CHAPTER 379: CHAPTER 368: READY FOR ROUND TWO

Aurora could tell. Atlas was drifting.

Half of his mind was still rooted in the war around them — the screams, the crumbling sky, the endless tides of devils tearing through fallen ranks — but the other half... it was somewhere else.

She could feel it in the way his gaze flickered, as though he were watching two worlds at once.

Part of him was here, leading, commanding.

The other half was beyond — in the Second layer, thinking about them.

The battlefield of Hell’s Third Layer was no mere landscape; it was a living wound. The air stank of sulfur and sorrow, dense with the cries of dying angels and burning demons.

The sky itself had fractured into a thousand blackened mirrors, shards of divinity bleeding starlight into rivers of flame.

Aurora hovered above that infernal chaos, her wings of light flickering beneath the weight of corruption.

Her body pulsed with exhaustion, every spell she cast echoing back as pain — but she refused to yield. Below her, the fallen fought in desperate unison, their once-luminous armor now stained in ash and blood.

And beyond them, rising like a mountain of shadows, stood three devils whose presence bent the air itself.

They were Sage-tier casters.

Their combined aura rippled through the world like a sickness.

Even Aurora — who had fought demi gods, who had watched civilizations burn — felt her heart tremble at the pressure.

The trio stood in a circle of molten sigils, their clawed hands raised in unison. The words they spoke were not of any known tongue; they were older than angels, older than Hell itself. A binding incantation that twisted reality, bending it toward despair.

The first devil’s voice was a guttural rasp, like iron scraping bone.

The second, a whisper that slipped beneath her skin, burrowing into her veins.

The third... sang.

A beautiful, terrible song — a hymn to the One Below All.

Their spell spread outward in rings of distortion. The very ground dimmed, the fires fading as a pale, gray rot consumed light itself.

The fallen soldiers nearest the circle screamed as their wings turned to stone, their armor crumbling under invisible weight.

Even the demons — Asmodeus’s own legion — began to convulse, their flesh withering as the debuff curse took hold.

Aurora clenched her fists, her own wings fracturing at the edges, feathers dissolving into shards of gold.

The taste of copper filled her mouth. Her heartbeat stuttered.

She knew what was happening. The spell wasn’t simply a curse —it was a high tier, Sage level spell, a kind of spell, Aurora could never master.

She was a high mage, but not a sage. Not yet.

And in that moment, she envied them.

Envied their strength.

Envied the unity of their voices, the perfect harmony of destruction, turning their high mage level spell, into a sage tier.

And she hated it.

A flash of black wings swept beside her — Raphael.

His presence was a balm and a burden. He radiated both shadow and grace, his four dark wings beating with rhythmic fury as he joined her.

His face was unreadable beneath the ash, his eyes lit by quiet defiance.

"You shouldn’t be near here," he called, voice carrying through the roar of magic. "The spell targets mortals. You’ll burn out first."

Aurora turned, her jaw tight. "I know. That’s why I’m going for them."

She pointed toward the devils’ circle, where the air trembled like the surface of boiling water. "If they finish that chant, the entire front collapses. The fallen, the demons — everyone."

Raphael’s wings flexed. "I see...Then we go together."

Atlas remained in the distance, hovering high above the chaos, his silhouette framed by lightning that split the blackened clouds.

She had hoped, Atlas could take care of these devil’s first, as the spell didn’t work on him. As magic casters didn’t know who they were casting against.

He wasn’t mortal, wasn’t divine, wasn’t bound by any law of creation she

understood. Even Hell’s oldest seers couldn’t define him.

Every spell that sought to classify him — human, demon, demi-god, even archon — had failed.

He was still trying to see himself as human. Still clinging to that illusion.

That contradiction was part of what terrified her — and part of what made her trust him more than anyone else.

Buzzz ...

The curse deepened.

Her wings flickered again, dissolving at the edges like burning parchment.

Her flight faltered.

She grit her teeth, the world spinning around her, the sound of her own heartbeat like a war drum.

The devils’ chanting grew louder, their bodies expanding with molten light. Runes crawled across their skin like living scars. Aurora could taste their power — acrid, intoxicating, ancient.

Enough.

She couldn’t let them finish.

She raised her hand and whispered the words that were never meant to be spoken aloud.

Words of Law.

"{Hold}."

The command was soft. Barely audible.

And yet the world froze.

The three devils turned to stone mid-chant, the air solidifying around them like glass.

The energy of their spell shattered outward in a single violent pulse — a ring of gold colliding with red flame.

The pressure broke.

The curse paused.

For a heartbeat, she thought she’d done it.

Then the cracks formed.

The devils began to move again — slowly, deliberately.

Their stone skin split and bled, molten veins running down their bodies. And beneath that skin... the sigil of Asmodeus flared, bright and laughing.

Aurora staggered back.

Of course.

They were bound to him — protected under the Law of Asmodeus. Her own divine command could not pierce the dominion of another Law. She had known that, once. But hope had made her reckless.

Still, she didn’t retreat. She charged.

Her staff ignited with white fire as she dove into the storm of flame. Every strike of her weapon sent shockwaves through the cursed circle. The devils roared, their voices overlapping like a choir of agony.

"For the Lord Below!"

"For Asmodeus, the One True Guide!"

"The Prophet of the Abyss!"

Their devotion was sickening. Their faith... absolute.

And that was when it struck her — faith. That was the lie.

Even now, Hell’s legions whispered Asmodeus’s name as a god, a savior, a chosen.

But Aurora had seen him — the man, the fraud — twisting religion like a blade, pretending to bear divine purpose while feeding on the prayers of fools.

She understood now, Asmodeus had built his army, the same as atlas. Making himself the center of their faith.

’but fake can’t imitate truth...’ she thought.

Aurora’s blade crashed against one of the devils, cleaving through half its chest. The creature shrieked but kept chanting, its blood burning as it fell.

She felt her own strength waning, her body trembling with each strike. Raphael’s wings enveloped her for a moment, shielding her from a blast of infernal energy.

"You can’t fight them so close.," he shouted over the roar. "They are Asmodeus’s strongest casters. Their belief is their strength..."

Aurora’s lips twisted into a smile — fierce, defiant, mad. "Then let’s break that belief."

She rose into the air, eyes blazing with a light that seemed to come from nowhere. Her voice rang across the battlefield, carrying not power, but truth.

"You fools!" she called to the devils. "You kneel to a lie! You think your Asmodeus is chosen? He’s nothing but a shadow pretending to be the sun!"

Their chant faltered. Just slightly. But enough.

"You want prophecy?" she spat. "Then listen well. The true Guide walks among you already — and he’s human!"

The devils screamed in rage. The runes around them shattered. The energy they had built turned volatile, unstable.

Aurora’s smile widened. Her wings flared — broken, burning, but bright.

It was working. Their faith was cracking.

She could feel their anger tearing at the edges of their spell, unraveling the weave of their magic. She only needed a little more.

"Asmodeus is a fraud!" she roared. "A false prophet! He wears divinity like stolen armor!"

Their eyes turned black.

Their focus shifted entirely to her.

The curse halted midair.

Their hatred blotted out reason.

Perfect.

Aurora’s plan had worked.

Even as her body bled light and shadow from the curse gnawing her soul, she grinned through the pain. She’d broken their concentration. She’d bought Atlas and Gabriel time.

And then — the air split.

A ripple tore through the battlefield, silent and absolute. The devils froze mid-motion, their eyes wide with sudden reverence.

The fires bent inward.

The mirrors of the sky cracked open.

And from that rift stepped Asmodeus.

He was not a mortal, not an immortal , but a paradox wrapped in flesh. His presence rewrote the air, turning every breath into prayer.

His hair was smoke and starlight, his eyes twin abysses that reflected nothing. The ground beneath him bled as he walked.

Aurora felt her heart clench — not from fear, but from fury.

He looked at her the way a god might regard an insect that had learned to speak.

"Aurora," he said softly, almost tenderly. "You really do have a knack for pissing me off."

The devils fell to their knees, their bodies trembling with awe. "My Lord! My Guide! The One Below All speaks through you—"

"Silence."

The word was a blade.

They obeyed instantly.

Asmodeus turned his gaze back to Aurora. He tilted his head, smiling faintly. "You shouldn’t speak of things you don’t understand, Aurora."

Aurora’s wings flared, even as blood dripped from them. "Understand?" she hissed. "I understand perfectly. You’re afraid. Afraid of him."

For a heartbeat, something flickered in Asmodeus’s eyes — not fear, but recognition.

He chuckled. "Ah. Atlas. The false Guide."

Her teeth clenched. "false...hahahaha...He’s more real than you’ll ever be."

The ground quaked.

Lightning tore across the burning horizon.

And in the far distance — high above the battlefield — she felt a pulse.

Atlas had heard.

Asmodeus’s smile widened, all warmth gone. "Then let’s test your faith, mortal."