CHAPTER 272: CHAPTER 273: A FIGHT IT IS.

Doom!

The sky split open.

Not with lightning, not with thunder, but with something heavier, more primal. A sound that wasn’t just heard—it pressed into the bones of every citizen of Titus.

Doom! Doom!

Each impact fell like the heartbeat of an angry god, collapsing sound into silence only for the next explosion to rattle the very marrow of the mountain.

Atlas cut through the sky like a shard of judgment, sonic booms peeling the clouds into ribbons. Below, Titus quivered—giant towers of obsidian trembled, colossal market stalls rattled, and even the statues of dead kings leaned forward as though forced to bow under his arrival.

The wind he carried wasn’t mere wind; it was a torrent. Dust, ash, and the faint metallic tang of sulfur clung to his trail, wrapping the kingdom in a cloak of omen. Mothers dragged their children into doorways, warriors tightened their spears, and priests muttered prayers into their sleeves.

The sky wasn’t theirs anymore. It was his.

Doom!

With the third impact, he crested the mountain. Titus revealed itself—a sculpted kingdom carved into the black stone like an impossible cathedral, each tower clawing at the clouds. The palace at the summit gleamed faintly under the dark hue of the sky, its spires stabbing higher than any mortal monument could dare.

Atlas aimed for the balcony.

And there—already waiting—stood Orcus. The giant king. The demon king.

The sight made Atlas pause. A flicker of suspicion slid down his spine. How? He had been far below, somewhere in the veins of the city. Yet here he was, not winded, not rushing—simply waiting as if he had known all along. Perhaps magic. Perhaps authority. Perhaps a truth darker than both.

But Atlas shoved the thought aside.

What did it matter?

He stopped, oh so suddenly, hovering at the balcony’s edge.

"Welc—" Orcus began, voice rolling like boulders down a mountain.

But the words were lost.

Atlas’s arrival tore into the balcony like a storm given flesh. Dust whirled. Dirt splintered. The very bricks groaned under the force. Orcus’s beard whipped sideways, his robe clawed at his shoulders as though it wanted to flee his body. Dead leaves, ash, and the gritty taste of iron filled the air, snapping against his eyes until he narrowed them.

Only when the storm settled did Orcus speak again.

"...hmmm." His sigh carried both annoyance and begrudging admiration. He smoothed his beard, plucked a brittle leaf from the corner of his eye, then opened his arms wide with the gravitas of an emperor.

"Welcome to Titus. My kingdom. My world. And my greatest masterpiece." His voice rolled with pride, echoing deep through the stone as though the mountain itself repeated him. He descended slowly, not stepping, but floating—an anchor of authority wrapped in weightless grace.

Atlas inclined his head slightly. His voice was calm, but his eyes scanned every corner of the balcony, reading the art, the geometry, the impossibilities built into its design.

"Thank you, Demon Lord Orcus. You have a... nice place here."

Orcus grinned. "So we feast?"

Atlas’s lips curved faintly. "So we feast."

The giant lord nodded once, treating Atlas not as an intruder, not as an enemy, but as an equal—a guest, even. That in itself unsettled something deep in Atlas’s ribs.

"...I don’t know you," Orcus said, his tone almost casual. "And you don’t know me. There’s much to learn of each other. Much to weigh. Before we... indulge." He raised his fists, playful, like a mountain testing the sky.

Atlas blinked. For a fraction of a second, Orcus’s fist vanished. Gone, like the wind had erased it from sight. Atlas’s pulse skipped—he hadn’t imagined it. This was no mere king.

Something shifted behind him. A sound, light but sharp. Atlas’s gaze flicked back.

A maid.

No—more than that. A cat-woman, tail curling nervously behind her, ears twitching, eyes wide. Her black-and-white attire was precise, almost mockingly delicate compared to the grotesque size of the hall.

And yet the curve of her figure, the way her ears twitched at his glance—it sparked a dangerous memory. A fetish from a world locked behind a Rift that had yet to break.

Atlas’s gaze lingered a fraction too long.

Orcus noticed.

The giant lord’s mustache twitched with amusement, lips curling in a knowing smirk. He almost chuckled—but then a shift in the air cut him short.

A hand, sharp and merciless, collided against his, stopping a punch mid-air.

Not aimed at him. No—aimed at the maid.

Orcus turned his head slowly, and his eyes darkened.

"It’s been a while," he said.

The figure stood taut, her knuckles still locked against his grip. Lidia. The perpetual. The fake GUIDE. Her presence dragged weight into the chamber like the smell of blood in water.

Her eyes narrowed, venom dripping from every syllable:

"...let me kill that naughty maid of yours. She looked at my husband the wrong way."

The word husband cracked like thunder between them.

Orcus’s gaze slid from her to Atlas. His massive brow arched. He was surprised, but not enough to mask the edge of curiosity.

Atlas crossed his arms. Silent. Indifferent.

The choice was his—but he didn’t move.

Orcus sighed, releasing Lidia’s fist. "...Please. You are a guest, Lidia. Act like one."

But tension didn’t dissolve. The maid trembled, her ears pressed flat, the faint scent of fear rising like iron from her skin. Her dark hair clung to her damp cheek as her body quaked beneath invisible weight.

Atlas stepped toward her, his movements calm, deliberate. His presence draped over her like a funeral cloth.

"It’s alright," he murmured, his voice soft but cutting, "She is only jealous." His eyes slid toward Lidia, whose lip curled, fury radiating off her like heat.

"Let’s be calm. Civilized." His words lingered heavy in the air, like the pause before a blade sinks into flesh.

"Let’s eat. I am curious... how giants feast."

Orcus’s smile returned, wide and booming. He clapped his colossal hands once, and the sound reverberated through the bones of the palace.

"Then—FEAST!"

.

.

.

The Feast

Time blurred into gluttony.

Tables creaked under the weight of whole oxen roasted black, rivers of crimson wine spilling into golden basins, bread loaves larger than a man’s chest steaming with butter and salt. The hall itself became a furnace of scents: seared flesh, garlic smoke, sweet honey mead.

Lidia devoured without pause, her hunger bottomless. She licked her fingers, smeared with fat and grease, her stomach swollen with excess. It was grotesque, mesmerizing, and obscene—a hunger not of the body but of something deeper, emptier.

Atlas barely touched the food. He sipped, cut small pieces, but his gaze never left Orcus.

They spoke—of art, of architecture, of systems. Orcus described how he carved the mountain itself, shaping chaos into symmetry, building a paradise for giants out of sheer will. Atlas answered in kind, weaving parallels from his own knowledge of system engineering, of how order required sacrifice, foresight, patience.

For a moment—it almost felt like kinship.

Almost.

But then Orcus’s gaze darkened.

"So. You are with the slayer Aurora."

The words cracked the air like stone hitting stone.

Atlas stilled. His hand rested on his cup, unmoving.

Orcus slammed his fist into the table. Dishes rattled, wine splashed red across the stone.

"If you had said that before—I would not have bothered with this feast."

Atlas exhaled slowly, a sigh weighted with quiet regret. "And here I thought we were bonding."

"I thought the same, Atlas. I truly did. But no demon king bonds with the slayer. Not me. Not any of us." His voice grew sharp, each word an oath.

"We vowed to rip her soul apart for the foul sins she carved into our realm."

Atlas rose. Calm. Deliberate. He wiped his mouth with a cloth, then set it neatly on the table.

’so much for your chance of talking aurora.’ he thought.

"...then ....you lot have to die."he muttered ever so casually.

The simplicity of the words made Orcus laugh. A bitter, humorless laugh that rumbled like stones grinding together.

"You? Kill all of the demon kings? I see now—you are indeed new to Hell."

"Hmmmm.....Stop talking," Atlas said. His voice cut through the hall like a blade through silk.

The giant lord stood as well, eyes narrowed, his towering shadow spreading like an eclipse across the room.

"I’m sad it must go this way," Orcus said.

He snapped his fingers.

The air shifted. Shadows thickened, crawling from corners, stretching like oil across the marble floor.

{Are we doing it now?} The shadow voiced.

The voice came from the dark, whispering, alive.

"Yes," Orcus answered.

The shadow surged, swallowing torches, suffocating flame. The dining hall dissolved into a black ocean.

Atlas smiled.

"...Veil. Still asleep?"

{{{...I’M AWAKE...}}}

The voice rippled through the dark like a thousand knives.