CHAPTER 255: CHAPTER 256: HELL’S RIGHT.

Atlas finally laid down after what felt like an eternity. His limbs stretched across the cold stone floor, a silence wrapping around him like a heavy shroud. It was strange, really—hell, of all places, was more relaxing than the mortal world he’d left behind.

The warnings Merlin had given echoed faintly in his mind, but so far, none had held true. Perhaps those warnings had been meant more for his fear than for reality. Maybe, just maybe, this realm held potential. Maybe if he were to guide or lead it, hell could become something more than an eternal prison—a place of order rather than chaos.

The mortal world, for all its apparent beauty and progress, was rotting beneath its gilded surface. The foundations were cracked and cracked again by greed, ambition, and endless thirst for power.

A bitter smile tugged at Atlas’s lips as he thought about the fragile peace in the mortal world. It looked good from a distance—clean cities, flourishing lands—but underneath, there were schemes twisting like vipers in dark alleys, always waiting to strike. Had he truly faced the real hell yet? Or was this only a prologue?

Aurora’s words lingered in his mind. Beast folk, she had said—exiles from the mortal realms, condemned to this infernal domain for sins too great or too complicated to utter aloud. Here, the dead and the living were blended in an endless cycle of punishment and survival.

None were innocent, not truly. But then, why was the housekeeper so kind? The soft, bear-like man who had gently handed them the keys? The contradiction gnawed at him—a warm gesture in a world painted by fire and brimstone.

Before closing his eyes, he pulled up his system’s status in the corner of his vision:

[Updating: 75%]

[Genesis Seed]

[Active Catalysts:

—Elizabeth

Compatibility: 68%

Status: Pregnant

(Override pregnancy for development of life seed)

—Isabella

Compatibility: 78%

Status: Life Seed Processing: 98%]

"...Life seed processing is almost done..." he muttered, voice thick with something like wonder and dread.

"Isabella...."

He couldn’t help but recall the nights they had shared, the quiet moments when the world outside had faded into shadows. Her figure was etched deep in his memory, curves and warmth that now flickered like an ember buried beneath ash. Maybe, he reasoned, because she had given birth, she could draw more from him—take more of his dick than others.

A faint pulse began in his lower body, a subtle stirring he forced down with sheer will.

"...Control," he thought, willing his body to obey as he tried to drift into sleep.

But something was off. This slumber—the rest behind his eyelids—was different, familiar yet alien. His mind hummed with an energy that pried at his consciousness, and before he could resist, the dream pulled him under, like the tide dragging a careless swimmer into the deep.

....When he opened his eyes, he knew without doubt where he was—the ocean of dreaming. But this was not the blue vastness of peace he once knew.

This ocean was a burning crimson, endless and thick with sulfurous stench. The sky above, if it could be called that, was a fractured scar of red lightning that never ceased.

In his hands, a red bubble floated—a dreaming bubble, a soul’s sanctuary in the realm of slumber. But this bubble was heavy, almost oppressive. It was his.

’This...?’ he wondered, confusion tightening his chest. But that wasn’t the real surprise.

All around him, millions...no billions...no...trillions of bubbles bobbed and drifted in the red sea. Each one a soul’s dream, their hopes, fears, sins crystallized in fragile spheres.

"Was the dreaming restored?" he whispered to the cold, sulfur-laced wind that gnawed at his skin.

But no. The smell of brimstone and ash clung stubbornly to everything, gnawing at his sanity.

’....or Am I dreaming because I’m in hell?’ The question rolled over and over in his mind.

He floated deeper into the crimson ocean, observing the bubbles. Some glowed faintly with warmth, others shimmered with cold despair. Within them, faces twisted in agony, triumph, and madness—all demons and creatures born from hell’s dark womb.

No humans. Not a single one. Only these damned souls, trapped in endless cycles of sin and suffering in their dreams.

At the ocean’s deepest point, he found one bubble that pulsed with a familiar yet heavy weight. He reached for it and nearly faltered. The bubble was dense—heavy with ego and pride.

"Aurora...?" his voice cracked as he lifted the sphere.

Her bubble dragged on him like a stone, and with that he understood: the weight of one’s dreaming was a reflection of their ego—the more pride, the heavier the bubble.

But...

"...The dreaming. Or this dreaming... it belongs to hell now," he said quietly, the truth sinking like a knife in his gut.

{{{{{{{Bingo}}}}}}} A voice, cold and sharp like broken glass, echoed through the red mist:

"...You... you attacked the dreaming and took it... took it for hell?"

{{{{{{{Bingo Again}}}}}}. Atlas’s jaw clenched.

"...I thought you wanted to remove the dreaming entirely. You said you did it for mortals—to help them connect to their unconscious, to tap into a power that caged us... but..."

He spat the words out, venom dripping with accusation.

"...But it was only for yourself and your realm."

The voice returned, almost amused.

{{{{{{...Atlas, Atlas von Roxweld. I will not claim you are wrong—you are right. But that doesn’t mean I am wrong. Every word I spoke was true... }}}}}}}

"...You hypocrite!"

Before he could continue, a sudden trembling seized his body. Drowsiness wrapped around him like chains.

"Wak..."

"Wake..."

"Wake up!!!"

Atlas’s eyes snapped open. Aurora was shaking him, her expression grim.

"...Wha... what happened?"

She sighed, sitting beside him on the rough cot.

".....Had a good dream?" she asked, voice laced with dry humor.

"...Yeah. It’s been ages."

"So..."

"Yeah... the dreaming—I think....it belongs to hell now?"

Aurora went silent, staring out the small barred window where the faint red light of hell’s fires flickered beyond the darkness.

"...The Leviathan. What about that creature?"

"...Don’t know yet," Atlas muttered, pressing his hand to his forehead. His eyes darted around the dim room. "Wait... it’s night now?"

"Yeah, but not like the night you know in the mortal realm."

"Haaaa...Aurora, For once in your life, say something clearly," Atlas snapped, voice edged with exhaustion.

"Okay, okay.... one of the empresses who holds the power ’in between’ is resting. And when she rests, so does hell. Then the mana calms, the light dissolves, the air dries a bit."

"Thank you..." he said, exaggerating his gratitude.

"....Oh, shut up," she replied, rolling her eyes.

"The dreaming is not the only reason I woke you up."

"...?"

"You will now know why this hell is HELL...I woke you up, so you’re naivety would flunk away sooner."

A sudden scream shattered the stillness—raw, primal, full of terror.

Thud! Thud!

From beneath the door, a thick, hot spray of red blood burst, pooling in the cracks between the floorboards.

"...At this time, when the empress of the ’between’ is weak, so too is the pressure on their sins," Aurora said, voice hardening.

"Noooo... don’t, don’t!" Another scream, frantic and desperate, echoed from the hall.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

"And everyone... everyone shows their true form—their sinful form," she whispered.