CHAPTER 242: CHAPTER 243: OKAY, ALRIGHT.

"I’m... I’m sorry..."

The words cracked from Atlas’s lips like a fault line splitting the earth. They weren’t dramatic. They weren’t heroic. Just broken. Quiet. Real.

His head was lowered, shadow hiding half his face, but even the flickering candlelight couldn’t disguise the tremble in his jaw. He hated this part—where the people he loved the most stood before him, their stares heavy with disappointment, fear, and love. A cruel trinity that weighed more than any divine pact.

"I’m sorry... I didn’t tell you all but... but I’m still going..."

There it was. The fracture became a rupture.

No divine thunder shook the air, but the silence that followed was louder than any god’s roar.

In the corner, Eli leaned back, arms crossed. Her figure half-draped in the dark, her eyes glowing with the eerie intelligence of someone who’d seen too much and felt too little—until now. And yet, a small, uninvited smile crept across her lips. Not joy. Not smugness. Just... recognition.

He was still the same. That arrogant, stubborn, overthinking bastard. The kind who would run straight into oblivion before even questioning if he should walk. He’d risk death, soul, heaven, and hell—but not because he thought he’d win.

Because he thought losing was still worth it.

She’d known it from the start. Ever since he challenged the dark continent by simply existing. And when he looked at her now, eyes dull but still burning from inside, she felt it in her chest again—the dangerous, beautiful pull of someone willing to fight the universe itself just to keep his word.

"...Then... take me with you," Eli said. Her voice didn’t plead. It pressed. "You know I can pull my own weight."

Her boots echoed lightly against the marble floor as she stepped forward. Dust rose from each step like ghosts refusing to settle. She wasn’t just offering herself. She was demanding to be seen. To be trusted. Like before.

Claire’s eyes shifted sharply. That cold analytical stare she wore like armor—sharp, precise, unforgiving. It landed on Eli like a knife balanced at the edge of a whisper. Atlas held his breath.

Claire stepped forward.

"...Take me. No—us as well," she said, the heel of her boot dragging a thin line in the dust. "I’m not strong enough. Not like her. Not like them. But I’m not the same anymore."

Her voice wavered—not in weakness, but in the vulnerability of someone unmasking scars. "You know it and You know me."

Her hand trembled, just for a moment, before it balled into a fist. That was Claire—always trembling, always furious at her own weakness, and always choosing to walk forward anyway.

Behind her, the sound of steel sang.

Lara unsheathed her sword—not in threat, but in vow. The blade caught the dim light, casting reflections like spilled blood across the floor.

She checked her system. Her level wasn’t god-tier, but it was enough. It was enough to bleed for him. Enough to stand beside him.

"...We are family," she said. The sword clanged against the marble floor. "And family doesn’t leave each other behind."

It wasn’t a line. It was scripture.

Atlas looked away. His fists clenched. His breath grew shallow. The walls of the room began to shrink around him like they could feel the choice about to be made.

"...This is HELL we are talking about..." he finally said, his voice rising—a rare tremor of frustration.

The room quieted. Not from fear—but from surprise. Atlas rarely raised his voice. He listened. He calculated. But now, his anger was real. It wasn’t rage against them. It was rage against the cost. Against the reality that no matter how strong he got, he still couldn’t shield everyone.

He turned away, hands gripping the edge of the wooden desk until the veins in his arms bulged. His breath was uneven now, like every inhale was a betrayal of what he wished he could say.

"You think I want to go there alone?" he muttered. "You think I want to stand in front of devils, gods, monsters—by myself?"

A pause. His jaw twitched.

"You think I’m not terrified?"

That silence again. This time it wasn’t about shock. It was about pain. The unspoken kind. The one that fills the air like thick smoke, choking everyone without flame.

"I don’t care about dying," Atlas said, turning slowly. His eyes—once cold, once detached—now blazed with something darker. "But if one of you dies... if I watch that happen..."

He didn’t finish. He couldn’t.

Claire stepped closer. Her fingers hovered near his, not touching yet—just enough for him to feel the warmth of her defiance.

"You don’t get to make that choice for us," she said softly.

Atlas swallowed hard.

"And I don’t want you to make mine," Eli added, her voice steadier now. "We’re already damned, Atlas. What’s hell but another room we haven’t entered yet?"

That line hit him. Deep.

Lara nodded. "You taught us to never back down. So don’t be a hypocrite now."

They stood before him—three women. Not harem. Not followers. Not decorations.

Warriors.

Each with their own fracture. Each offering to walk into fire, not for love, but because they refused to let him burn alone.

His throat felt tight.

He remembered something—a flicker of a day long ago, when he first arrived in this cursed world. When no one stood beside him. No allies. No gods. No women offering swords or sarcastic loyalty. Just the wind, and a system, and the voice in his head that whispered: You’re alone now.

He wasn’t anymore.

A single tear escaped him. Not because he was weak. Because this—this was the cost of having people. The weight of being loved by those who would die for you.

He stepped back.

"I..." His lips trembled. "I need you all to survive. I can’t lose ...."

Claire finally touched him. Her fingers grazed his cheek, thumb brushing the damp corner of his eye.

"Then don’t push us away. Use us."

Atlas breathed in. The scent of iron. Dust. Candle wax. And something else—resolve.

"...Alright," he said.

The air seemed to shift, as if the room finally exhaled.

"Alright...Alright...."

The word left Atlas like a breath that hurt to exhale. It was small. Almost soft.

Eli’s smile lit up like an ember. Her geared hand hissed with steam, pistons clicking into place with a precise mechanical rhythm, as if even her body knew something monumental had shifted. Her fingers flexed once, cracking heat through the chilled air, and her stance widened—not like a soldier, but like a storm that had just been given direction.

Claire’s body began to hum faintly, a low resonance that vibrated through the floor like the purring of divine electricity. Mana rippled through her, lighting faint glyphs beneath her skin. Above her head, a translucent halo began to shimmer—an unconscious symbol born from her surging good mood, pride, and maybe... the feeling of belonging. A flickering testament that even the most broken pieces could shine when given purpose.

And Lara...

Lara stepped forward, the edge of her boot clicking against the marble as she bent and retrieved her sword from the floor. She held it for a moment, weight resting in her palm like a memory. Then she sheathed it with care—no haste, no urgency. Her fingers lingered on the hilt, reverent. She wasn’t preparing for war.

She was preparing to follow her brother.

Her love. Her goddamned idiot of a brother who’d rather die alone than let them risk pain.

But she’d follow anyway.

Atlas watched them—his family. Not blood-bound, but soul-bound.

They looked ready. So ready. Too ready.

A downward smile tugged at his lips— lopsided, aching.

His fingers flicked up the small staff on his side, runes glowing faint blue as it activated. A faint hum—his link.

"Your spell ready?" he asked, tone leveled, controlled.

"...Just waiting for you," Aurora’s voice whispered through the staff. Distant, ethereal—like she was already in another plane of existence, poised to strike thunder when he gave the word.

He hesitated. Just one second.

The three girls glanced at him. Still trusting.

Atlas raised his hand.

Then, without warning—

{Hold}

The word came out laced in LAW—not a command, but a divine force that didn’t ask for obedience. It enforced it. Reality buckled. Air cracked. The arcane pressure dropped like a hammer of absolute authority.

And just like that—

They froze.

Claire, mid-glance. Eli, still smiling. Lara, fingers still brushing the hilt of her sword.

Each turned to stone—not in flesh, but in movement. Suspended in a temporal stasis, unable to speak, to react, to scream. Their mana surged in protest but couldn’t defy the will embedded in Atlas’s voice. He’d spoken in Divine Law—and even gods listened to that.

He stepped forward slowly, breath shaky. His boots echoed hollowly, like he was walking through a graveyard of his own making.

Every part of him hated this. Every single heartbeat was a scream.

"I’m sorry, girls..." he whispered. His voice cracked near Lara first. He reached out, hand trembling, and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

She didn’t flinch. She couldn’t. But her eyes—wide, confused—held the full scream her body couldn’t release.

Atlas leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"You’re stronger than you know," he whispered. "But I can’t watch fall, let alone die..."

He turned to Claire. Her mana still shimmered faintly beneath her skin—defiant, radiant. Even frozen, she looked like she could shatter a kingdom just by waking up.

Atlas brushed his thumb across her cheek.

"You said you’re not the same anymore," he murmured. "You’re right. You’ve grown. You’ve become... everything I wished for you."

He kissed her cheek.

"I hope I get to see what you become...."

He turned to Eli last.

She was still smiling. Even in stasis. Her mechanical fingers mid-curl, as if about to reach for him.

He placed his hand over her metal arm, feeling the faint warmth still radiating through the gears.

"I always knew you’d catch me if I fell," he said, voice almost a breath. "But this time, I need to do this... By myself."

He kissed her cheek too—longer, firmer.

Then he pulled back.

His throat burned. His knees nearly gave out.

His body wanted to stay.

His soul wanted to run.

But he walked to the door.

His hand reached for the iron handle. Cold. Rough. Weighted like a tombstone.

"...I don’t know when it will be," he said over his shoulder. "But I will see you again."

He paused.

"I swear it."

And then—

Thud!

The door shut behind him.

Not slammed. Just... final.