CHAPTER 241: CHAPTER 242: SHIT!!!

[Updating 72%...]

The words blinked in front of him, stale blue light flickering across his sweat-drenched face.

"Fuck.... this system..." Atlas belted out, hurling the stool across the room with a guttural snarl.

Wood cracked against stone. Splinters danced like fleeing thoughts. The stool landed crooked, one leg bending in like it, too, had given up.

"Haaa... so slow."

But the frustration wasn’t about the lagging system. Not the crash loops, the codes, the irritating error pings. No. That was the surface tension—easy to blame. What boiled beneath was different. Thicker. Older. It was ’him’.

The one who came when he prayed.

And he hadn’t even meant to.

He knew the mythos. The chronology. The pantheons. The names that were meant to be whispered, the ones carved into stone and souls. Ouserous. That was who he’d planned to call. The God of Higher Law. The one the northen lands once swore by.

But when the words left his mouth—soft, vulnerable, terrified—they weren’t Ouserous’s. He had changed his mind. Praying for non other than...

his father....Thor

And like a silent whisper, he came.

Not flashing, not screaming, not grand like a divine entrance should be. No. He arrived—a silence that commanded the world to listen. Not Thor but....

"Odin..." Atlas muttered the name again, his throat dry.

Even in the dark room, he felt the weight of that single syllable. Like it was still echoing. Like it hadn’t stopped since the first time it left his lips.

Two black crows had sat on his shoulders—no ordinary birds. Their feathers were woven with strands of gold, shimmering subtly even in shadow, eyes too knowing to belong to anything that breathed. They were watching, judging, remembering.

A giant stood behind him—stoic, cold. His body language didn’t scream threat. It whispered it. Eyes sharp. Still. Ready to strike if Atlas so much as twitched wrong.

But Odin...

Odin was worse.

He looked human.

Too human.

More mortal than Atlas. More there. The kind of presence that reached inside and rearranged your truths without asking permission.

One eye covered.

One eye open.

Blue. Ethereal. Endless.

And in that one glance, he knew everything. Atlas felt it like drowning in a mirror. The way Odin looked at him was how a puppeteer might gaze at a marionette just beginning to pull its own strings.

And yet... the deal was struck.

Atlas had extended his hand. Not out of trust. Not out of belief.

But because the silence was too loud and his back was already against the edge of something worse.

Odin’s grip had been cold. Final. The sigil burned into Atlas’s palm—the symbol of lightning—still glowed with quiet defiance.

It never faded.

Even now.... later, his healing factor did nothing. Flesh knit around it. Never over it. It had become a brand. A boundary.

A warning.

He stared at it, palm open, breath ragged.

And hated that it still hurt.

"Atlas!!"

Aurora’s voice shattered the silence, and Atlas nearly flinched. Her footsteps were soft, but the concern in them was sharp, pacing over stone with growing urgency.

He turned to her.

His face pale. His shirt clinging to his skin. Eyes haunted. Sweat gathered at his temple, running down his cheek like the memory he couldn’t shake.

She noticed it instantly.

"Are you okay?" she asked, moving closer. Her voice was soft but pressed with insistence. She reached out—hesitated—then rested a hand on his arm.

He nodded.

But his lips trembled. "...No, no. I’m alright."

"Are you sure?" Her eyes narrowed. "You look like death and we’re about to ’go to hell’. HELL, Atlas!"

She said it again. Emphasized it. Like saying it louder might change the madness of their destination.

Atlas took a long breath. He blinked, grounding himself. "...Sorry. Just..... distracted."

"Everything’s ready,...but." she said. Then paused.

A beat.

He noticed.

"...But?"

Aurora exhaled.

"...There’s a problem."

Of course there was.

His body tensed.

"...What problem?"

She crossed her arms.

"Your batch of.... women," she said plainly. "Elizabeth’s been banging the shield barrier for half an hour now. The Masters can’t keep secrets—and no, don’t blame me for that...."

"...Shit."

"And," she added, "Lara and Claire are waiting outside.... Together."

Atlas felt his brain flatline.

"...Wait. Wait. We can just g—"

But the door creaked open.

Too late.

Lara stepped in.

Claire followed.

The temperature dropped in the room—not from magic, not from aura. Just... tension.

Static that wrapped itself around every breath.

"...You learned nothing, did you?" Claire said, arms folded, eyebrow arched, a ticking bomb of sarcasm.

"Brother..." Lara whispered. "Why... why are you always looking for trouble?"

And then—zap.

Another sound. Arcane. Quick. A displacement of air.

Merlin and Eli shimmered into existence beside him.

Atlas closed his eyes. Aurora groaned.

Merlin raised his hands like a criminal caught with cookies.

"Don’t blame me," Merlin said. "She said she’d name me ’Merlin the Pedophile’ and spread it through all of humanity. What do you think I would do?"

His voice was dry. Exhausted. Nearly defeated.

With that, Merlin gently grabbed Aurora’s wrist.

"Come on. This is not our problem," he muttered.

He began leading her away, asking her—almost academically—about the different methods she had used to travel to Hell before.

The door clicked shut behind them.

Thud!!!

Leaving Eli.

Claire.

Lara.

And Atlas.

Inside.

With no escape.

’...Shit,’ Atlas thought again.

Claire’s foot tapped against the floor. Rhythmic. Predictable. Deadly.

Lara sat down silently on the edge of the table. Her long blue hair flowed behind her like an accusation.

Eli just leaned against the wall. Silent. Dangerous.

Atlas swallowed.

"You have something to say?" Claire began, her tone as pleasant as a guillotine.

"I..." Atlas rubbed the back of his neck. "...don’t even know where to start."

"Oh, we know," Eli said, eyes half-lidded. "You never know where to start. That’s your specialty. Emotional constipation."

Claire grunted in agreement with her.

"I just wanted to make the jump to Hell quick. Simple. No drama." He muttered.

"Withholding truth is not simplicity," Lara finally said. Her voice was soft, but the weight in it was undeniable. "It’s betrayal’s lazy cousin."

That line stabbed him.

Harder than Odin’s sigil.

"...I didn’t want anyone getting hurt."

"Oh please," Eli rolled her eyes. "You didn’t want to deal with the hurt. There’s a difference."

He wanted to argue.

But couldn’t.

The silence pressed again.

Claire moved forward. Her finger jabbed at his chest.

"You have me...us—all of us—and still you treat everything like a solo mission. You think it’s noble. It’s not. It’s arrogant."

He looked at her.

Saw the genuine hurt behind the fire.

He wanted to reach for her hand. Apologize.

But Lara beat him to it.

She stood.

Stepped closer.

Her voice barely a whisper. "Brother... I would go to hell for you. I would burn for you."

Then, more quietly—"But I shouldn’t have to fight your silence to do it."

He blinked.

Eyes stinging.

"...I’m....."