CHAPTER 365: CHAPTER 354: WE RISE, THEY WEAKEN

The smell of scorched wings lingered in the air—ozone, blood, and the faint trace of burnt feathers that no wind could cleanse.

The ground was slick with divine residue, where lightning had kissed the obsidian soil of Hell’s second layer.

Steam rose from cracks that still pulsed faintly with celestial energy, and in those rippling veins, the memory of Zeus’s wrath shimmered like ghost-fire.

Atlas stood in silence, the great weight of stillness pressing on his shoulders. Around him, the fallen angels—his kin, his soldiers, his believers—lay motionless, their faces turned upward as if still staring at the sky that had betrayed them.

He could hear the crackle of what remained of divine thunder in the distance.

There was no pure death in Hell. The realm was not kind, nor merciful; it was cyclical. Here, souls could wither, shatter, or burn—but to truly die, one had to be forgotten by Hell itself. And Hell remembered all.

Yet, Zeus’s lightning was not of this realm. It cut through eternal law, slicing through resurrection’s promise.

Atlas knelt beside one of them. A young fallen named aragon, his wings charred into coal-like shards.

His face—half melted, half serene—still bore the faintest smile, the kind only those who died believing in something greater could wear.

Atlas reached out, his fingers brushing the ashen feathers. The dust clung to his hand like guilt.

He could feel the pulse of the realm beneath him— sorrow thrumming faintly. The earth mourned. He mourned.

One by one, they buried the fallen. Not in soil, for soil here was molten and restless, but in the black crystal that grew at the edge of the battlefields.

Gabriel, Uriel, and the remnants of the demi-gods worked silently, their armor dimmed, their light faint. They said no prayers—there were no gods here worth praying to anymore.

The silence was heavy, the kind that made every heartbeat sound like thunder. When Gabriel finally spoke, his voice broke that silence like a blade drawn from its sheath.

"They were not meant to die like this," he said. His gaze turned skyward, toward the gaping hole that split the crimson heavens.

The wound in the sky flickered, lightning still dancing along its edges. From that wound drifted something strange—white flakes, falling slow, soft, and alien.

Snow.

Gabriel reached out a hand. A single flake melted against his dark gauntlet. He stared at it, the confusion and awe warring in his eyes. "Snow," he whispered, almost reverently. "The snow of the second layer... falling here?"

The snow was cold. The air wasn’t meant to be. Third layer had never known such softness. Each flake felt like a piece of Heaven dying, falling into the pit below.

Atlas raised his eyes to the drifting white, his face unreadable. "The layers are bleeding," he murmured. "Heaven’s strike has torn the veils apart. They are getting....loose"

Gabriel turned toward him, his golden eyes burning bright even in the dim. "Then this is our chance, Atlas.

Heaven weakens. The gods grow reckless. Zeus’s pride blinds him. If we move now—if we strike while the chaos brews—we can take Heaven. We can end this!"

He took a step closer, his wings flaring faintly, their light illuminating the graves around them. "We have to find Michael. We have to find Lucifer. Together, the three of us—"

"Enough."

The word cut through the air.

Atlas didn’t shout. He didn’t raise his hand. But the weight of his tone pressed down like a storm. The snowflakes slowed, the very air thickened. Gabriel stopped, confusion flickering across his face.

Atlas stood, his shadow cast long against the snow-darkened plain. "Not now."

Gabriel’s jaw tightened. "Not now? Oh prophet—look around you! They’re dead. Our soldiers. The fallen who believed in us! And you want to wait? For what?"

Atlas’s gaze didn’t waver. "For the right moment."

His voice was calm, but beneath it simmered something old, deep, and terrible.

"The gods are not careless," Atlas continued. "They are tired. Their faith wanes, their followers abandon them. Heaven bleeds pride, not power.

Heaven slips, but not enough. If we strike now, they will unite. And if that happens, we will burn first."

Gabriel’s wings twitched with frustration. "Then what do we do? Sit? Watch them desecrate our dead more?"

Atlas’s eyes—those pale, glasslike orbs that seemed to reflect more than light—turned toward the sky again. "No. We let them burn. But we make sure they burn each other."

He took a step forward, the wind of the abyss stirring his cloak. "The gods of Heaven and the empresses of Hell—let their pride consume them.

Let their wars thin their ranks. Let chaos ripen until all that remains is ruin."

Gabriel’s anger faltered into something quieter. "You want them to destroy each other."

"I want them to free us," Atlas said softly. "From their chains. From their arrogance. From their illusion of balance.

The world has been locked in the same cycle for too long—creation, faith, fall, war, rebirth. Again and again.

I will end that wheel, Gabriel. Even if I have to break it with my hands."

The snow thickened. Around them, the buried crystal graves began to hum faintly, the echoes of their buried kin answering.

Gabriel lowered his gaze. The fury in his chest gave way to a quiet ache. He remembered when he first followed Atlas—the man who had walked into Hell and made it bow.

Atlas knelt, pressing a hand to the ground. "They will fight. The empresses will finally rise. The gods will panic. And when both sides burn their worlds to ash..."

He closed his eyes. "We will walk through the fire and claim what’s left."

Gabriel said nothing. There was no argument to make against inevitability.

But deep in his chest, a whisper rose—a doubt, soft and cruel.

’And when the fire ends, oh prophet... will there be anything left of you?’

He said nothing. The thought was too dangerous to voice.

From the distance, Uriel approached—her silver armor dented, her wings scorched at the edges. Her steps left faint light in the dark snow.

"The graves are done," she said quietly. "The survivors have taken shelter. The castle still stands."

Atlas nodded without turning. "Good. Let them rest."

Uriel hesitated. "And what of you...you haven’t slept properly...it’s been days"

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he thought of Zeus’s thunder. The sound of it still rang in his bones. The power to erase. To unmake. Wishing he would have the same power some day.

Gabriel took a step forward again, quieter this time. "You said... weaken them more. How?"

Atlas turned at last, and in his eyes burned a strange calm. "By using their pride. Heaven seeks glory. Hell seeks vengeance. Both will bleed themselves dry for it. We give them what they crave—a war worth dying for."

He smiled faintly, though there was no joy in it. "And while they fight, we find the true ones—Lucifer, Michael. "

Uriel tilted her head. "You already .... thought of everything?"

Atlas looked at her—no, through her. As though seeing a world that wasn’t yet born. "I didn’t think...," he said softly. "The lord provided."