CHAPTER 201: CHAPTER 202: TRIPLE THREAT

Claire stood at the heart of it all, the storm screaming around her like a war chant sung by dead gods.

Her purple hair whipped in the wind, strands curling into chaos, as her deep violet eyes blazed—burned—with a power that wasn’t hers. Not entirely. It coursed through her like a river returning to its source, immense and foreign, yet terrifyingly intimate. This power wasn’t borrowed. It was remembered. As if it had slumbered in her bones for lifetimes, waiting to awaken.

The mana surged—raw, ancient, and violent. It wrapped around her like a lover, seeping into every corner of her being, stretching her soul until it felt too large for her body. Pride flared. Lust. Love. Not for herself, but for the one tethered to her most secret self. Atlas.

Her breath caught. It wasn’t just power. It was him. It felt like him. The tempo of the mana. The rhythm in her blood. The ache in her chest. His essence haunted the edges of the torrent, whispering across her skin like a phantom.

Above her, the dark halo flickered into existence—jagged, trembling, its violet-black light pulsing in time with the storm. It drank the fury around her. A devourer. A crown.

She didn’t feel her body shift, but Valora’s breath caught, and Claire saw it in her eyes—the awe. The fear. Claire was taller now, only slightly, but the shift was undeniable. Her muscles hadn’t bulked, yet every fiber of her felt honed, sculpted by pressure and fire.

Then came the bite.

Sharp. Just above her tailbone. A searing needle of pain followed by a sensation like tearing silk. Valora’s stunned whisper reached her ears.

"My lady...?"

Claire turned slightly, and felt the weight of it. A tail. Violet, slick, serpentine. It coiled behind her with grace unnatural to a human body, its tip shimmering with that same divine gleam as the halo above.

The mages around them faltered, their robes snapping in the wind, staves shaking in trembling hands. They stared not at their commander—but at something greater. A force clothed in human shape. Claire, the Ladyship of Phinixia, had become more than a woman.

And yet, she didn’t feel gone.

She actually felt... whole.

Like a song whose final note had finally been found.

Her skin glowed faintly, that eerie sheen of violet spreading like wildfire beneath her flesh. The weight of her presence bent the air itself, like gravity had shifted around her.

Valora took a step forward, arm shaking. "My lady Claire..."

She never finished.

Claire jumped.

The ground fell away in a blink, her body launching upward, impossibly fast, impossibly high, caught by invisible wings that beat not with wind but with will. She didn’t see them, but felt them—like limbs she’d always had but never used. They pulsed in rhythm with her heart.

It was exhilarating. Terrifying. Perfect.

The clouds split as she rose. Thunder rolled beneath her feet. The storm parted, unwilling to touch her now.

Below, like a beacon of blood and darkness, she saw him.

Atlas.

His glossy dark hair through the chaos—dimmed with exhaustion, soaked in pain—but they were his. And they saw her. And that was enough.

He was bound in a shimmering blue dome, Merlin’s magic pulsating with every heartbeat, every second a prison of arcane brilliance. And clinging to him like ivy on a dying tree was her—Eli. That wicked ash-haired serpent.

Claire’s fury burst through her like a dam shattering.

She dove.

The air screamed as she fell, her body slicing through the storm like a blade forged in wrath. Her nails elongated mid-flight—no, not nails, claws—sharp and gleaming, etched with violet lightning.

{...Atlas... I will save you.}

The thought echoed in her mind like a vow. Like prophecy. Like truth.

"I will save you!" an echo followed, her voice tearing through the battlefield, shaking tents, toppling spells, making grown men stumble. Her voice rang with two tones—mortal and divine—twisting in the wind like the chiming of bells at a funeral.

Then came impact.

Her claws met Merlin’s dome, the clash thunderous. Sparks flew, blue and violet crashing like warring suns. The shield held—but trembled.

She pushed harder, her claws scraping, burning, slicing, each strike powered by the raw ache in her heart.

And then—

Another blow.

From the other side.

A sword—radiant, honed, held by shaking hands—struck the dome from within.

Claire’s breath hitched.

{...Lara?}

Blue hair, soaked in rain and blood, streamed around her face. Her blue eyes—too similar to Claire’s—narrowed in disbelief.

"...Claire...?" Lara’s voice cracked. Her sword wavered. "Is that... is that you?"

Claire hovered in the air, her claws pausing, heart pounding. The recognition in Lara’s voice was not only confusion—it was fear. Worry. Or something far more dangerous.

The air between them thrummed with tension.

Claire’s mana spiked again. Not from rage.

From hurt.

Because Lara had loved him too. Had lain beside him. Had whispered his name in the dark. And now, even now, she stood at his side while Claire clawed from the heavens to reach him.

Claire’s eyes burned. Her voice fell low, whispered only to the wind.

"...Atlas..."

He lay within the dome, bloodied and bruised. His golden eyes shut —

And Claire stopped breathing.

Eli saw her. Not just the wings, or the tail, or the halo.

She saw her. Claire.

And then she leaned down.

Whispered into his ear.

Claire’s claws twitched. Her teeth clenched.

Eli’s white eyes rose to meet hers, a smirk curling her lips. And then—bold, wicked—she stepped out of the shield.

Not limping. Not afraid.

Daring.

"I don’t back down when I need to fight for my man," she said, her voice syrup and venom, laced with madness and fire. She lifted her gauntleted hands, runes glowing with cursed magic.

Claire’s mana surged in response, her tail lashing behind her, crackling with light. She hovered still, suspended between fury and fate.

"You don’t own him," she said, her voice twin-toned again, shaking leaves from the trees. "He’s not something to own."

Her wings flared behind her—still unseen, but felt in the way the world bent around her.

Lara moved closer, sword raised, her own violet eyes burning.

"Enough," she said, voice trembling. ".....just give him back—"

But her voice cracked.

Because she didn’t believe it either.

Not completely.

Eli laughed—low, dark, sensual. "He’s mine until I say otherwise," she said, stepping forward, her body radiating hunger and command. "And if you want him... goddess or not... you’ll have to take him."