CHAPTER 275: CHAPTE 276: COMPRESSION

"Oooorcuuuusss!!" Atlas bellowed once more, voice tearing through stone and ash, vibrating like a cannon blast.

The mountain groaned beneath him, fissures forming under the weight of his rage. Dust and rubble spiraled around him, whipped into the air by the shockwaves of his ascent.

His golden eyes burned with an almost holy intensity, pupils narrowing as he hovered above the broken battlefield. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth, but the pain was nothing; the exhilaration of battle surged through his veins like liquid fire.

Orcus stood, not just stood, but stood menacingly, his colossal form flickering, unstable yet imposing. The air rippled where he moved, thick with the stench of brimstone and ancient mana. His voice rolled like thunder:

{{{{{Atlas... you are bold. But boldness dies here.... slowly and painfully.}}}}}

Atlas didn’t answer. His mind had already entered the fight — not the fight he had been thrown into, but the fight he understood.

Every fracture of the mountain, every quiver in Orcus’s shadow, every microsecond of the demon king’s motion — it was data.

Patterns emerged. Weaknesses, limits, opportunities. The Berserker was strong, yes. Colossal. A living disaster. But he was predictable... once you understood what he was.

Atlas’s pulse accelerated, body responding instinctively. From zero to supersonic in a heartbeat, he blurred.

The world around him stretched, slowed, and fractured in his perception. Orcus’s eyes flared as Atlas struck — a shockwave that smashed through the ground, cleaving boulders like paper. The first strike was not meant to harm — it was meant to measure.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

Atlas’s fist collided with Orcus’s shoulder, bone-jarring force that echoed through mountains. The Berserker barely flinched, but Atlas noticed: the left arm’s musculature tensed fractionally later than the right.

He logged it, committed it to memory. Every blow now carried intention. Iron Fist, but augmented — not just strength, but precision, targeting structural weaknesses in Orcus’s form.

"Your strength... is limitless, but your weight betrays you," Atlas muttered, almost to himself. He vanished in a streak of gold and black, reappearing behind Orcus, a phantom strike aimed at the demon king’s knees. Each movement was faster than thought. The sound barrier cracked under the intensity of his speed.

SMASH!

Orcus lurched, surprisingly — a tiny fracture in his footing. Atlas followed instantly, spinning midair, twisting gravity itself, striking again with a fist cased in pure mana.

The blow snapped through Orcus’s defense like it was butter. Bones rattled inside their sheath, armor denting, the Berserker growling in disbelief.

Atlas pulled back, air scorching from the friction of his movement. He hovered, floating atop the debris of mountains, lungs burning, heart hammering. This is not just a fight. This is understanding.

Doom.

He descended again, supersonic, gathering momentum. Iron Fist, true strike, fully charged with his own life force and the aura of judgment he carried.

The collision with Orcus’s chest was like the meeting of planets. Shockwaves tore across the horizon, and the mountain trembled in its ancient roots.

Orcus roared — not just in anger, but recognition. This was different. He was right to feel danger. The mortal in front of him was more than mortal; he was apocalyptic.

Atlas circled. Every rotation, every dive, every punch, every strike of his knee, elbow, or foot was calculated.

Not blind fury — science. He adapted mid-motion, adjusting his trajectory to match Orcus’s recoil, predicting counterattacks before they happened. His golden eyes glowed brighter with each realization: Orcus’s strength came from size, shadow, rage... but the mind behind the body was a single anchor. Disrupt that... and the Berserker’s wrath became manageable.

"Too slow," Atlas whispered as he blinked around Orcus, landing blow after blow, a whirlwind of mana-laced iron.

Each punch wasn’t just impact; it was analysis, destabilizing Orcus’s form. Microfractures appeared in armor, joints, and muscle fibers. The Berserker staggered, confused by the relentless speed, unable to process attacks that were everywhere at once.

Orcus’s own shadow lashed out, wrapping Atlas in darkness, trying to crush him, to drag him into oblivion. Atlas countered with instantaneous reflex, teleporting inches away, phasing with the momentum of supersonic speed.

’light bloom’

His fist bloomed with bright light, blinding met shadow with soundless precision, ripping it apart as if slicing fog. The demon king’s eyes widened — he had never seen someone move like this.

Atlas smiled, blood glinting on his teeth. "Orcus!!!!....don’t make me kill you to!!!!..... Surrender!!!!"

The words were almost casual, but they struck with deadly intent. He began to accelerate — faster, faster, approaching the impossible. His Iron Fist wasn’t just iron anymore; it was concentrated force of understanding, energy encoded into muscle and bone. Every strike, every movement, drew Orcus closer to comprehension... and devastation.

SMASH!

The Berserker stumbled backward, disoriented for the first time in eons. Atlas landed on a pillar of rock that had survived the quake, chest heaving, leg shaking from the supersonic maneuvers.

He flexed his fingers — mana and life force vibrating outward — and began the final calculation: Orcus was not just strong. He was everything. Every elemental, every demon, every force of destruction Orcus had absorbed over centuries — it was all in one body. He was invincible in raw power... but invincible in instinct alone, not strategy.

And Atlas had strategy.

The next strike was not meant to harm — it was meant to break perception.

Supersonic again, faster than any mortal or demon could see. He struck Orcus’s temples simultaneously with fists, elbows, and knees, integrating grapples midair.

The Berserker howled, unprepared for the precision of someone who understood the weight, balance, and timing of his every fiber.

Cracks formed in Orcus’s armor. Blood spattered in slow motion, a crimson arc in the golden-red dust of the battlefield. Yet he was still standing, monstrous as ever, eyes glowing red-hot with fury.

Atlas hovered above, suspended, silent but for the roar of his heartbeat. I am more than mortal. I am more than human. I am the force itself, and I have seen you.

Then he lunged. Iron Fist fully charged with supersonic energy, rotating 720 degrees midair, targeting the center of Orcus’s chest.

Every calculation precise. Every movement fatal. He connected. The impact shattered the air. The shockwave flattened mountains, tore forests apart, hurled massive boulders into the horizon. Orcus screamed, staggered backward, nearly toppling off the shattered cliff they had turned into a battlefield.

And Atlas didn’t stop.

SMASH! SMASH! SMASH!

A sequence of Iron Fists, elbows, and supersonic grapples. He ripped Orcus’s shadow, dismantled armor plates, and pressed every point of leverage with surgical precision. Every impact was data, analysis, adaptation. The Berserker’s body, colossal as it was, became a canvas for Atlas’s understanding of power.

Orcus growled, breathing ragged, eyes wild. His voice boomed across the ashen plains:

{{{{{{Surrender?You... cannot... beat me! I just started}}}}}

Atlas’s lips curled into a grin, golden eyes burning:

"Just started?... I can hear your giant bones crack Orcus, I can drive through your heart, but I choose not too..... surrender!!!!"

Supersonic again, he phased through Orcus’s attempted swing, and with a movement faster than light should allow, twisted into a lethal grapple.

He caught Orcus midair, using the Berserker’s own momentum against him. The ground fractured beneath their weight, fissures racing across the continent like lightning.

Atlas’s legs locked around Orcus’s massive torso. He drove the Berserker down, using every ounce of speed and strength to slam him into the crumbling mountain — a planetary-scale body slam, each impact audible for miles.

{{{{Aaaaaaaa!!!}}}}}}

Orcus’s roar shattered the sky. The earth itself seemed to wail. Yet Atlas remained composed, supersonic speed adjusting in real-time, responding to reflexes Orcus couldn’t even consciously control.

Every strike, every slam, every push was learning. And with each learning, the Berserker weakened.

Atlas paused midair. Eyes narrowing, he understood fully now — Orcus’s greatest weapon wasn’t his shadow, wasn’t his rage, wasn’t even his size. It was his inability to anticipate a mind that was faster than thought. That insight was Atlas’s key.

With a supersonic blur, he struck the final sequence. Iron Fist connecting in a spinning, crushing strike to Orcus’s chest and neck simultaneously. Every bone, every joint, every fiber overloaded. Orcus’s body convulsed, staggered, and collapsed in a crater of shattered stone.

Atlas floated above the ruin, chest heaving, golden eyes scanning the horizon. The Berserker lay broken, yet alive, breathing ragged, crimson eyes still burning in defiance.

Atlas whispered, almost gently:

"I told you to surrender....now say hello to death for me... don’t worry, she is nice."

The words carried the weight of judgment, the clarity of truth. And yet... something stirred.

Beneath the shattered mountain, beneath the dust, a shadow flickered. Not Orcus. Something older. Something primordial. The Berserker’s body twitched involuntarily.

{{{{{...I told you, this is just the start....it’s enough, my body is ready, do it now.}}}}}}

And like a black hole, the giant man was suddenly swallowed by the dark shadow, its jagged teeth closing around him—not a bite, not a tear, but a complete, merciless consumption—just as Veil had devoured the Titans. Darkness swallowed the air where he had stood, leaving nothing but a void.

"Betrayal?..no, something’s off?" Atlas whispered, his voice tight, his muscles coiling, ready for whatever came next.

The sounds came first—bones snapping, muscles tearing, a sickening symphony of destruction that made Atlas flinch, but he didn’t step back.

The shadow writhed, shrinking, smaller and smaller, folding in on itself, until it resembled the size of the Orcus he had faced before, smaller, seven foot tall, —but now its body was a writhing mass of darkness, covered in countless eyes and lips that flickered, stared, and whispered in voices that made the air vibrate.

Step

Orcus moved, and with that single step, the earth groaned, cracks spiderwebbing outward like lightning frozen in stone.

Though smaller, its weight and power pressed down with the force of a colossus, the colossus he was before, like he was only compressed, his power and weight, remaining the same.

Step.

{{{{{Now the real battle starts...}}}}} Orcus beloud.