CHAPTER 376: CHAPTER 365: I WILL BE BACK.

Lara’s breath hung in the cold air, sharp as glass. Her eyes widened as she watched Claire snatch the small feline form of Atlas from her arms once more.

Claire’s crimson hair caught the pale light, a banner of defiance against the ghostly snow. "He’s mine for now," she declared, voice trembling between jealousy and pride. "I am a noble of Berminhhum—a high noble. Asking the prince—my nephew—for an heir may sound mad to you, but blood makes its own laws."

Her laughter rang brittle, a bell struck too hard.

Lara’s lips parted in disbelief. "You—Claire, that’s—"

"Unheard of?" Claire tilted her chin. "You think the old courts still rule us? There’s no court left, Lara. Only survival. Only legacy. Our legacy..."

For a heartbeat, silence. Then Lara’s temper broke its leash. "As his ...stepsister," she said, voice rising like a drawn blade, "I am bound by right and by blood to continue his line. You think lineage is a game? We are the last of the blood that remembers the light."

Her words shivered in the frozen air. Behind her, faint murmurs rose among the Fallen. Wings rustled, uneasy. To speak of heirs in front of angels was sacrilege; to speak of it beside the prophet himself—blasphemy.

The cat in Claire’s arms twitched, ears flattening. Inside the fragile body, Atlas’s mind roiled. ’They’re going to kill each other over a corpse wearing fur.’

His tail flicked, a nervous tell. "Enough," he murmured, but his voice was swallowed by the rising storm of female pride.

Then Eli stepped forward, calm as midnight steel. Her armored gauntlet gleamed faintly; her other hand rested over her stomach, possessive. "Both of you needn’t argue," she said with a faint smile. "Berminhhum will have its heir—from me."

The air cracked with outrage.

Lara’s voice cut sharp. "Eli—"

"Don’t," Claire snapped. "Not another word."

Eli merely raised an eyebrow, serenity masking exhaustion. "It seems I’m already carrying his legacy. You can shout later; the child won’t wait for your pride."

Her calm was gasoline. The other two erupted, shouting over each other until their words blurred into heat and breath. The cat sighed, tail lashing snow into the air. ’This is hell,’ Atlas thought grimly, ’and somehow the politics here are worse than in heaven.’

A shadow crossed him. Michael descended between them, wings folding in a rush of wind. His armor burned faint gold beneath frost. "Enough," he commanded. "You shame the prophet with mortal squabbles. Atlas—speak. What course do we take?"

The name struck like thunder. The shouting ceased.

Atlas lifted his head. For a moment, the cat’s small eyes gleamed with the weight of galaxies. His voice came rough, threaded with the exhaustion of eternity. "There’s no time for this. The Third Layer burns. Most of the demon kingdoms bend their knee—only one remains.....Asmodeus."

The name chilled even the angels.

Michael’s hand found his sword, knuckles whitening. "The last of the Seven Thrones," he whispered.

"Yes," Atlas said. "He commands the remnants of pride and desire. If he falls, hell’s hierarchy collapses. I need you—sword of heaven, first son of God—to finish what began."

For an instant, Michael seemed carved of light. Then his laughter broke, fierce and pure. He drew his blade; fire unfurled along its edge. "Then to war!" he cried. His eight wings flared wide, scattering snow like sparks.

A roar of approval swept through the Fallen ranks. Spears struck the ground; banners of shadowed flame rose high. Even Claire and Lara fell silent, awe washing their anger away.

Atlas watched, conflicted. ’They think this is glory,’ he thought. ’to serve god. But no, in the end they are serving me. My goal. My fate .’

He turned to the girls, almost told them to stop—to turn back, to find a way home—but the words died. Only Aurora knew the paths between layers, and she was gone beyond reach. For now, his side was the only safety left to them.

Then the earth moved.

It began as a low rumble beneath the snow, a heartbeat of the abyss. The sound deepened until the ground cracked, jagged fissures tearing across the plateau.

Merlin shouted something—wards, perhaps—but his voice was lost to the roar as the world split open.

Heat burst upward, carrying stench of brimstone and burnt scales.

From the chasm rose a shape vast enough to blot the aurora itself: an eight-headed dragon, each maw a furnace of void-light. Black scales shimmered with oily rainbows, and each breath turned the air molten.

The Fallen broke ranks, some falling to their knees. Michael’s eyes blazed.

"Asmodeus’s creature," Atlas whispered. He could feel its hunger—each head a different sin, each gaze a mirror of devouring intent. One head fixed upon him, and in that moment he knew: it did not want flesh. It wanted his soul. Asmodeus had mad him the creatures Target.

Atop one scaled ridge, a glimmer of movement—Ureil, clinging to a scale the size of a temple gate, blade buried deep.

Atlas’s pulse quickened. "Michael!"

The archangel turned, sword burning white.

"Slay it," Atlas commanded.

No hesitation. Michael surged upward, wings exploding in radiance. His body grew—light layering upon flesh until he loomed half the beast’s size, a titan wrought of holy fire. Snow vaporized beneath him.

"By flame and faith!" he roared, and struck.

The dragon screamed—a sound like universes dying. One head snapped, jaws clamping around Michael’s wing; another spewed black lightning. The sky convulsed with clashing divinity.

Atlas felt it all through the cat’s fragile heart. Every blow shook his borrowed bones. ’Too much,’ he thought. ’I can’t stay tethered like this.’

[Link weakening...]

The Guide’s voice cut through static: ’Atlas—hurry. Your body’s tearing apart.’

Pain lanced him, white and absolute. He felt ribs cracking in a body miles away, nerves unraveling across realms.

He staggered in the snow, the cat’s small body convulsing. Lara knelt instantly. "Atlas—what’s wrong?"

"Stay... back," he gasped. The words came distorted through the creature’s mouth.

Eli’s hand went to her sword. "Tell us what to do."

Atlas looked from her to Claire to Lara—three faces of love and fury and fear—and managed a broken smile. "Live. Live and Wait for me."

He raised a trembling paw. Power hummed in the air.

[World Understanding: Activated.]

The ground flashed. Circles of light rippled outward, intricate as frost patterns. He saw the weave of reality, every wound, every scar.

[Healing: Learned.]

He swept his paw downward.

A warm wind rolled over the battlefield. Merlin gasped as his injuries closed; the Fallen rose, wounds mending beneath golden glow. Even the broken snow crust re-froze, smoothing like untouched glass.

Atlas exhaled, trembling. "That should... hold you."

He felt the tether snap inside him—a string pulled too tight.

The cat arched, fur standing on end. Light spilled from its eyes.

Within his mind, a whisper:

[Seed: Father... Father, don’t leave me.]

The words froze him. The cat—the vessel—The seed had grown a soul.

He hesitated, heart twisting.

But the pain intensified. His vision blurred. The Guide’s voice was a fading echo. ’Now, Atlas! Or you’ll die in both worlds!’

He looked one last time at the battlefield: Michael locked in divine combat, the women staring upward in horror, the heavens split by aurora and flame.

"Forgive me," he whispered, though he wasn’t sure to whom.

Then he let go.

The cat’s body crumpled gently into Lara’s arms, still warm. Its eyes dimmed but did not close; a faint glimmer lingered, as if the seed still watched the world.

Lara pressed her forehead to its fur, with determined eyes. . "We will wait, don’t forget your promise," she whispered.

Eli turned away, gripping her stomach, the faintest glow under her palm. "He’ll come back," she said softly, though her voice trembled.

Claire’s anger broke like ice. She knelt beside them, hands shaking. "He always does."

Above them, Michael’s battle raged on. His sword split one of the dragon’s heads; ichor rained like molten obsidian.

Yet for every wound he carved, another head struck. The air burned with the scent of ozone and divine blood.

Merlin raised his staff, muttering ancient words; protective sigils bloomed over the women, shielding them from falling ash.

"He’s gone back to the Third Layer," the mage said quietly. "To face what none of us can. He said he’s facing Asmodeus....crazy bastard m."

Claire looked up, eyes fierce through tears. "Then we’ll wait," she said. "But if he falls, I swear I’ll tear heaven apart to bring him back."

Lara stood up holding the cat. Who was now dead asleep. " Not just you. We all will. We can’t....No I can’t let him go now. Never. "

Eli saw the gigantic monster coming in, as Michael and the fallens try to withhold it.

"Until then, we need to take care of this mess....get ready old man."

Merlin smiled , as his body was now fully healed.

"I’m old yes...but don’t underestimate me. As now I know the ways of hell." He voiced. As he gradually floated. His mana no longer disheveled by hell.

".... Explosion....."