CHAPTER 360: CHAPTER 349: SONS OF HEAVENS

There they stood — the shining bastards of Heaven.

Fifty in all, a phalanx of celestial arrogance, their armor dripping gold, their halos dimmed only by the blood that slicked their edges.

The heads of demons hung from their spears like trophies, their horns clinking faintly in the sulfurous wind.

Torn wings — the wings of Fallen — adorned their pauldrons, fluttering weakly, whispering of betrayal and slaughter. Each movement they made was a sermon of conquest, a declaration that Heaven’s will had come to scour what remained of Hell’s resistance.

And at their head, standing before them like the storm given flesh, was one Atlas knew well — the demigod who had once reduced Babylon to ash.

The Son of Zeus.

Golden lightning crawled across his skin, threading through the air like veins of wrath.

His eyes burned white, sightless with divinity, yet seeing all that Atlas had built — and mocking it.

He was laughing, that hollow, ringing laugh that cracked against the charred stones and echoed through the dying skies.

Atlas floated far above the palace of Dagon’s ruin, his mantle rippling in the wind, the red-black haze of Hell swirling below him like a living ocean.

From this height, he could see everything — the broken banners of Dagon’s court, the scattered remnants of demons now united under his sigil, and, in the distance, the radiant swarm of Heaven’s spawn descending through the clouded rift.

Each demigod was a world unto themselves — blood of gods, flesh of stars, arrogance incarnate.

He felt the storm of their mana ripple across the plane. It came like a tide of heat, sharp and holy, cutting through the corrupted air.

Even the ground beneath his feet trembled. The spires of Dagon’s fortress groaned like dying beasts, black stone sweating with luminous cracks.

Behind him, the Fallen readied themselves.

Uriel stood tall, her armor mended but scarred, her wings half-spread — a reminder that she was once divine, now something far greater and far more damned.

Gabriel checked her blade, whispering a prayer that had long lost its meaning. Raphael’s eyes gleamed with calculation, measuring the impossible odds and smiling as if the challenge were a puzzle set by God Himself.

They had fought through endless wars, toppled kings of shadow, and carved Heaven’s order into the bones of Hell — but now, even they could feel it.

That faint hum of dread that came when divinity itself entered the field.

And beside Atlas, floating in silence, was Aurora.

Her staff glowed faintly, its light steady but sorrowful, like a candle trembling against the wind. Her white armor bore the marks of old wounds, her silver hair whipped by the heat. She was calm — too calm. Atlas could sense the storm beneath her stillness.

She was thinking of Babylon. Of the screams. Of the man before her who had slaughtered thousands, who had smiled while lightning tore through her flesh.

He looked at her, reading the resolve in her eyes — that impossible blend of rage and mercy.

"Don’t," he said softly. "You’re not ready for—"

But Aurora smiled — a small, broken smile that carried the weight of every burned city.

"Atlas," she whispered, "you once told me that vengeance burns only until it consumes the hand that wields it."

"And you believed that?"

She turned to him fully, eyes shimmering with cold fire. "No. I intend to burn until there’s nothing left."

The wind shifted. From afar, the Son of Zeus lifted his spear and pointed it toward the palace. The lightning around him flared, forming wings of incandescent power.

He saw her. And laughed again.

It was a cruel, beautiful sound — the laughter of one who believed himself eternal.

Aurora’s grip on her staff tightened until blood bloomed from her palms.

"Let me take him," she said.

Atlas hesitated. "If you fall—"

"I won’t."

He saw something in her eyes then — not just rage, not just pride. It was faith. Not in God. Not even in him. But in her own defiance.

He gave a single nod. "Then go."

Her staff brightened, symbols flaring like dying suns along its shaft.

She reached into her belt and drew out a charm — a shard of crystal wrapped in threads of ancient silver. The Elder’s gift. The same charm that had saved her from Asmodeus’s realm. It pulsed once, recognizing her touch.

Atlas watched as she lifted it to her lips and whispered something he couldn’t hear. The charm cracked with light — and she was gone, streaking through the air toward the approaching storm.

He could have stopped her. But he didn’t.

Because in some buried part of himself, he wanted to see if even vengeance could stand against Heaven’s pride.

The demigods broke formation. The air itself split as they took to the sky, golden light clashing against the blackened clouds. Thunder bellowed, shaking the foundations of Dagon’s fortress.

Atlas raised his arm. The sigils along his armor blazed.

"Fallens," he said, his voice echoing through the iron halls and across the plains of the third layer, "take the sky."

Uriel drew her flaming blade. Gabriel unfurled his wings of broken light. Raphael whispered a word that turned to fire in the air.

And Hell itself rose.

Thousands of Fallen, once angels, now creatures of radiant shadow, launched upward, their wings covering the sky like a storm of ash and silver.

The world darkened under their ascent, the very air screaming as holy and unholy mana collided.

Atlas felt the heat of it — the convergence of two eternities, one of rebellion, one of righteousness, both claiming to serve the same silent God.

Above them, Aurora and the Son of Zeus met in the void between Heaven and Hell.

The collision was blinding.

A shockwave rippled outward, flattening mountains, turning rivers into clouds of steam.

Aurora’s staff clashed with his lightning spear, each impact sending ripples through space itself. The air screamed as divine and infernal energy tore holes in the veil.

He grinned down at her through the storm. "You again. The one that ran."

Aurora’s reply was a whisper, carried by wind and wrath. "I didn’t run. I survived..and ready to kick. your. Ass."

Her next strike came faster — too fast for even his god-blood reflexes. Her staff cracked against his chest, sending arcs of white and black flame spiraling through the air.

The Son of Zeus staggered, his laughter faltering for the first time.

But then he grinned wider. "Good. You’ll make this fun."

Below them, the sky had become a cathedral of war.

Uriel carved through demigods in streaks of silver fire, her every movement a hymn of fury. Gabriel clashed midair with a child of Poseidon, the sea’s power writhing through the air as liquid lightning. Raphael moved unseen, a blur of precision, dismantling their formations one heartbeat at a time.

Atlas watched it unfold, his heart heavy, his mind calculating every loss, every soul burning for his cause.

He should have felt triumph again. He should have been the prophet commanding legions.

Instead, he felt small — a mortal among gods, a pretender among the divine.

The Son of Zeus roared, summoning storms that split the realm. His spear became lightning itself, and he hurled it toward Aurora.

She caught it.

The force threw her backward, shattering the air. Her armor cracked, glowing from within. But she did not fall. She lifted her staff again, and the charm in her other hand shattered into dust.

Light — pure and ancient — erupted from her chest. It wasn’t divine. It wasn’t infernal. It was something older.

Atlas felt it even from afar.

The Elder’s blessing. The same mark that had once saved her from Asmodeus — now awakened fully.

Aurora’s voice rang across the skies. "You called yourself son of Zeus — I have met gods, and they too trembled and so shall you " she beloud as her third eye opened up.