CHAPTER 244: CHAPTER 245: CRIMSON’S BACK

"Welcome to hell," Aurora said with a grin that was too real for this place.

Atlas returned the smile—but it was false. So false that his lips twitched from the effort. His face cracked with the expression, like he’d forgotten how to do it properly. Inside, everything was shaking.

The heat scratched against his skin—not quite burning, not quite ignorable. Like sandpaper against a nerve. There was no flame, no fire licking at his boots. Just this gnawing warmth that crawled under his skin and whispered, You don’t belong here, but you will.

He followed Aurora’s stride, her steps unnaturally light on the fleshlike terrain. Veil slithered behind them, saying nothing. And that’s when Atlas heard it.

{{{{{Welcome home.}}}}}

It wasn’t spoken aloud. It rang within his ribcage like a cathedral bell. A whisper not in his ears but in his bones.

The GUIDE. Louder. More present. No longer a murmur behind closed doors. Now it felt like standing beneath thunder—his entire body resonating with its presence.

{{{{{{Like the weather here...?}}}}}}}

Atlas snorted bitterly. "...yeah.... nice. What else we got....shivering winter? Or bloody autumn..."

He wanted to sound detached. Dismissive. But he heard his own voice and felt the crack in it.

{{{{{Ohhh... ignoring problems with sarcasm. I like that.}}}}}

His lips twitched again. That wasn’t comforting.

{{{{{Don’t be so upset. Here’s a good homecoming gift from me...Yours truly. }}}}}

"Homecoming? This? Home?" Atlas scoffed. "Are you mad?"

Then it hit.

His heart. First a sharp twitch—then a sudden thrum. Then pounding. Faster. Faster. Each beat like an explosion in his chest. His lungs clawed for air, and bile rushed up his throat.

He vomited.

Crimson blood hit the blackened floor in thick gouts. Not just once—over and over. Pain wrapped around his gut like barbed wire. He stumbled, his hand slamming against a jagged rock to hold himself up.

Aurora spun around, eyes narrowing. "...Atlas?.....We haven’t even reached the first chapel." Concern laced her voice, and that alone was unnatural. She rarely worried.

He waved her off weakly—then vomited again. The blood hit the ground with a sickening slap. Dark. Viscous. Alive.

Veil appeared beside him, shadow limbs stabilizing him. "Are you okay? That’s... a lot of blood."

Atlas gasped. Inhale. Exhale. And suddenly—

Clarity.

The sulfur-choked air didn’t sting anymore. It helped. It rushed into his lungs like it belonged there. Like this place didn’t hate him.

No... not hate. Recognize.

That scared him more.

The puddle of blood at his feet began to twitch.

Aurora tensed, her staff humming with latent energy. Her instincts sparked before her reason. "...Atlas... what did you do?"

He looked at her blankly. "Nothing."

But the blood kept moving. The thick pool gurgled like something was breathing through it. Boiling upward—climbing in defiance of gravity.

Up. Up. Until it formed.

A skeletal figure burst forth, its bones hissing with steam, muscles knitting over it like red vines. Skin—crimson, leathery—wrapped around its form like a memory dressing itself again.

Atlas stumbled back a step. His breath caught in his throat. He knew that shape.

Not from this world. Not from dreams.

From memory.

From before.

"...You," Atlas whispered.

The crimson demon stepped fully into form. Horns twisted like tree roots above its skull. Human-like body. Goat-like legs. And those eyes—coal pits with embers burning behind them.

The demon who began it all. The first to speak of the GUIDE in the dream-world. The one who died invoking that presence into reality.

{Yes. Me. Atlas... or should I say... Atlas. The Coming Guide.}

Its voice was deeper than sound. It scratched against the air, like claws against a blackboard made of soul.

Atlas blinked. ’Don’t tell me... this is the gift?’

{{{{{Yes. He is one of the most faithful followers I’ve ever seen in Hell. Loyal. Useful. For you.}}}}}

And just like that, the presence vanished again. As if the GUIDE had turned off a light switch inside his own skull.

The demon smiled. No fangs. Just quiet triumph. Like he was waiting for this moment. For this opportunity and he was going to savor every. Last. Moment.

Aurora raised her staff again, fingers glowing with dark runes. Veil’s body bulged with power, growing tendrils of armor and fang.

{If you don’t stop them, Atlas—if you don’t control them—I will.}

"...He’s with us," Atlas said quickly, his hand raised.

A pause. Silence. Aurora looked at him, calm as ever. Like accepting a demon from his blood was just another Tuesday.

She nodded.

Veil was less composed. "...What? He’s a demon. A bloodvomit demon. And we’re just gonna... leave that?"

Aurora turned, speaking without emotion. "...Veil. I hope you have a strong stomach. Because this? This weirdness? This... vomit demon? It’s only the beginning."

The demon nodded enthusiastically. {...She’s right. For once in your existence, Atlas, you’re not surrounded by morons....}

Atlas rolled his eyes. "...Fantastic."

He turned forward. His steps resumed. The first chapel lay ahead—looming in the distance like a mountain carved from bone.

He stepped—

And stopped.

Something hit him. Not a wind. Not a voice.

A recognition.

Like the world looked back at him. Like Hell itself realized he was here.

His skin prickled. A wave of invisible pressure rolled over him, making his legs lock for a heartbeat.

Flash—

A memory. A boy alone in a broken temple. Blood on his hands. Whispering voices in his head. A single moment when he thought he’d die. The first time he ever heard the GUIDE’s voice.

And now...

Now he was in its kingdom. It’s REALM.

He felt seen.

The air thickened.

In the distance, the First Chapel pulsed. Its doors were made of stitched mouths. Its roof spun slowly, as if rejecting the laws of physics. Black liquid dripped upward from its spires into the inverted sky.

Atlas took another step.

The ground sighed beneath him. Not like stone. Like lungs. It wheezed with his weight.

Veil made a gagging noise. "This place is so messed up."

"Tell me about it..." Atlas voiced. Looking at the crimson demon.

.

.

.

.

.

....I didn’t warn you because of Odin or any of the gods atlas. I warned you because you—you entering hell—would tip the scale. Birth a new age. One the world is not ready for....

The Guide Muttered. His voice only heard by himself.