CHAPTER 259: CHAPTER 260: WE MEET AGAIN

From afar, they looked like sluggish toys crawling toward the wall — distant, almost comical, as if the desert heat bent their silhouettes into something harmless. But as the dust thinned and the ground’s trembling grew into a rolling quake, the scale bared itself.

They were not toys.

They were titans.

Bigger than the usual hill-born giants Azezal had described in half-truths. Not quite Loki’s impossible height, but massive nonetheless — each stride an earthquake, each breath a storm’s sigh.

Their skin came in hues that seemed stolen from different realms. Some were the dull granite grey of the Underlands, others a copper-red that caught the firelight like cooling embers. A few bore a blue so pale it made them seem carved from old ice.

Some had horns — curling forward like rams, sweeping back like blades, or jagged like shattered coral. Others bore no horns at all, their heads bald but ridged, veins throbbing beneath skin like exposed roots.

Their bodies were no single shape of strength — some long-limbed and sinewy, others with torsos so broad they could block a city street. It was as if some unholy craftsman had taken fragments from different creatures and stitched them into living weapons.

And then there were their shoulders.

Atlas squinted. Even at this distance, something broke the otherwise monstrous silhouette — structures, jutting from their shoulders, stacked like miniature fortresses. "...Are those small buildings around their shoulders?" His voice was half incredulity, half awe.

{Mage towers...} Azezal’s voice was low, but it carried an old distaste.

Atlas’s eyes narrowed. He’d thought they were bone growths or ornamentations, but now he saw the truth — actual towers, manned by robed figures gripping staffs, their posture taut as spear tips. The towers were bolted into the giants’ flesh, the base sunk into muscle and bone. The giants bore them without flinching, like living siege platforms.

The quake deepened as they reached the base of the great wall. Even then, the wall’s height dwarfed them — an ancient thing of black stone, thick as a canyon, its crown wreathed in warding light.

Atlas’s gaze slid downward, catching movement. A cluster of demons hovered above the battlefield haze, drifting upward like ash. And among them—

One.

A figure like Azezal, but not.

Skin the deep crimson of fresh blood, legs ending in hooves, horns curved forward in twin arcs instead of the crowned forest that sprouted from Azezal’s skull.

"Your brother?" Aurora asked, her voice steady but edged with the kind of awareness that only comes when danger is wearing a familiar face.

Azezal’s answer was a bare nod. {...In some way...}

The crimson demon’s ascent slowed as he spotted Azezal. Around him, a ring of hooded demonic mages fanned out like vultures waiting for the first wound.

{...You are alive?} the crimson one’s voice rang out in the guttural tongue of their kind, resonating not only in the air but in the chest, like a drumbeat.

Azezal’s sigh was so small only he could hear it. {...Yes. With the blessing of the Guide.} He gestured toward Atlas without looking away.

The crimson demon’s gaze slid to Atlas. He tilted his head, not in respect but in curiosity — the kind a predator might afford an unfamiliar animal. Unable to categorize him, so he simply discarded him.

{Her Highness wants this place empty — or the castle empty — by nightfall. Can you transmit that message... oh my sworn brother?}

Azezal’s laugh was dry, almost silent, like brittle leaves grinding together. {...Sworn brother? Surely you jest. We are demons. There is no bond. Only faith. And your message? Be a proper messenger, dear and Tell him yourself.}

The crimson one smiled. {Haaa...You haven’t changed.}

{...Should I?}

{...You should. Because you no longer hold the same title. Or the same power. ...A Weakling you have become.}

His voice didn’t rise, but the word carried weight. Power flared above them — a vast red circle inscribed in light, its lines crawling like living veins. It stretched outward until half the city fell beneath its shadow.

{...And weaklings don’t have a say in matters. They only die..... Vainly so.} The crimson demon’s staff lowered. Lightning, red as arterial spray, coiled from the sigil and crashed downward in a jagged spear aimed at Azezal.

The air burned before it even struck. Stone underfoot began to hiss, and the smell of ionized metal knifed into the nostrils.

But before the bolt could touch him, Atlas raised one open palm.

The lightning met his skin — and vanished. Not dissipated, not redirected. Vanished.

The only sound was Atlas’s chuckle. "Cute... it tickles."

The crimson demon’s wings twitched mid-flight. {...WHAT? HOW?}

Atlas’s tone stayed lazy. "Okay, let’s talk this way. You tell your queen, or whatever she calls herself, to walk away. Until I’m gone, of course. Then after... do whatever the fuck you want.... Okay? So bugger off, please."

{...You dare talk to nobility like me...?} The crimson demon’s voice hardened, his staff rising again as another sigil began to weave itself from the air.

{ENOUGH!}

The shout rumbled from the stairwell behind them, heavy with strain and authority.

A vast, round-bellied demon emerged at the top of the wall, panting. His robe clung damp to his skin, his breaths coming like bellows. {You are speaking before the Guide. Have some shame..have some Respect.}

The crimson demon’s gaze snapped to him, unblinking. {...I said. Until nighttime, Fatty.....I won’t repeat it again.}

"You don’t have to..."

Aurora’s voice slid in from nowhere. One heartbeat, she wasn’t there — the next, she hovered beside the crimson demon, staff already touching the crown of his head.

There was no flare of magic, no drawn-out casting. Just a sound.

Doom!

His head vanished in a burst of condensed mana. No blood, no gore — the mana burned clean through, searing the wound shut before the body even had time to react.

The headless form drifted in the air for a moment, then folded in on itself like a marionette with cut strings.

Plop.

The city was suddenly very, very quiet.

Atlas let out a low whistle. One second she was near him, the next — the man was gone. "Efficient."

{{{Aurora... it’s been a while.}}} Came an echo.

She turned, still floating, her staff’s tip still faintly smoking. "Yes... it’s been a while."she voiced, Her fingers tightened on the staff.