CHAPTER 207: CHAPTER 208: HE’S ALIVE

Atlas opened his eyes abruptly.

His golden irises flared for a split second—brighter than any star—then dulled back into something mortal. His chest heaved against the soil beneath him, breathing in the scent of scorched earth, iron, and something sweet—too sweet—like rotting petals soaked in blood. He felt cold.

Then—

Cough! Cough!

He vomited. Violently. A thick stream of shimmering mucus—residue of the fairy dust—splattered onto the ground. The taste of it burned his throat, acidic and floral, like poison that had pretended to be a miracle.

His fingers clawed the dirt, nails curling into the cracked earth as he pushed himself upward. A wind passed over him—dry and hot like the breath of some ancient god watching from above. Something inside him shifted. The virus—no, the evolution—had taken root. He could feel it. Not in pain. Not in agony.

In weightlessness.

His body had no ache, no fatigue, no friction. Only... difference.

He rose to a knee. His limbs trembled not with weakness, but confusion—like they weren’t entirely his anymore. His shoulders had broadened slightly. His spine stretched higher. Muscle had stacked subtly across his frame like a second skeleton made of fire-forged steel.

"...I really did evolved....strange feeling." he muttered under breath.

He pressed his palm to his chest. His heart—slow and fading before—was now steady. Rhythmic. Louder than before, like it beat not just for him, but through him.

Then—

[System Access Denied.]

He blinked. Tried again.

[System Access Denied.]

"...The fuck?"

He hadn’t even called it yet. But the system—his ever-cryptic companion—had already locked him out. As if it didn’t want him to see what he’d become.

He glanced down, then stilled.

"...huh... my hair."

A curtain of moonlit black swept down his back, spilling like ink over his spine and pooling near his thighs. His breath hitched. He ran his fingers through it—the strands fine and silky, too long, too sudden.

A symbol. A tether.

Growth in the body, perhaps, but what of the soul?

Then his finger brushed against something—a shimmer in the air around him, the shield. Like touching the skin of a dream.

Crack—

The moment he pressed outward, the barrier surrounding him shattered with a delicate ring, like the surface of glass kissed by thunder. The world exploded into his ears.

Screams. Metal upon metal. The sharp whistle of arrows. Thunderous footsteps. The sky was bruised with smoke and magic.

He turned, and chaos opened before him.

Eli’s blade danced beside Lara, two silhouettes fighting like twin storms. But one wasn’t like the others. His eyes narrowed.

"...is that Claire?" he asked aloud, confused.

Yes. Claire. Her aura was unmistakable, feral and weeping and sharp.

He scanned the battlefield further. His gaze caught two others—friends—wounded but still breathing. Fighting knights. Primes, maybe.

"...things didn’t go as planned... did they?" he whispered to the wind.

He stepped forward.

Crack—

The ground split beneath his boot.

Only a step. But the sound echoed across the field like an omen.

Heads turned.

Eli paused mid-swing. Her eyes locked onto him first.

Then Claire. Then Lara.

A single heartbeat passed between them, stretched to the breaking point.

Eli’s mouth parted.

"...Impossible..." she breathed, almost inaudibly.

Memories surfaced in her mind: her hands trembling as she pushed the virus into him... the whisper in her head saying it wouldn’t kill him, just bring him close. But he should’ve been comatose. Hollow. Not...

Not this.

Claire froze. Her clawed hands lowered. Her eyes trembled.

"Atlas!" she screamed.

"Brother!!" Lara cried, her voice cracking.

They ran. No hesitation. Not in war, not in blood.

They collided into him, embracing him with all the weight they had carried in his absence.

Claire’s arms wrapped around his chest like she was afraid he’d vanish if she let go. She was shaking. Her claws dug into his back, not enough to pierce, but enough to feel. She was crying. For the first time since...she lost her father.

Tears against skin that should’ve never risen again.

"I thought I was helping..." Atlas muttered, his voice cold, hollow. His eyes lifted over their shoulders to Eli. "But it seems I made it worse. Aren’t I right... ELI?"

The name cracked across the field like a whip.

Eli didn’t move. Her grip on her sword tightened until her knuckles turned white.

"You... how? Why?" she rasped. Her breath fogged in the heat of battle. "How is this possible? Why don’t you just... lie down? Why should there be another miracle?"

Claire bared her teeth.

"Fuck you!!" she roared. Her claws extended, glowing. "You whore. This is his power. This is Atlas. You’ll never understand because you don’t love him. You want to own him."

She turned, placing her hand over his chest. A proclamation. A warning.

Mine.

Lara watched the gesture. Her fists curled subtly. There was something off in how Claire touched him, how close they stood. But she let it go—for now. He was alive. That was what mattered.

But the moment stretched.

Because something in him still wasn’t quite... right.

Lara’s eyes blinked.

[Notification!]

Her system buzzed.

She flinched. Her pupils widened.

Her gaze darted toward Atlas—and stayed there.

His name had changed.

Her throat dried.

"...No... that can’t..."

But before she could speak, Eli moved.

She leapt—blurring into motion. Her feet barely touched the earth. Her sword glowed with killing intent, wind screaming in her wake.

Atlas didn’t move. Not an inch.

He knew.

Somewhere in his bones, somewhere buried in his instinct, he knew—that sword wouldn’t mark him. Couldn’t.

Not anymore.

She closed the distance.

But before her blade could strike—something echoed.

{Hold} a soft voice spoke, echoing from the sky.

The world froze.

The noise died. The wind stopped. Screams halted mid-breath.

Time itself staggered.

A humming filled the silence, subtle and cosmic. The hum of mana laced not with chaos—but with law.

"...a Law?" Atlas muttered. He looked up.

And there—above the smoke, hovering like divine judges—stood Aurora. Beside her, a man older than time. Wrinkled, robed, draped in starlight.

Atlas’s heart pounded.

His new instincts recoiled.

Whatever spell the old man cast—it was wrong. Ancient. Forbidden. Not just time magic... but the kind that bends reality.

"What the fuck happened when I was asleep?" he whispered.