CHAPTER 196: CHAPTER 197: BELA’S GIFT

{{{...impressive...}}}

The word came with warmth and weight, unlike the hissing whispers of the battlefield. Unlike the roars of demi gods and dragons echoing through the blood-soaked winds.

Another voice followed it. Familiar. Feminine. Intimate.

Claire’s gut twisted.

No, not now. Not again...

Her feet slid on shattered glass and molten ash beneath her boots as she staggered forward through the broken terrain. Her ribs ached. Her knuckles were cracked. Her vision blurred—but that voice. That voice curled inside her bones like it had always lived there.

She snarled. "I’m not your filly in the rub, princess woman. I am the Claire....Claire Von Phinixia .....So fuck off."

{{{Hahahaha...Claire, you haven’t changed.}}}

Laughter like bells in a graveyard. Soft and cruel and full of memory.

Claire blinked rapidly. Her blood was still singing from the last fight. Her mind still caught in the echo of metal on bone. But now—

Her throat closed. Because....this voice, it was familiar....very familiar

"...you are..."

{{{you still remember .....Yes. ...I am Bela. Atlas’s mother.}}}

She froze. The air around her grew cold, like time itself had taken a breath.

Her voice trembled, the sharp edges softening. "A...are you a ghost? You... you died. I saw it. You were gone—"

{{{oh...Sweet Claire. I am beyond death. I am beyond time...}}}

The battlefield vanished behind her lids, and she saw it—Bela’s hands brushing the dust off her scraped knees when she was young and naive. Her laugh when Claire defied her father. The soft whisper at night: ’You were born for more....’

{{{And you, my dear... it seems I was right about you....}}}

Claire exhaled like her lungs forgot how to hold air.

"...Right about what? Wait—how are you even here? How are you talking to me like this? Is this some kind of trick? Are you really—?"

{{{—Come on. How many times did I save you from your cocky siblings’ bullying? You had that black eye for a week.}}}

Claire closed her eyes, her body swaying slightly under the weight of grief and memory. "Bela..."

Suddenly the sulfur in the air didn’t feel like death. It smelled like something old—like brimstone before a storm. Like a story still unfinished.

"I don’t know how you’re alive—or how I’m hearing you—but... I need to save Atlas. I need to save your son....."

{{{That’s why I’m here. After you waved off the seduction of the Leviathans like it was nothing—I knew.....You could be trusted...}}}

"Leviathan? What the hell are you talking about—me? Handle what?"

{{{...A portion of my power. I want you to save my son. Before it’s too late....}}}

Claire didn’t hesitate.

She didn’t ask what the cost was. Didn’t need the terms or the explanation.

Her voice was steady now, her spine locking into place.

"Then give it. Give me whatever you can. I’ll save him. Even if it means selling my soul...."

There was a pause.

{{{....You really love my son, don’t you?}}}

Claire’s voice cracked. Just slightly. Just enough to feel real. "...Yes."

Bela didn’t laugh this time.

{{{Very well. I can only give you a sliver... 0.1%. Any more... and you will die.}}}

Claire nodded, even though her legs were trembling.

"Deal."

{{{I...}}} The voice deepened. Grew layered, ancient. {{{I, @#\$@, Mother of All Monsters and Demons. The First ’She.’ The First Succubus. Grant Claire, a human, a sliver of my power. May she serve the Garden of Eden, and carry its laws in her hands.}}}

The world screamed.

Claire’s knees buckled.

Something—something inside her roared awake, a beast long coiled and dormant. Her heartbeat pounded so loud she could barely hear her own scream.

The sulfur burned her lungs. Her veins ignited with heat. Not pain—transcendence. Her eyes burned brighter, impossibly violet, glowing in a way that mirrored a dusk never seen on Earth. A dusk that whispered of dying gods and rising devils.

"Ah—aaa—"

Her mouth opened and the sky shook.

"AAAAAAA!"

The wind around her twisted like it bowed in reverence.

Her body arched back, her nails digging into the earth as if holding on to reality itself. For a moment, just one, she was not Claire. She was #$$$&$$ Hand. A name never meant to be worn again. And now it pulsed under her skin like a curse.

A flash of memory hit her: Atlas, laughing, holding her hand on that broken balcony overlooking a dying city. "Do you think they’ll still call me prince if we destroy the political garbage ?"

She’d said yes. But now she didn’t know anymore.

She stood.

Steam rolled off her skin. The air hissed with her breath. Her eyes burned holes in the horizon.

"I’m coming, Atlas."

Not as a woman.

Not as a lover.

As a force.

.

.

.

Far across the battlefield—where the skies had ruptured and the air itself was aflame—

A different war was reaching its peak.

"Old man... you grew stronger....Much stronger."

Loki’s voice was ragged, laughing as he spat blood to the ash-covered earth. His crimson eyes blazed like twin suns, and his pale body was encased in armor not made—but summoned. Ancient, celestial, and wrong. The kind of armor gods locked away and forgot how to name.

Merlin’s own eyes burned the same. But deeper. Older.

His beard danced like a banner of fire. His long staff pulsed with incantations stitched through centuries. The wind screamed his name in whispers.

"...Did you sell your soul or something?" Loki asked, cracking his neck.

Merlin smirked, teeth like stormlight.

"...Actually, yes. How do you think I lived this long, boy? Long enough for a four-hundred-year-old giant to call me ’old.’"

Loki chuckled. "Oh—you really were older than me? And here I was just making fun of your beard..."

Merlin’s voice sharpened. "Smile all you want, Loki. I will put you back in your cage."

The god’s eyes narrowed.

"...Demigods. Always wreaking havoc. Everything you touch—you destroy. Can’t control it. Can’t accept it. Tell me, Loki... has your father ever come down and tried talking to you?"

Loki’s entire aura shifted.

The fire dimmed.

The armor tightened around his body as if bracing against something cold. His jaw clenched.

"...Silence."

"That answers it." Merlin’s voice was soft now. Razor-soft. "Who would, after all? The Sun God is already famous for spreading his seeds. Maybe he made you by mistake. Like the rest of his bastard kin...."

Loki flinched.

Silence cracked.

His next words were low. Deadly.

"Careful, old man. You’re walking dangerous ground."

Merlin leaned forward. His staff hit the scorched earth with a thud that echoed beyond sound.

"Good."