CHAPTER 375: CHAPTER 364: TELL ME WHEN?

Atlas felt the tremor of pain through the veil — faint, distant, like thunder crawling across his own bones... His true body, anchored in the Third Layer, bled.

He could sense the crack in his ribs where divine pressure had bent him, feel the echo of the Guide’s scream reverberating through the dying connection.

’...Atlas Where the hell are you?! If you delay any longer, it will be permanent! Your body’s fading, — and when it dies, I die with it...’ The Guide Warned.

The voice grew distant, swallowed by the layers of realm and flesh and soul.

The cat’s heart beat slower, steadier. He was here now — walking upon the snow, its crystals glinting like powdered glass under the spectral aurora bleeding across the night.

The air smelled faintly of ozone and burnt feathers; remnants of celestial battle clung to the world like ash. Each pawprint the cat left hissed faintly with warmth — his mana leaking through, melting through frost.

So this is what it feels like, Atlas thought. To live within another body. To be small, fragile... and yet infinite.

He moved toward the gathered figures ahead — toward them.

Lara was the first to turn. Her eyes widened, the breath catching in her throat. For a heartbeat she couldn’t speak, only stared at the small creature padding toward her through the falling snow.

"Atlas...?" she whispered.

The voice that came from the cat was not the mewling of an animal but the resonant cadence of a man who had walked across hell. "Yes," he said softly.

Lara’s knees gave in. She fell to the snow, scooping him into her arms, pressing him against her chest. The warmth of her tears fell on his fur. For years she had dreamed of him — as flame, as shadow, as ghost. And now he was here. Small, absurd, miraculous.

Eli came next, slow and uncertain. Her cold composure cracked with every step until the Empress of Iron herself trembled. She reached out, gloved fingers brushing his ear, then his flank. "You... idiot," she breathed. "You’re really here."

Even Claire, the sharp-tongued, fire-hearted one, stepped closer. Her voice broke with anger disguised as laughter. "You vanished," she spat. "You said we’d go together. Then you left. You left all of us."

Her words cut more deeply than any blade.

Atlas lowered his feline gaze. The memories of that moment came rushing back — the laws he’d invoked to bind them, to keep them from following him into hell. The screams. The betrayal in their eyes.

He had thought it mercy then. Now it only felt like ....

...cruelty.

"I had to," he said simply. "If I hadn’t—"

"Don’t," Claire interrupted, voice shaking. "Don’t you dare make excuses now."

Lara sniffled, clutching him tighter. "We thought you were gone. We felt your essence vanish. We... we mourned you..."

Around them, the fallen stood in silence, their wings trembling in cold light. Confusion rippled through their ranks — celestial soldiers witnessing mortals scolding the one they believed to be the prophet, the one touched by divine fire. Their murmurs rippled like distant thunder.

"What is this ...blasphemy?" whispered one.

Michael, the Archfallen, raised his hand. The murmurs died instantly. His great wings folded inward, their dark-black feathers dimming. He knelt beside them, the snow hissing beneath the holy flame still flickering at his side. His eyes — twin storms of faith and ruin — looked upon the cat.

"...?" he stayed , quietly.

Atlas turned to him. The gaze of man met the weight of an angel’s centuries. Between them hung the silence of worlds.

Before Atlas could speak, a fallen priest approached — clutching a leather-bound tome to his chest. The Book of Acclaim.

Atlas’s breath caught. His book.

He remembered the nights he had written it — each word etched not with ink but with conviction, forged from truth and despair. The book was meant to be a seed of faith in a dying cosmos. And now it lived here, passed from hand to hand, reshaping belief itself.

The priest bowed deeply, offering the tome. "We have spread your words, my lord," he said.

Atlas smiled faintly. "Then read them well, share them well, Every word is both warning and promise."

[1+ Faith points]

[1+ Faith points]

[1+ Faith points]

[1+ Faith points]

[1+ Faith points]

.

.

.

Before the priest could respond, Michael gestured — and the book flew from the priest’s hands, gliding through the frozen air into the Archfallen’s grasp, again. His fingers, scarred and trembling, opened it.

He read.

And the world went still.

Even the snow seemed to hesitate midfall. The air thickened. Time bent around him as Michael devoured the text in silence, eyes flickering faster and faster until they stilled upon the final page.

The sword of holy flame fell from his grip, sinking into the snow with a hiss.

The fire around him dimmed. His breath came ragged, half-sobs strangled by reverence.

"The mortal," he whispered, voice breaking, "the mortal bears the mark. The holy flame does not burn it... because it is the flame."

He lifted his eyes to the creature before him — to Atlas. "According to the Book of Acclaim," Michael said, "this... this is the new prophet. The one foretold. The one who would lead the lost home...So Never Doubt, just obey, as his words are the words of the lord...."

A hush fell over the legion of fallen.

’in the end, I really did accepted this fucking role....’

Atlas stared back, the weight of prophecy pressing against his chest. He hadn’t asked for this. He hadn’t wanted this mantle. Yet here it was — another burden laid upon his already dying soul.

[Damage Occured]

[Damage Occured]

[Damage Occured]

Inside, he could still feel his true body failing — veins tightening, the connection thinning. The Guide’s last words whispered at the edges of his mind like dying static: You’re running out of time.

The snow fell heavier now, muting sound, wrapping them all in stillness. The girls — Lara, Eli, Claire — stood side by side, gazes softening as they watched the impossible unfold.

But even peace carries echoes of pain.

’....I can’t hold it too long.’ the Guide muttered.

Atlas felt the pulse of his body weakening again, like a fading heartbeat across an ocean. He swayed slightly, and Lara noticed. "You’re hurt," she said. "Your body—"

"Don’t," Atlas murmured. "Not now."

He could not tell them. Not yet.

Lara pressed her forehead to his. "You always say that."

Eli stepped forward, eyes narrowing. She studied him carefully — the way his aura flickered, the faint instability in his mana threads. And for a fleeting second, he saw the realization dawn in her. She knew.

Her lips parted slightly. But she said nothing. Instead, she smiled — soft, sad, radiant. "You stubborn fool."

He almost laughed.

Claire, however, was not done. "You think you can scold us after everything?" she snapped. "After you went to hell without us?"

Atlas turned to her, his tail twitching in irritation. "You should’ve stayed," he said sharply. "It was supposed to be me. Alone. You could have died, you all could have died."

"We almost did!" Claire’s eyes blazed. "Because you weren’t there!"

The fallen shifted uncomfortably, unused to witnessing such intimacy between beings they barely understood.

"Why did you come?" Atlas demanded. "Why would you risk everything?"

Merlin, standing at the edge of the circle, coughed quietly. "Perhaps... that would be my fault."

Atlas turned his feline gaze upon him. "Old man," he growled, "you brought them here?"

The mage sighed, his breath curling like smoke. "Not willingly. I was... persuaded."

"Persuaded?"

Eli crossed her arms, chin tilted proudly. "I told him if he didn’t take us to hell, I’d make him wanted in my empire. His face would be on every wall. Bounties higher than dragons."

Merlin lifted his hands helplessly. "She means it, too."

A laugh — weary, incredulous — escaped Atlas. "Of course....of course she does."

The sound softened the air. For a moment, even Michael smiled faintly.

But as Atlas’s gaze met Eli’s again, his heart clenched. He noticed something — subtle, but undeniable. The faint shimmer of life within her aura. The rhythm, slow but steady, beneath her mana flow.

Pregnancy.

He froze. She didn’t seem to realize it. Or maybe she did — and chose not to.

My child, he thought, wonder and fear colliding.

He didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The weight of it pressed too deep.

Claire noticed the change in his eyes. Always perceptive, always jealous of silence. She stepped forward and snatched him gently from Lara’s hands. Her eyes gleamed — challenge, hunger, affection tangled in one.

"When do I get mine?" she whispered.

Atlas blinked. "What—"

"You heard me," she said. "You’ve given her something eternal. Don’t think I didn’t see."

Her tone was playful, but her eyes — her eyes burned with a longing that stretched beyond mortal love, into something ancient and desperate.

The fallen turned away, embarrassed by what they couldn’t comprehend. The air thickened with emotion unspoken, with histories yet to unfold.

Atlas sighed. "Claire..."

"Don’t say it," she interrupted. "You’ll ruin the moment....just tell me when, and I will listen...."