CHAPTER 277: CHAPTER 278:TRUE PEACE

"...you... were... strong."

"No—no, no, please—" Orcus’s pleas were strangled, panic overtaking pride.

Atlas’s essence flared. Not mana. Not magic. Pure existence sharpened into a weapon.

[Your heart resonance is heard by Hell]

[Hell accepts you]

[Hell is overjoyed with your strength]

[You are eligible for Domain Authority]

The Guide’s laughter echoed faint, smug.

Orcus’s eyes widened. He understood, too late. He wasn’t fighting a man. Not even a demi-god. He was fighting inevitability incarnate.

Atlas’s fist came down.

BOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Reality itself screamed.

When Orcus opened his eyes, all was white.

No shadows clung to him. No eyes blinked from his flesh. No mouths whispered from his arms.

He was just himself again—bare, small, mortal. For the first time in ages, he felt the silence of being alone. Surrounded by utter whiteness.

And then—her.

A figure cloaked in darkness stepped forward, face veiled, presence heavier than any mountain he had ever lifted. Her arrival bent the white around her, as if even emptiness bowed.

"...who are you?" His voice cracked, stripped of the resonance it once carried. It sounded small, human. A child asking a question he already feared the answer to.

"...Its death...just death....nothing more, nothing less.....you...you are a demon king..." the woman murmured. Her tone was half amused, half unbearably weary. "...that’s new. I thought you lot were beyond my scope. Beyond.... me."

Orcus lowered his gaze, chest tightening. "...so... I died." The words tasted foreign on his tongue. He had crushed armies, swallowed cities whole, declared himself eternal—and yet here, the truth was so light it nearly broke him.

Death did not answer at first. Instead, she reached out, her hand pale and cool as it touched his shoulder. Gentle, but inescapable, like the tide.

"...was it a man with dark hair and golden eyes?" she asked softly.

"...yes," Orcus whispered. His throat burned. "...Atlas."

Death sighed, and even her breath carried weight. Her veiled head tilted, shoulders rising and falling with something like exhaustion.

"...of course. He’s in Hell now. Haa..." A faint groan escaped her, weary, almost annoyed. "...he will increase my workload, won’t he? A storm disguised as a fucking man."

Orcus blinked at her words, confusion mixing with fading pride. "...This is damnation?"

"No." Death’s voice softened, but it echoed as if it was spoken in every direction at once. "...Hell has no grip on you.... Not anymore."

The moment she said it, something inside him uncoiled. The rage he had carried for centuries, the ambition that had devoured him, the sorrow he had buried beneath victories—they slid away like chains broken in silence.

His chest loosened, his breath stilled. He felt light. Empty, but in a way that was... beautiful.

He staggered, his knees weak. His eyes blurred, not with blood, but with tears he didn’t expect.

"...I... I’m free?" His voice trembled. He had ruled. He had destroyed. He had defied gods. But the simple thought of freedom unraveled him more than any blade ever had.

"Yes." Death leaned closer, her hand still on his shoulder, grounding him. "...no rage. No shadow. No hunger. Your throne is gone. But so are your chains....That is my gift."

Orcus wept. The tears fell fast, hot, raw. He pressed a trembling hand to his chest, where once the shadow had coiled like an unending storm. Now there was only stillness.

"...so this is... peace."

Death tilted her veiled head, almost tender, though her tone carried an endless sadness. "...rarely do I give it to your kind. Rarer still do you accept it."

He swallowed hard, tears dripping onto the void beneath him. "...I thought I wanted eternity. I thought I wanted to rule, to be remembered. But... this..." He shook his head, smiling through tears. "...this feels better."

For the first time, his voice carried no echo. Just Orcus. Only Orcus.

"...come," Death said, extending her hand fully now. "There is nothing left for you to fear."

He looked at it, hesitant for only a heartbeat. Then, with trembling fingers, he took it.

"...I am free," he whispered again, but this time, it was not disbelief. It was prayer.

And the void accepted his words, folding him into silence.

.

.

.

Far from that quiet place of release, Titus shattered.

The echo of Atlas’s fist had not only killed Orcus—it had torn through the city.

Walls disintegrated, streets vanished, people scattered like leaves in a storm. Veil and Lidia, racing to the battle, were flung back by the shockwave, tumbling through air as if the world itself rejected their presence.

Everywhere, the resonance spread. Across Hell, thrones trembled. Demon kings and queens lifted their heads one by one.

They felt it—one of their own extinguished. Not banished. Not wounded. But truly gone.

True death.

The unthinkable.

In the heart of the storm, Atlas floated. Blood dripped down his chin, his body trembling, but his golden eyes remained steady. The red glow inside him dimmed, heartbeat easing.

He marveled at the air beneath him. No wings, yet he soared. Like her... He remembered Jörmungandr, how she defied the laws of nature, denying the world’s rules.

"...so I was flying the same way," he muttered.

The storm around him began to settle, though slowly, like a wounded beast refusing to die.

"...Atlas!!!" Lidia’s scream tore through the air, desperate, human.

But his vision flickered.

[⚜ Hell is overjoyed ⚜]

[Hell extends its embrace to you]

[Designation granted: Son of Hell]

[The Dominion of Titus—seat of Orcus—has been stripped from its former master]

[Transfer in progress...]

...

[✔ Transfer complete]

[Authority recognized: The Seventh Portion of the Third Layer now bends to your name]

[⚔ A new Demon King rises ⚔]

[The Infernal Court stirs from slumber]

[The Thrones of the Ancient Demon Kings shift uneasily]

[The Demi-Gods bound in Hell writhe; they feel the beat of your heart shaking their chains]

[The gods above glance downward—threads of fate tugged by your ascension]

[Thunder stirs across the Nine Realms. Thor grips Mjolnir tighter, sensing a storm not his own]

[The World Tree shudders. Its roots whisper of corruption and growth entwined]

[The Golden-Eyed Mortal is no longer merely mortal]

[Atlas—Bearer of Yggdrasil’s Essence, Vessel of the Serpent, bearer of demong god’s heart—has been named]

[Hell and Heaven alike record your existence]

[ Odin is glad... immensely glad]

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