CHAPTER 387: CHAPTER 376: I’M READY NOW.

The wind was dry and thin, carrying no scent of life. The world stretched endlessly ahead—miles of cracked pavement, pale sand, and towers of glass standing like bones of an ancient god that refused to fall.

Atlas slowed his pace. His boots crunched on the dust-coated asphalt. The silence pressed close, heavy enough that even the air seemed afraid to move.

What was this? Where was he?

He wanted to ask those questions. But deep in his chest, he already knew. He recognized the shapes of the buildings—the angles, the glass, the way the sunlight struck the steel frames. This wasn’t some unknown civilization. This wasn’t a relic of angels or demons.

This... was his world.

Or what was left of it. He didn’t know.

He looked away quickly before the others could read the truth in his eyes. His throat burned, but he didn’t speak. Something inside whispered: Don’t tell them. Not yet.

Not Aurora, not Merlin, not even Lara.

Nobody.

The guide’s voice slid through his skull like silk dipped in poison.

{{{{{.....you can tell me though.}}}}}}

Atlas’s jaw clenched. ’I have questions for you, not answers. What is this place? Why are these buildings here?’

{{{{{.....you.}}}}}}

’What?’

{{{{{It’s all about you now. Sadly, the three empresses are watching. You’ve drawn their eyes, boy. Things like this—these echoes, these places—will be common now.}}}}}}

Atlas’s pulse thudded like a drum inside his skull. ’...Why me?’

{{{{{Boy, you’re eighteen and you’ve conquered half of hell. You became its demon king. You usurped Asmodeus... Are you dumb?}}}}}}

He almost laughed, but the sound came out brittle, hollow.

He wasn’t proud. He wasn’t even angry. Just tired.

He didn’t want to conquer anything. Didn’t want to sit on thrones built from corpses. He had only wanted to survive. Every step, every battle, every decision—none of it had been for power.

It had been because there was no other choice.

Now here he was again, standing in the skeleton of his old world, and it felt like someone had scraped open an old wound he’d forgotten was still bleeding.

He looked down at his hands. They trembled slightly. Same hands, same shape, but a thousand lifetimes apart. Human, yet not. The skin that once typed on a keyboard now carried the blood of gods.

He exhaled. "I’m actually dumb," he muttered under his breath.

{{{{{Haha... took your time to realize it.}}}}}}

The voice faded, leaving only the wind and his heartbeat.

He looked forward again. The street curved into shadow. Buildings stood on both sides—glass shattered, signs rusted. Some windows still reflected sunlight faintly, as if the city refused to die completely.

They walked deeper into the vacant city, boots echoing against the empty pavement.

Aurora’s robe fluttered as she gazed upward, eyes wide. "The architecture... magnificent," she murmured. "Was this built for kings?"

Merlin trailed his fingers across a cracked wall, his expression unreadable. "No human kingdom could have shaped glass like this. Perhaps this was a realm for angels who forgot heaven."

Atlas’s lips twitched faintly. He could have told them the truth—that this was just a city like any other. No angels. No kings. Just people trying to pay rent. People like him.

He remembered the smell of coffee from a corner shop that used to stand here, the flicker of neon lights during rain. The way he used to drag his tired body home after another failed day.

Now that same street was a graveyard.

He said nothing.

Let them imagine. Let them romanticize the ruins. It was better that way.

Aurora pointed at a half-collapsed billboard. The letters were faded, but still visible: "Breathe Better — Future Awaits."

She smiled wistfully. "They worshiped architect here, not kings but a form of discovery...I can sense it," she said.

Atlas wanted to laugh. He remembered that ad. It was for an air purifier.

He turned his head away, throat tightening.

Eli walked beside him, eyes full of curiosity. "Atlas, what kind of people lived here, do you think?"

Atlas hesitated. "Ordinary ones," he said softly. "They woke, worked, slept... dreamed they were important."

Lara frowned. "Like us?"

"No," he said after a pause. "Worse. They believed they weren’t."

The group went quiet after that.

Every sound became amplified—the crunch of sand beneath boots, the faint whistle of wind threading through hollow buildings. The air smelled faintly metallic, like rain that would never fall.

He kept walking, but the past walked with him. He saw flashes behind his eyes: his small apartment, the blinking cursor on a blank screen, the rejection emails. He saw his parents’ home—so close, yet so far. He had walked by their house once, carrying a bag of gifts he never gave. They hadn’t opened the door.

He thought he had buried those memories somewhere beneath the weight of his new life. But now, every step here dug them back up.

"Atlas?"

Claire’s voice pulled him back. She was beside him, violet eyes soft with concern. "You look pale. What’s wrong?"

He forced a smile. "Nothing. Just... stress."

She didn’t believe him. He could tell by the way her hand found his, fingers interlocking without hesitation.

Warmth. Steady. Real.

Eli noticed and smiled faintly before looping her arm around his other side. "Then you’ll share that stress with us," she said. "That’s what we’re here for."

He wanted to say something—anything—but the words dissolved before they could leave his throat.

Lara, walking behind them, saw the two girls at his sides and immediately frowned. "Hey!" she protested, running up to leap onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You two are hogging him again! He’s mine!"

Claire didn’t even flinch. "He’s ours," she said simply.

Eli nodded. "We share."

Lara’s cheeks flushed crimson. "You’re all insane."

Atlas chuckled softly, the sound surprising even himself. The laughter broke something open inside him—a tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying since they’d left the Gate.

He looked at them—these people who had followed him through hell, through death, through eternity itself—and the ghosts of his past faded, layer by layer.

Yeah, he thought. Why am I thinking about people who never loved me, when the ones who do are right here?

Claire leaned in close, her breath brushing his ear. "Someday," she whispered, voice trembling with shyness and something deeper, "when this is all over... I’ll bear your child as well..."

Her words hit him like lightning. For a heartbeat, everything else vanished—the city, the wind, the ruins. Only her voice remained, soft and raw and real.

He turned his head slightly, his lips near her ear. "I’m ready now, Claire."

She froze. Then blushed so fiercely her violet eyes darted away, unable to meet his. She hadn’t expected him to say it, not like that.

Because this time... he wasn’t teasing. He was serious.

Eli’s lips curved upward, noticing the exchange but saying nothing. Lara, clinging to his back, made a tiny sound of protest and buried her face in his shoulder.

Merlin cleared his throat loudly behind them. "Children, perhaps we can postpone the mating rituals until after we confirm the realm’s stability."

Aurora snorted, unable to hide her smile. "...You were young once too, Merlin."

"I was never that young," he muttered.

The small laughter that rippled through them eased the weight of the air. For a moment, the city didn’t feel like a graveyard. It felt like the world had paused to let them breathe.

But it didn’t last.

Michael descended from the sky in a flare of light, his wings scattering dust across the street. His armor shimmered faintly, gold dulled by ash. He landed beside Atlas, his expression grim.

"Lord Prophet," Michael said. "We’ve scouted ahead."

The title made Atlas flinch inwardly. Prophet. As if that word belonged to him.

"What did you find?"

Michael gestured toward the horizon. "Arranged Strange rectangular structures. Tall as mountains, made of glass and metal. Many have collapsed together, but.....we sensed life, Should we proceed?"

Atlas’s heart skipped.

Life?....here?

He knew what those were. Skyscrapers. Office towers. The heart of the city.

He swallowed hard. "...Describe them."

Michael tilted his head slightly, confused. "...they were in the shadows lord, we couldn’t different.."

Merlin stepped closer, intrigued. "Maybe the ones who devised this place, A people of perfectionists. Perhaps of divine in nature."

"No," Atlas whispered. "Not divine....."

He was sure of it.

He stared at the horizon where sunlight caught the glass like shards of memory. His pulse pounded against his ribs. He wanted to tell them—to scream that this was his world, his home—but that same instinct, that same whisper inside told him not yet.

Something wasn’t right.

The air itself vibrated faintly, like a held breath. The world here wasn’t dead. It was watching.

He exhaled slowly. "We move forward. But stay alert."

Michael nodded once, obedience absolute. "As you command." He spread his wings again, taking flight toward the shimmering skyline.

Raphael lingered, his voice low. "Lord Prophet..."

Atlas turned.

"Sorry oh lord, but...." Raphael asked quietly. "...about Lilith. That she is your mother."

The question hit harder than he expected. Raphael’s expression was earnest, but there was something behind it—fear, maybe, or faith on the verge of breaking.

Atlas hesitated. The truth balanced on his tongue like a blade.

"I told you...I don’t know, Raphael" he said finally.

Raphael’s eyes dimmed. "You don’t know?"

"I remember fragments," Atlas said. "Faces. Fire. Pain. Maybe it’s true. Maybe not. But if it is..." He looked away. "Then I wish it weren’t."

Raphael lowered his head. "Forgive me, my lord. It’s just—if she is of hell, then—"

"Then what?" Atlas interrupted, voice low. "Does that make me less human? Less worthy?"

Raphael flinched. "No. But it means your fate isn’t your own....maybe she"

Atlas’s lips curved faintly. "It never was, Raphael....it never was...that’s what it means to be chosen...."

He turned away, ending the conversation. But inside, something twisted.

Lilith. His mother. The woman who killed him in his previous life, who tore him from one world and thrust him into another. Why? To what end?

He didn’t know.

And maybe he didn’t want to.

Aurora approached next, her voice sharp but not cruel. "Atlas. If she is truly Lilith—the Empress of Hell—then everything changes. You understand that, yes?"

He nodded once.

Claire came beside Aurora, her tone trembling. "The power in me... she gave it. She said it was to protect you. To... guide you....so.."

Atlas’s hands curled into fists. "Maybe, but theirs a chance that she’s manipulating all of us."

"....No," Claire whispered. "She said...she said, she loved you."

Atlas’s expression hardened. "Love?....Then her love kills..."

The silence that followed was thick, unbreathable.

Finally, he sighed. "We’ll talk later. First, we see what these are, and deal with it, and hopefully find shelter...."