CHAPTER 278: CHAPTER 279: VEIL’S DOMINION

When Hell reached for him, it failed.

[Hell wants to damn your soul.]

[Denied.]

[Hell is surprised.]

[Trying again...]

[Failed.]

[Trying again...]

[Failed.]

[User is still mortal. Hell has no authority over undamned souls.]

[Hell grows silent.]

Atlas sighed as the echoes of failure buzzed at the corner of his hearing, like cracked bells tolling in a dead city. Each denial carried a strange weight, as though the realm itself did not know whether to fear him, worship him, or destroy him.

He flew downward, cutting through the swollen sky, past thunderclouds bruised purple and black. Lightning laced their bellies, each strike trying to claim his outline, yet failing, as if the storm itself recoiled from touching him.

His torn shirt whipped in the hurricane winds as he descended toward the shattered earth—toward Lidia, whose crimson form clung veil like a shadow around her.

The air smelled of charred stone and iron. It stung his throat as he breathed, the taste of war and endings.

Below, the land bore his mark: mountains cracked open like bones, ridges flattened to ash, rivers evaporated into smoke. Titus itself—this dominion he had crushed—now lay barren, scarred, and gasping like a wounded beast.

His feet struck the ground with a hollow resonance. The earth trembled, not from the force, but from recognition.

He felt it—this territory was no longer Orcus’s. It had been claimed. And yet, in that instant of triumph, pain stirred low in his chest. Not his own pain—something older, woven into the soil.

"Now I understand why Orcus raged," he thought, kneeling and touching the dust. The earth pulsed faintly against his palm, not alive, not dead, but aching. "He saw me as plague. To him, I was disease gnawing at his body, his soul. His land." He closed his eyes briefly. "But in the end, he failed. And I inherited the wound."

The authority of a Demon King—Lidia had spoken true. Within their land, their power was absolute. And now that mantle draped across Atlas like a second skin. He felt everything—the despair of trees uprooted, the silence of creatures annihilated, the cold shame of lava rivers run high. It was not pain, but it was grief, and it bit deeper than any blade.

"Atlas!" Lidia’s voice cut through the storm.

He ignored her. His senses tightened on something else—something faint. Behind him, from the collapsing haze, a presence dragged itself forward. A shadow. A remnant. Not dead, not whole.

The storm parted, coughing out a writhing figure. The broken silhouette of Orcus’s will, slurping itself together like spilled tar. A dying shadow with its last breath.

{...you... killed Orcus...}

The voice was brittle, grating like stone. It reached toward Atlas, its trembling hand shaping into a spear of dark.

Atlas did not move. He only listened. Beneath the venom, beneath the fury, there was pain—raw, echoing loss. He could hear it. He could understand it. But sympathy did not come.

He had burned that part of himself away long ago. His heart remained for his people, for those bound to him in love and loyalty. But for enemies who threatened them? He reserved no pity. For those who had harmed them? Even less.

He raised his leg, light gathering on his foot, ready to crush this shadow once and for all.

"Eh yoooo... waiiiitttt!" Veil’s voice burst, sharp and frantic.

Before Atlas could strike, Veil lunged. The shadow wrapped itself around the dying shadow fragment, merging, devouring, consuming in a single breathless motion. Atlas staggered back a step, surprised, the glow on his foot dimming.

"What... Veil? What the fuck did you do?" His voice cracked with confusion. He crouched, scanning the black pool where his companion had melded. His heartbeat quickened. "...Veil..." He called again, softer this time.

No answer.

"Atlas!" Lidia was suddenly there, storm-winds clawing at her crimson hair. She rushed in, reaching for him. But as her arms wrapped around his frame from behind, her body trembled.

Her knees almost buckled. She felt it—the overwhelming pressure radiating from him. The land itself acknowledged Atlas now, like it acknowledged Orcus and herself before, like it a. The urge to kneel weighed on her like a divine command.

Her voice shook. "...no way... you... impossible." Her heart thundered. She forced herself tighter against him, her ample chest pressed to his back. Her lips found steadiness in pride. "...you did it!"

Atlas smirked faintly. "Of course. You thought I would lose?"

She bit back a laugh. "...no...not that,.. You’re not damned, but Hell accepted you... how?"

His smile thinned. He placed a hand over his chest. That heart was not his alone. Eli’s sacrifice—the arm, the ring forged from a Demon King’s heart—it still beat inside him. He was mortal, yes. Still breathing, still unclaimed. But through that gift, Hell’s gates had opened to him. From his perspective of course.

Or perhaps it was simpler. Perhaps it was only strength. "You said Hell loves the strong. I am strong. Aren’t I?"

Lidia’s eyes glimmered, her lips curving as she lifted the hem of her crimson skirt. She pressed the fabric gently against his bloodied face, smearing warmth across his healing wounds. "Yeah... you are strong," she whispered. Her voice swelled with pride. "And now you’ll be even stronger."

Confidence surged in him, like iron heating in a forge. Perhaps, he thought, the Demon King he’d just slain was not truly an enemy, but a stepping stone. The thought settled like an ember. Until—

"Aaah... my husband, the strongest of Hell. Such a nice ring."

Atlas groaned, shoving her hand gently away. "Scatter with that nonsense." His gaze dropped back to the seething pool of shadow. "Eh yo, Veil..."

The surface rippled. A twitch. A shift.

"Veil?"

Another ripple. Bubbling now. Gurgling like tar over fire. The shadow boiled, frothing black mucus, until it stilled, silent once more. Atlas lowered himself, palm brushing its trembling surface. Like water, it recoiled, shivering beneath his touch. "Veil... buddy... what the fuck are you doing?"

No reply. The silence gnawed. Atlas’s chest grew heavy. Why had Veil lunged so recklessly? What had he seen in Orcus’s fading shell worth fusing with?

{{{{{{...let him be. He’s still alive.}}}}}}

The voice rang through Atlas’s skull, familiar and sharp.

’How would you know?’ Atlas thought back.

{{{{{{You think only you evolved? Even a shadow—a rarity across all realms—can grow. They adapt. They change. Or...}}}}}}

’Or what?’

{{{{{{I know you won’t do it, but you should kill him. End it now.}}}}}}

Atlas’s jaw tightened. Rage simmered beneath his ribs, hot and sudden. His silence roared louder than any word. The Guide felt it.

{{{{{{Haa... forget I said it. Your choice. But hear me—there is a reason only one living shadow exists in each realm. Their kind, if allowed to evolve unchecked, becomes... diabolical. Catastrophic. A threat not to a kingdom, not to a people, but to the world itself.}}}}}}

Atlas snarled under his breath. "I don’t give a fuck. Even if Veil wants to end the world, I’ll stand by him. Don’t waste breath warning me."

{{{{{{...}}}}}}

The presence dissolved, leaving him alone in the storm’s ruins. Atlas exhaled roughly. "Omens and riddles. Some Guide you are."

He turned back, heart thudding, to the pool of shadow. Boiling. Quaking. His pulse sped as suddenly it stilled. "Veil... buddy? You okay? You feel like eating the world yet?" He tried to joke, but the crack in his voice betrayed him.

Lidia knelt at his side, her face pale but steady. "Is he okay?" she asked.

Atlas leaned closer. The air around the puddle was cold, wrong, like the draft of a tomb.

He extended a hand. The shadow leapt—not violently, but with intimacy. It latched to his finger, then slid, slow and certain, like oil seeking a wick. Tendrils wrapped up his hand, his wrist, his arm.

"Buddddyyyy... what the fuuucccck?" he whispered. The black lacing crawled higher, swallowing muscle, vein, skin. It climbed his chest, his throat, up to his jawline. Veil coated him whole, an armor of abyss, until even his mouth was sealed. He could not speak. He could only breathe shallow through slits of shadow.

Atlas’s vision drowned in darkness.

And then—he opened his eyes again.

Not on the scarred earth. Not under the storm. But back—back in the Dark Continent. Alone.

His breath burst out, ragged and disbelieving. "What the fuck?!"