against a Rank 4 creature while being a mere Rank 2 himself, Michael did not actually think he was on the losing side.

After all, regardless of his achievements, the old man was still nothing more than a very powerful Rank 3 right now.

And when it came to killing Rank 3 creatures, Michael had more than one experience.

However, today was not his stage as a supernatural.

It was his stage as a necromancer.

Michael opened his mouth slowly and spoke.

"Children, your mother is in danger."

The voice was low but spread throughout the entire settlement.

The aura of several undead who heard it flared dangerously.

Something surprising about these undead was that, though different in small ways compared to Ghost, they looked almost eighty percent similar to him or gave off the same feeling.

*

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