Chapter 296: Chapter 295: Confusion..
Atlas’s voice was low, sharp as steel.
"Tell me, Azezal. What is the truth you’ve been choking down?"
Azezal froze. His throat worked, dry, but no sound came.
The elder’s hooded figure drifted nearer, laughter a soft ripple of contempt.
{He won’t tell you. Because his truth is filth. Filthier than his soul .}
Atlas’s eyes burned hotter. His fist twitched.
"Speak. Now."
Azezal’s shoulders shook. At last, he raised his head, eyes glimmering with wet shame and stubborn fire. His tone changed. Becomeing more human like.
’i will lie for now...’ he thought, knowing what the elder was planning.
"My lord... I did not merely survive. I bargained."
Aurora’s third eye widened, glowing faintly.
"Bargained?"
Azezal nodded, the word spilling like ash.
"Yes. With them. With the High Elders. After the dreaming ....when I gave my life, and reborned in hell... the gate fell and the flames took my kin, I struck a pact in secret.
That if I delivered the vessel—the Prophet, the one touched by the GUIDE—they would grant me .... rebirth. Not as a broken goat, but renewed. Reforged. Carved from your blood."
The hall stilled. Even the smoke froze.
Atlas’s jaw tightened. His voice was venom.
"...My blood."
"Yes." Azezal swallowed hard, bowing low until his horns scraped the floor. "They swore it. That my death would not be my end, if I carried you to them.
That from your blood I would rise again—new, whole, eternal. It was my shame... but also my duty.
That is why I sought you, why I led you here. I took responsibility. My survival was no accident—it was by design."
The elder chuckled, shadows writhing around his form.
{Do you hear him, Prophet? He admits it. A traitor twice over—first to his kin, then to you. A parasite waiting to drink your veins.}
Atlas’s fist lit with golden fire, veins burning. His chest rumbled with wrath. "You should be ash already."
But Azezal didn’t retreat. He lifted his chin, trembling but resolute.
"Kill me, and the path dies with me. Spare me, and I deliver you to the High Elders themselves.
To answers. To power no demon king has ever touched. That was the price. That was the oath. I stand by it."
Aurora’s breath caught. Her staff trembled. "Atlas... if this is true—then this demon is more dangerous than we thought."
Atlas’s golden gaze cut into the goat, weighing him, hating him. Inside, his mind was war.
’This bastard....this doesn’t feel right..but I will play along the ride for now....’
He made himself look angry. Showing fury... a colder thought whispered.
’..If the High Elders want me, then I can turn their hunger into chains. If Azezal thinks he’s using me... I’ll bleed him dry first.’
Atlas stepped forward, claws grazing the goat’s furred throat. "You live. Not because I trust you. But because I’ll see how far your leash can stretch before it strangles you."
Azezal bowed, tears streaming, relief flooding his body. "Yes... my lord."
The elder only laughed, vanishing into the smoke, voice trailing like a curse.
{The Prophet spares his Judas. How sweet. How inevitable.}
’why the fuck isn’t he doing anything.’ the elder though.
Atlas turned sharply, his cloak snapping like fire. "Aurora. Azezal. We move. Find me the demon king of the Fourth Layer."
The halls of the third layer stretched like veins of obsidian, smoke crawling along the vaulted ceiling. Atlas walked first, golden steps echoing. Behind him, Aurora glided like a pale wraith, third eye still faintly burning. Azezal scurried close, eager, fearful, his goat hooves striking sharp notes on the cracked marble.
And then, drifting in silence like a shadow clinging to their backs, came the Elder. Robed, faceless, voice like oil.
He had not left.
Atlas felt his presence and ignored it, but the silence stretched, and the Elder broke it with a whisper that was not quite a whisper.
{Prophet... you tread a path that bleeds more than you know.}
Atlas didn’t turn. His jaw flexed. "I don’t need riddles."
{Not riddles. Warnings. You think your enemy lies only ahead—the demon king who bars the fourth layer. But even now\... even as you breathe... others hunt you.}
Aurora’s third eye flicked toward him, suspicious. "Others?"
The Elder’s smile could be heard, not seen.
{Demi-gods. Exiles. Fragments of ancient blood who crawl the second layer as we speak. They scent you. They move. If you reach the gates unguarded, you won’t face one war—you’ll face ten.}
The words lingered heavy, sour. Even Azezal slowed, ears twitching nervously.
Atlas finally stopped. He turned, golden light burning from his eyes into the hood of the Elder. "And what—? You offer yourself as shield?"
{No. Not shield. Key. The Elders of Hell have knowledge, alliances, maps through chaos. Alone, you may crush one foe, even two... but an army of gods? Their hunger is older than your fire. You would bleed, Prophet. And your GUIDE does not desire your end—not yet.}
Aurora tensed, watching Atlas, waiting to see if he’d break the silence with violence.
Azezal’s hooves clicked uneasily. "My lord, he speaks half-truths. Don’t trust him—he’s only trying to slip into my place."
The Elder chuckled low.
{Place? You think you had one, little goat? Your pact was convenience. Fragile. Replaceable. The Prophet does not need promises of rebirth...you have given him nothing—he needs victory. And I can give it.}
Azezal’s breath hitched, his throat tight. "Atlas, don’t listen! My pact was for you—only to deliver you where you must go. I—"
"Enough." Atlas’s voice cracked the air like stone breaking. He stepped closer to the Elder, his shadow falling over the goat. "If you need me, Elder, then prove it. Show me something that justifies your tongue. Or I’ll make you join the three bastards bleeding back there."
The Elder tilted his hood, darkness shifting like a tide.
{Then allow me to serve as your eyes. The Fourth Layer is not stone and fire—it is a labyrinth of living memory. Even your strength will stumble blind. I know the paths. I know the locks. And the High Elders—whether you hate them or not—hold the maps of eternity...the key.}
Aurora frowned. "How did you...?"
{That the Fourth Layer does not merely kill. It remembers.
It takes your past, your guilt, your betrayals... and makes them flesh. Without us, without the Elders, you will be devoured by your own sins before you ever reach the demon king.}
Atlas’s heart gave one hard, traitorous beat. For a moment, the forge-fire inside him dimmed, just slightly, as memories flashed: faces he’d struck down, voices of the fallen, the smoldering ruins of his first conquest. He shoved them away, but the echo remained.
The echo if lies which he was protruding.
The Elder knew. He saw the crack. He pressed deeper.
{Yes... you feel it already. The Fourth Layer does not forgive. It feeds.}
Silence fell like chains.
Finally, Atlas moved. He stepped past both the Elder and the goat, cloak dragging embers from the stone. "Both of you walk. Talk less. I’ll decide who’s useful when the gates rise."