Chapter Text
The city lay far beneath the penthouse like a living organism—light pulsing through streets and towers, engines humming in ceaseless rhythm. From this height, humanity reduced itself to patterns. Movement without purpose. Noise without meaning.
Meruem stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, hands clasped behind his back, posture immaculate. His reflection stared back at him faintly in the glass: tall, composed, regal. A king without a crown, ruling nothing yet superior to everything.
He had already memorized the city.
Not merely its streets or skyline, but its structure—economic systems, population density, crime rates, cultural habits. He had read entire libraries in weeks, absorbed philosophies that had taken humanity millennia to form, and dismissed most of them just as quickly.
They circled endlessly around the same questions.
What is meaning? What is justice? What is the purpose of existence?
Meruem scoffed softly.
They asked because they did not know.
They debated because they were weak.
Behind him, the penthouse was silent—not empty, but reverent.
Neferpitou knelt on the carpet near a low table scattered with books, flipping through one with keen interest. Their tail swayed idly, eyes bright with curiosity rather than reverence. Shaiapouf stood rigid near the far wall, wings folded neatly, gaze fixed on Meruem as though nothing else in the world mattered. Menthuthuyoupi sat cross-legged near the balcony doors, massive arms resting on his knees, still as a statue.
“Another philosopher,” Meruem said at last, voice calm but edged with irritation. He turned from the window, holding up a thin book between two fingers. “Another human attempting to justify their insignificance through abstraction.”
Pitou tilted their head. “You didn’t enjoy this one either?”
“No.” Meruem dropped the book onto the table without care. “He argues that morality is born of shared suffering. An amusing delusion.”
Pouf stepped forward immediately, eyes shining. “Of course it is, my King. Humans lack the capacity to understand true order. Their moral systems are desperate attempts to elevate themselves above beasts.”
Meruem’s eyes flicked toward him—sharp, assessing.
“Beasts survive,” Meruem replied. “Humans rationalize their failures.”
Youpi rumbled quietly. “Then why do you keep reading their books?”
The question lingered.
Meruem did not answer immediately. He moved toward the table, scanning the scattered titles—history, mathematics, political theory, game theory. All devoured. All insufficient.
“I seek stimulation,” Meruem said finally. “Challenge. Something that resists domination.”
Pouf stiffened. “Nothing should resist you.”
Meruem’s gaze hardened. “And yet, everything does—by being so unbearably simple.”
The room fell silent again.
Meruem closed his eyes.
“I have crushed champions of every discipline they offered,” he continued. “Chess grandmasters. Strategists. Economists. Military tacticians. Every system humans pride themselves on collapses the moment it is examined without sentiment.”
Pitou smiled faintly. “They weren’t very good.”
“They were the best,” Meruem corrected. “And that is the problem.”
He turned to face them fully now, presence heavy, commanding.
“I could annihilate this city before nightfall. Tear it apart, consume its people, reduce their civilization to silence.” His tone remained even, almost bored. “I could devour every human on this planet and still find no satisfaction in it.”
Youpi’s fists clenched reflexively, pulse quickening at the thought. Pouf’s wings trembled with reverence.
“But it would be meaningless,” Meruem finished. “Destruction without resistance is no victory. Consumption without challenge is no pleasure.”
Pouf took a step forward, alarm creeping into his voice. “My King, you need not burden yourself with such thoughts. You are perfection. The world exists to validate you.”
Meruem’s eyes snapped to him.
“Enough.”
The single word struck like a sharp blade.
Pouf froze instantly, wings locking in place, head bowing. “Forgive me.”
Meruem exhaled slowly. His boredom pressed in again—heavy, suffocating.
“There is something I have not yet exhausted,” he said, more to himself than them. “An institution humans gather within. A place they claim sharpens the mind.”
Neferpitou perked up. “You mean—”
“A college,” Meruem said.
The word felt small in his mouth.
Pouf’s head shot up. “Absolutely not.”
Meruem’s gaze turned glacial.
“You object?”
“With all due respect, My King, your time is far too valuable,” Pouf said urgently. “To sit among lesser beings, subjected to arbitrary rules, surrounded by ignorance—it is far beneath you.”
Meruem stepped closer, and Pouf fell silent under the weight of his presence.
“I do not seek validation,” Meruem said. “I seek resistance.”
He turned back toward the window, eyes scanning the city once more.
“Humans hide their most interesting minds where they believe strength is irrelevant. Where power is measured in ideas rather than force.” His lips curved slightly—not a smile, but something colder. “If there is something in this world capable of surprising me… it will be there.”
Pouf clenched his hands but said nothing. The King had already made up his mind.
“You will enroll with me,” Meruem continued. “All of you.”
Pitou grinned, as if excited. Youpi nodded once, resolute.
Pouf hesitated, but ultimately obeyed.
Meruem did not turn around.
“I have my reasons,” he said. “And all of you will trust them.”
And for the first time for so long, Meruem felt a flicker of something dangerously close to anticipation.