CHAPTER 245: CHAPTER 246: BEGINNING

Atlas floated above the cracked and slug-slick ground, the stench of rot curling upward in slow, lazy threads. The surface had the consistency of something that had once been alive and was now a half-forgotten carcass—soft in places, brittle in others, always slick enough to make footing a gamble. His boots hadn’t touched down in some time. His feet had decided they’d had enough of this ground.

Behind him, the crimson demon padded along in eerie silence. That silence wasn’t trust; it was watchfulness, a quiet predator shadowing a slower one.

Veil rode his shoulder, light as breath, tail curling absently. Aurora, however, walked ahead. She didn’t look back. Her steps were measured, her posture still proud, but the heat and weight of this place pressed sweat down her neck and spine.

He caught up to her without trying. The air moved slower here, almost like wading through breath that wasn’t yours.

"...why are you not using your magic?" Atlas asked, keeping his tone as casual as the question would allow.

"...It’s hell," Aurora replied without stopping. Her voice was clipped, dry, and tired in a way she wouldn’t admit. "Mana is rampant here. Not in symphony like in our world." She finally turned to glance at him, the yellow of her eyes looking sharper against the red-lit gloom. "...So if I use some spells... it might go south ...really fast." Then she turned forward again, her pace unchanged.

Atlas noticed the hitch in her right step. Limping. She hid it well, but the rhythm gave her away.

"...I told you plenty of times, use your legs when we were above. But you kept floating. Not even trying to walk."

"...Shut it. Don’t wanna hear about it no more."

The rebellion in her voice was smaller than usual—fatigue fraying its edges. Without another word, Atlas caught the fabric of her white mage-like gown and hoisted her up onto his shoulder. Her sudden weight bent him only slightly.

Veil let out a sharp squeak as he was momentarily squashed between her thigh and Atlas’s collarbone.

Aurora grinned as if she’d just been handed a victory. "...Oh... softy. My little Atlas is big now... big enough to carry me." She patted his head like she was congratulating a child.

{The Slayer Aurora and the upcoming guide Atlas... I think this is gonna be quite a story...} The crimson demon’s voice vibrated low, almost tasting the air with each word.

Atlas turned slightly. "...You know her?"

Aurora’s hand came down on his head in a sharp chop. "Of course. Everyone knows me. I’m famous here." Her tone was almost smug enough to burn away the sulfur hanging in the air.

{...Not like the way you think...}

That earned the demon a stare from her—a stare that pulsed something invisible into the space between them. Veil, pressed against her leg, gave an exaggerated shiver.

"Eesshhh... You gonna fold just like that?!" Veil said, squirming into a more comfortable position.

"Haha... He should. There’s a reason they call me Slayer."

"Self-praise... Aurora, sometimes your overconfidence astounds me..." Atlas muttered.

Thud! Her palm met his skull again.

"There is no such thing as overconfidence," she said, each word deliberate, precise. "There is confidence, and there is none at all. Overconfident is just a phrase invented by less confident numbskulls like you to judge confident people like me."

"Ohh... If I thought I was getting old wisdom the whole trip, I would’ve brought my..." Atlas stopped mid-sentence.

"My what...?" Veil asked, ears angling forward.

Silence closed over them like an extra layer of heat. Aurora and Atlas both turned their eyes upward toward something in the distance—far beyond, in the impossible "sky" of this place.

A streak of light—no, fire—ripped through the ceiling above, if you could call it a ceiling. It was like watching a wound open in slow motion. The falling object tore the oppressive dark apart as it plummeted, leaving a glowing scar that refused to fade.

Boom!

The impact bloomed on the horizon, a slow and deliberate kind of violence. It wasn’t just light—it was pressure, as though the land itself exhaled in pain. Even Veil’s usual sarcasm fell silent under the weight of that sound.

"...Well. Is that normal?" Veil finally asked.

"No," Aurora answered flatly. "That was the area... or the town... of the Maker of Diseases."

The shockwave rolled toward them, dragging with it the stench of burnt stone and something sharper—metallic, like blood boiling in a sealed vessel. The crimson demon stumbled a half-step back from the force, but Atlas didn’t move. His eyes stayed fixed on the fading light of the explosion.

"...We change route?" Atlas asked.

"...No. That old cunt demon owes me. We need him to get to the key."

"What the fuck happened then...?" Veil pressed.

{Cleansing.} The crimson demon’s voice came from deeper in his chest now, heavy enough to hang in the air. {Haaa... Those old fucks are getting out of hand... It’s better we ignore that place..... It’s condemned now.}

Atlas didn’t even turn his head—just flicked a hand behind him. The gesture was enough to drag the demon closer, like pulling a stone with invisible strings. "Care to... elaborate?"

The demon’s muscles tensed under the pull, but there was no resisting it. {...The elders of our cult. The ones who reign with the laws of the One Below All. It’s them... bringing punishment for heresy.}

Aurora’s lips curled—not in amusement, but something sharper. "Makes me wanna go even more... Don’t worry. That old fuck is still alive."

The demon’s gaze narrowed. {huh....How would you know...?}

Aurora tugged at her sleeve, baring her right arm. The skin there was pale except for the numerous marks—ugly, intricate, like a worm frozen mid-crawl. The crimson demon’s eyes widened, the red deepening like fresh blood in water.

{...Haha... lunacy...utter lunacy....All those are...}

"Yes. Demon contracts. And this small mark here..." She tapped the skin just above her elbow. "It belongs to him. And the mark is still there.....and that can only mean..."

{...he’s still alive....Haha... oh Atlas. Maybe she might be the chosen one instead ...}

Atlas sighed as he kept floating forward.

From the distance—far above, in the jagged dark that pretended to be a sky—something stirred.

Not wind.

Not life.

But the slow shift of vast silhouettes, each made of crooked bone and feathers so black they swallowed the faint red glow of the wasteland. Their wings barely moved, yet ash curled and drifted around them like snow in reverse.

They watched without sound.

Atlas and his party were little more than shapes crawling across the endless scab of the condemned lands, heading toward the smear of smoke instead of away from it.

{{...Curious bunch there...}}