CHAPTER 284: CHAPTER 283: CREEPY MIND

’I was wrong. She isn’t just suspicious... she knows.’

The thought knifed through Atlas’s skull, leaving an ache behind his temples. He turned slowly, deliberately, as if his neck were made of iron. Aurora hovered just beyond him, her legs pressed together, body poised in that maddening way—effortless, graceful, untouchable.

Atlas craned his neck, gaze lowering onto her like a blade being drawn. His golden eyes burned with demand.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" His voice thundered in the airless dark, sharp enough to split stone.

Aurora tilted her chin, floating closer. Step by step through the void until she was nearly brushing against him. Her silver hair shimmered faintly with the glow of imprisoned torches, strands lifting like threads in unseen wind.

"...System." Her voice was soft, but it cut deeper than any scream. "I’m asking about the system. I’ve heard it before. Lara muttered it countless times. Now you do too. I want to know—what is this system? What power is it giving you?"

Atlas’s mouth dried. The word system throbbed in his chest like a secret he’d never meant to share.

"What do you mean... giving us power?" he shot back, narrowing his eyes.

"Don’t coy with me." Aurora’s voice lowered, thick with something between scorn and hunger. "I’ve walked this world for centuries, Atlas. I saw it happen. I watched Lara—your Lara—suddenly bloom into a genius. Overnight. Years of hard work condensed into minutes. Skills mastered, power drawn like breath. She spoke to herself: system this, system that. Always alone, whispering to the dark. And now you... my dear Atlas..."

She drifted close enough to brush her hand through his dark hair. Fingers curling possessively, almost tenderly. "You’re the same. Another genius star... born in fast-forward." Her whisper carried something dangerous: jealousy disguised as awe, envy wrapped in reverence.

Atlas stiffened. Heat crept into his jaw.

"Hm." His lips curled into a scornful smile. "Your hypothesis is stretched—so stretched it’s about to snap on its own. A delusional foundation!" He slapped her hand away, twisting from her touch, and floated further.

"Hahahahaha..."

Aurora’s laugh bubbled out behind him. Not soft. Sharp. Mocking.

"Delusion, truth, truth, delusion... it’s the same, Atlas," she sang, her voice echoing like bells in the cavern. She slid beside him again, eyes bright with provocation.

"The difference between you and Lara? She was a slow burn. You... you skyrocketed. You were once a boy crying because daddy didn’t love you enough, didn’t give you the attention you begged for." Her words sliced through his chest, barbed and deliberate. "Now look at you. Demon kings fall to your fists. Gods whisper your name. Heaven and Hell gnash their teeth just to debate you."

Atlas stopped dead. His body trembled, rage humming beneath his skin like a storm begging for lightning. His golden eyes narrowed into a killing glare.

’She’s baiting me. Rage bait. She wants me to explode. But why?’ The thought ground against his skull. ’Jealousy? No... she’s not that petty. Then what’s her game?’

His breath grew heavier. Aurora floated inches away, daring him to strike. She knew his strength. She knew one blow could end her. But she also knew—knew in her marrow—that he wouldn’t. Not to her.

"Aurora..." His voice was molten, simmering, dangerous. "Wha—"

{My lord! My lord!}

The words crashed like thunder. Azezal burst into the chamber, wings slapping the stale air. His crimson skin gleamed with sweat, his eyes wide, his voice ragged.

{My lord!}

Atlas’s glare didn’t break from Aurora, though his jaw clenched harder. "Speak, Azezal."

The demon faltered at the sight of the storm crackling between Guide and Slayer. His claws flexed nervously. {A... a messenger, my lord. From one of the demon kings it seems. He’s... here.}

Atlas’s golden eyes lingered on Aurora for one heartbeat longer. Then he turned, cold and final. "We’ll discuss this later, Aurora." His voice was a knife.

"Pussy..." Aurora’s sing-song taunt floated after him, light as a feather, heavy as poison.

Atlas froze mid-air, spine stiff. A pause stretched. Then, with a long sigh, he moved on.

The dungeon gave way to open night. The broken palace spread beneath him, a carcass of shattered stone and bleeding walls. He rose higher, higher still, until he could see them—people of Babylon, people of Titus—moving among rubble.

Atlas blinked. His stomach knotted.

They were in sync.

Perfect, mechanical sync. Passing debris from hand to hand, bodies bending in unison, lifting broken pillars as though they shared one mind. Not natural. Not human. Not even demonic.

The sight crawled into his spine like cold insects. Too precise. Too exact. It wasn’t work—it was choreography, puppetry.

Beside him, Azezal faltered mid-flight, red eyes narrowing. He shuddered, recognition rippling across his face.

{My lord... this is...}

The air split.

{{{Hello, mortal!}}}

The voice boomed, not from one throat but from many. Echoes stacked upon echoes until the sound rattled teeth and bones alike.

Atlas’s eyes snapped up.

An incubus floated before him, wings wide, purple skin gleaming in the crimson moonlight. Horns curled like black iron. Behind him, dozens more figures fanned out—green blobs like Blam, red-skinned like Azezal, even fallens with broken wings. They filled the sky, a storm of wings and shadows.

{{{It is I...}}} the incubus intoned.

And all at once, every demon voice joined, their mouths moving in perfect unison:

{{{...Demon King Gelaith.}}}

"Demon King Gelaith."

{Demon King Gelaith.}

"Demon King Gelaith."

The name rolled through the crowd like thunder, reverberating in Atlas’s skull. Not one voice off-beat. Not one throat silent.

Atlas’s skin prickled. His teeth clenched. "It’s disgusting how they say it all at once," he muttered. "Creeps the fuck out of me."

{Indeed, my lord.} Azezal’s voice was tight, almost fearful. {This is...The master of infinite minds... Demon King Gelaith.}

As if summoned by the words, listening to atlas’s human tone and voice, the incubus twisted his head backward without moving his body. Bones cracked, joints split. His mouth stretched unnaturally wide.

{{{Kaaaaa!}}} The screech shattered the air.

Wings beat. A fallen angel descended, clutching a limp human by the wrists. The body dangled, legs twisted, hair matted, eyes clouded dead white.

The corpse-puppet smiled.

"Hello," it croaked, voice hollow, borrowed. "I am Demon King Gelaith. Nice to meet you, young demon king of Titus."

Atlas’s lip curled. He drifted closer, golden eyes blazing. "I don’t know you. Don’t care. Fuck off. You came at a very bad time, you know...."

The corpse grinned wider, the skin around its lips splitting. "No... its the perfect time. For your inauguration. To welcome you. The three demon kings invite you to celebration... a new beginning."

Atlas’s voice dropped, dangerous. "...And if I don’t?"

The puppet cackled. Then—

{{{You will come.}}}

{You will come.}

"You will come."

"We will come."

The chorus drowned the night, crawling into his ears. Every voice. Every body. The sound of grotesque echo gnawing at the world.

Atlas’s jaw tightened.

The puppet leaned forward. "Because we know the way to the Fourth Layer. You want to descend? You want an easy path to the bottom? Then you will come. If you don’t..."

The fallen released its grip. The puppet plummeted, screaming silently until—

PLAT.

The body broke against the stone, blood spraying like ink.

{{{We will be waiting!}}}

{We will be waiting.}

"We will be waiting."

"We will be waiting!!"

The chant roared as the winged horde scattered, vanishing into the night.

Below, the citizens of Babylon and Titus staggered, blinking, as if waking from a dream. Their hands bled from work they didn’t remember, eyes wide in horror at the rubble they’d already cleared.

Atlas floated still. His chest rose and fell, heavy. He knew. He knew the enemy.

"Haaah..." He dragged a hand down his face, golden eyes narrowing at the empty sky. "Fucking hive minds...creepy fuckers.."