Chapter 250: Chapter 251: All the way to the pit
{...BUT... this High Elder... Throne knows him as Demon Saint... the maker of demon lords.}
After a pause.
"....what of it?" Atlas answered, voice steady in the air like steel balanced on a fingertip.
He didn’t blink. The question wasn’t rhetorical—he meant every syllable, and it hung there, forcing the others to see that he wouldn’t step back.
"...whoever he is... whatever he is? I.will.get. that.key," he said, as if the words themselves were already a chain pulling him forward.
Aurora’s lips twitched into a smile, the kind that tried to hide its pride and failed.
Veil tilted his head, smirking openly, amused at the sheer absurdity—or bravery—of it. Maybe it was true. Maybe it wasn’t. But it didn’t matter; Atlas had said it, and now it was part of the room’s oxygen.
{...but?} Azezal’s voice coiled in the space between them, heavy with something unspoken.
Atlas sighed, a slow exhale like a man keeping a storm in his chest. "You’ll know soon." His gaze slid toward Aurora, holding it there a second too long, as if reading something in her eyes that wasn’t for the rest of them to see.
Cawww... cawww...
The sound came before the shadow—another swarm of ravens, huge and black, blotting the ceiling light as they wheeled overhead. Their wings didn’t just flap; they beat the air into submission, a sound thick enough to feel in the chest.
{{Bold words...}}
All the ravens spoke at once, the unison making the chamber feel smaller, pressing in from every direction.
Atlas looked up. So did everyone else.
{{...such bold words have consequences....mortal...}}
Atlas grinned. Hands still folded, shoulders loose.
"...Consequences? Weak beings like yourself, who hide in the bodies of scavengers, don’t get to talk about consequences."
The air shivered with their laughter.
{{Hahahaha... you are good with your mouth. Let’s see if it’s true in your poor reality... like you said... you will know soon.}}
With that, the mass broke apart, scattering like ash in a hard wind, vanishing into the dark above.
"Pussy," Atlas muttered, barely loud enough to be heard.
Slap!
Aurora’s palm hit his back, a solid, proud smack. "...aaa... our hero’s got some smuck in him... what changed?"
Atlas’s smile was smaller now, more private. "...nothing," he said, lips twitching as if holding back more.
"Let’s say.....holding back has cost me more than it should...."
"...huh... you still doubted yourself even after you defeated me?" Veil asked, almost mockingly.
"Doubted? No. But leveled—yes." He turned to the demon, who looked like he was chewing on the inside of his own skull, claws tapping his chin in restless thought.
Atlas smiled harder at the sight. There was something satisfying about watching others lose composure when he didn’t.
As for Azezal, he smiled too—until Atlas’s voice cut through.
"...Azezal. Stop smiling."
The order was quiet, but absolute.
And Azezal obeyed, like the instinct was older than thought.
{...why? I was taking joy in the Guide’s bold actions...}
"...just don’t," Atlas waved him off. "And tell me where this High Elder is. We need to complete our side of the bargain in time." His eyes dropped briefly to the thunder mark burned into his arm.
’I can’t tell them yet... I have a time limit.’ The thought tasted metallic in his mouth.
Azezal nodded slowly, his grin stretching too wide before fading into something unreadable. One claw uncoiled from his hand like a blade being drawn, extending until its blackened tip kissed the stone.
The sound it made was sharp and unpleasant—like bone scraping against bone, a note that rattled in the chest more than the ear.
He began to drag it in slow arcs, the motion deliberate, each stroke carrying a strange weight. Circles within circles emerged, some warped, some jagged, their edges biting into each other as though they were fighting for space.
Where his claw passed, the grooves didn’t stay empty—they filled on their own, bleeding with shadows that moved like ink dropped into water, swirling and sinking into the pattern until the symbols seemed to breathe.
{...We are at the surface...} His claw tapped the outer ring with a hollow tok, sending a faint tremor through the air.
{For us to reach him, we must cross the next layer of Hell, where frost reigns...} His voice carried an almost physical chill now, as though the words themselves exhaled cold.
{...Then deeper, to the Lords’ realm, where the ignoble demons reside... and then pass through the third, where the Demon Lords rule.}
Aurora’s gaze lingered on the drawing but didn’t really see it. Her expression was still, almost detached, but her voice betrayed her—a subtle tightness in the way the words came out.
"...That’s where I stopped." She didn’t look at anyone as she said it. "I came back... knowing I wasn’t strong enough to go further." The admission didn’t sound like shame, just an old scar being traced with a fingertip.
Atlas gave a small nod—not one of agreement, not quite sympathy either. Just acknowledgment. As though he understood the truth in her statement but didn’t intend to dwell on it.
Azezal’s claw never stopped moving, tracing the inner lines with unsettling patience.
{...After that...} The next layer formed, jagged like the cracks of dried earth. {...The three Empresses reign, ruling side by side with the Fourth Elders.}
Veil shifted, folding his shadow arms, his voice cutting into the rhythm like a thrown stone. "...Eh yoooo... why are we still not there yet?"
Azezal didn’t even glance up, as if Veil’s words slid right off him. The final circles came into being, tighter, darker, the shadows in them almost writhing.
{...And finally, the Layer of Faith.} He let the words hang for a moment, his claw resting on the smallest, innermost circle. {...Where it is said the One Below All vanished. The land of faith... where our target—the High Elders—stay.}
The air seemed to thicken with the words, like a storm front moving in.
{So, Atlas the brave... still want to make the trip?}
Atlas’s breath came long and slow.
"...absolutely," he said, the word weighted equally with confidence and doubt.
But that was him. Always unsure, always aware of the risk. And yet—something in him never bent. When Aurora and Veil asked where that came from, he had no long speech to give.
It was simple.
Painfully simple.
He could adapt.
A talent he’d never known he had until the world tried to crush him, and his system had sharpened it into something absurd.
So he would adapt. Again. And again. Maybe die a few times. But he would come back.
Whatever it takes.