CHAPTER 258: CHAPTER 259: ATTACK THE TITANS

Aurora waved her staff once more, and the room shifted.

The blood, the stench, the sticky film of iron that clung to the air — gone.

Even the faint meat-grit that had crept between the cracks of the floorboards dissolved into nothing. She made it clean, spotless, like it had never happened.

Atlas smiled faintly from his bed, tugged under the covers as if it was his own doing.

But it wasn’t the cleanliness that unsettled her.

It was the quiet.

Her instincts whispered that something here was wrong — the wrongness was subtle, silk-thin, yet persistent. She had lived long enough to know hell rarely offered anything without a price. Here, in the pit where willpower was a currency, there were no shortcuts, no gifts freely given. Everything was bought, everything was paid for, in equal weight.

But... maybe that was the part of her that remembered hell too vividly.

Maybe that was the part of her that couldn’t accept ease when it came.

It had been many years — and by hell’s measure, centuries.

Time here folded and stretched until it lost meaning, until the edges of memory blurred into haze.

’Maybe I’m getting old,’ she thought, lowering herself into the chair beside the bed. Old, or at least soft. Because here she was, in hell of all places, relaxing. Letting her shoulders drop, letting the tension unwind from her spine.

That was dangerous.

Maybe strength wasn’t always teeth and claws.

Maybe, wherever you went, your comfort was nothing but the shadow of your own strength — an invisible perimeter that danger could not cross. Atlas had told her something like that before. More than once.

He had always hated fate. Hated the idea of something outside himself deciding where he went, who he was. His life was his own — untouchable, ungoverned, unconquered. That was Atlas, through and through. No crown could own him. No prophecy could hold him.

A small, almost reluctant smile crossed her lips as she closed the door behind her. Inside, Atlas was already sleeping. Sleeping well. No restless turns, no tension in his jaw. Just... stillness.

She almost envied it.

.

.

.

When morning came, Atlas had already released the LAW — the seal of his will over the territory. It was taxing, yes, but the mana strain was worth it. Every breath he drew felt sharper, cleaner, like the air finally cooperated. His mind hummed in its own rhythm, unhindered, without that cloying haze that hell sometimes wrapped around the unwary.

He stepped toward the balcony, the light harsh and red-tinged over the horizon.

Aurora was in the air, testing her flight magic. The distorted day-mana made it unpredictable, unstable — her wings of magic fluttered, stalled, then caught again.

Farther below, Azezal stood with... a green blob of a demon. One that tugged at Atlas’s memory.

’Wait... isn’t that the one who was with Azezal before we went to the dark continent?’

He floated down, feet never touching the warped black stone, moving toward them.

The courtyard was not theirs alone — soldiers patrolled in precise patterns. Not human soldiers, but draconic beings with molten-gold eyes, horns curling back like blades. Demonic butlers and maids moved among them, some in deep-black suits, others... succubi in laced uniforms that were just shy of indecent.

One passed too close, her perfume thick and spiced, and Atlas felt an unwelcome ache coil low in his stomach. His lips tightened.

"Azezal," he called. His voice carried like steel dragged across stone. "What is ....this?"

The crimson demon stepped forward, bowing in a way that was both humble and calculated.

{This is Blam... lord of this territory, and once my partner in crime.} His voice vibrated in the mind, the words carrying an undercurrent of history not spoken aloud.

The massive green demon waddled closer. His bulk was almost absurd — rolls shifting like living armor, each step sending faint tremors through the ground. Nervousness flickered in his yellow eyes, his mouth tightening under Atlas’s gaze.

{It’s an honour...} Blam said, his tone carefully flattened, like he feared giving away too much emotion. Atlas’s eyes alone made him falter.

Azezal’s horns flexed once. {He means no harm, Atlas. He’s here to discuss some matters. Just... small talk.}

Atlas’s gaze slid past them, toward Aurora, still struggling with the mana currents in the air. Her magic sputtered again, and she crashed — not hard, but enough to make the roof tiles groan under her. He decided not to ask.

"...Make it quick," Atlas said.

Blam shuffled forward, the weight of his presence as tangible as the smell of hot metal in the air. {I will speak clear and cut, oh Guide. No time wasted. I can arrange not just your passage beyond here, but a direct path to the third layer. How does that sound?}

Atlas gave the barest nod, telling him to go on.

{All I ask... is to be named, in name only, as one of your apostles. That’s all.}

Atlas glanced toward Azezal. "He’s ....not lying?"

Azezal inclined his head. {It’s a fair deal. Risky, but fair.}

Atlas considered. Deals with demons always came wrapped in hidden hooks, but speed mattered. The third layer was where the next step waited. The next piece. The next confrontation.

"...Oka—"

STEP.

The ground shivered. Cups rattled on nearby trays.

STEP.

Atlas floated instinctively, letting the shockwaves pass beneath. Blam spun, barking orders to his soldiers in a guttural, wet language. Azezal’s wings snapped out with a whip-crack of displaced air.

STEP. STEP.

The rhythm of it was too slow for cavalry, too heavy for siege engines.

It was... something else.

Aurora drifted toward him, magic wings flickering.

"So. Any more details you didn’t tell me?" Atlas asked without looking at her.

"Yeah, of course." She landed beside him, a hand on his shoulder for balance. They rose together, slowly gaining altitude.

STEP. STEP. STEP. STEP.

"There’s a reason this city built these fucking large walls," she said, and her eyes narrowed at the horizon.

Above the top of the blackened ramparts, the land beyond stretched wide and cracked, a wasteland under the crimson sky. And there — far, far in the distance — things moved. Massive silhouettes, each one blotting out a portion of the horizon. Their strides seemed lazy, but each step devoured miles.

"Are those... giants?" Atlas asked.

{Worse,} Azezal’s voice cut in. {Titans.}

Atlas counted quickly. Not one. Not two. Dozens.

They weren’t rushing. They didn’t need to.

"Why," Atlas muttered, "why is Loki’s family giving me so much trouble?"

"Haa... not Loki’s family." Aurora’s tone carried that edge between amusement and disbelief. "These are Titans born from the forbidden crossing of giants and demons."

Atlas made a gesture — a crude mimic of sex — and arched an eyebrow. Aurora nodded grimly.

"Who would even fuck a demon? Not me."

STEP. STEP. STEP.

"I hope so...And I meant that it would never happen," she added quickly.

"Okay... okay, I’m not an animal.... Can these walls even fucking hold them? They look... strong."

"Yes," Aurora said.

{No,} Azezal countered immediately.

Both turned to him.

"...Why?" Atlas asked.

Azezal’s wings tightened against his back as he rose higher. {Because it’s not just Titans. They’re not walking alone.}

He hesitated, then said a name.

When the syllables left him, one of the marks on Aurora’s arm flared, lines of fire curling up her skin. She hissed in pain, clutching it. The contract symbol churned like it was alive.

Atlas saw her face change. It wasn’t fear exactly — but it was something close. Wariness so sharp it almost looked like pain.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Aaaa....Giants, Titans — fine. I can manage....But if she’s coming..." Aurora’s gaze stayed locked on the horizon, her voice low. "I might be fucked."