The Heroine is My Stepsister, and I'm her Final Boss-Chapter 164 - 165: Fickle

The battlefield was a graveyard of ash and bone, fairy core dust swirling like a storm of shattered stars, each speck burning with the weight of a thousand deaths. Atlas Von Roxweld stood, blood dripping from his slightly torn shoulder, his golden eyes blazing through the haze. His body was a battlefield of its own—virus and Yggdrasil locked in an endless war, healing and destruction tearing at his core.

[Healing mitigated... process... healing continued... 0.9%]

Number Five stood across the crater, his golden hair a halo of malice, his slim sword pulsing with mana that made the air scream. Seven and Ten lay broken in the dirt, their blood mixing with the ash, but Five was untouched, a god among ruins.

Claire fought at Atlas’s side, her dagger flashing, mana crackling like a dying fire. But her movements were sloppy, her breath ragged—her battlefield was the court, all silk and lies, not this slaughterhouse of steel and blood.

She winced as another gust of heat scraped her cheek, the scent of burning flesh clinging to the back of her throat. Her lungs felt like paper—thin, tearing with every inhale. New scars bloomed on Atlas’s skin, red lines carving his flesh as Five’s spells tore through the air—flames, ice, wind, a symphony of destruction.

Claire’s inexperience was a chain, dragging her down, and she knew it. Her purple eyes burned, not with fear but with a quiet rage, a refusal to be useless. She wouldn’t break, not here, not now.

’I watched you fight for everyone else,’ she thought, eyeing Atlas from the corner of her vision. ’....Let me bleed for you, just this once.’

She fumbled in her cloak, her fingers trembling as they closed around three crimson vials, each one a fortune—one million gold, won in the underworld’s shadowed games. Gold she had in spades, but raw power? That was her lack, her shame.

She uncorked them.

The scent was sweet and metallic, like wine and blood. She drank. Gulped. Swallowed fire. The liquid burned her throat, her mana nerves igniting, visible veins of light pulsing under her skin. The ground beneath her cracked from the force.

Her capacity surged, tenfold, a furnace of raw mana that twisted the air. She gasped, clutching her chest, the pain curling her spine like a claw. But she didn’t fall.

Her hand shot out, gripping the healer’s arm, her voice a hiss through gritted teeth. "Heal me. Until I finish this spell."

The healer’s yellow eyes widened, her staff glowing as she nodded, casting a healing spell that bathed Claire in a soft, golden light. The pain didn’t fade, but Claire’s resolve held, her body trembling as mana poured through her, a river of power she wasn’t built to contain.

She wasn’t a mage—her mind was forged for politics, not spells—but she held a scroll, its patterns bursting forth like bubbles of mana, shimmering and alive.

"Magic scrolls?" the healer whispered, her voice tinged with awe. "How much did that cost?"

"...Too much," Claire growled, her voice raw, her eyes blazing with defiance.

The scroll trembled in her hand like a living beast, absorbing her mana greedily. A high-tier incantation unfurled in the air, runes spinning, the wind howling around her feet.

Atlas felt it before he saw it, his Truth Eyes flaring red as the mana surged above Number Five. The prime’s head snapped up, his blue eyes narrowing, his sword still dripping with Atlas’s blood. "Oh, shit, Claire?" Atlas rasped, his voice a mix of shock and fear. "Are you crazy?"

".....EXPLOSION!" Claire bellowed, her voice a primal scream, tearing the sky apart.

BOOOOOOOOOM!

The world ignited.

A yellow inferno of raw heat erupted, a nuke of mana with Five at its heart. The blast spread miles in an instant, disintegrating earth, ash, and air with the speed of light. The shockwave followed, late but monstrous.

Sound hit next—a deafening roar that ripped across the plains, echoing like the wrath of gods. Trees vanished. Bones turned to powder. Fairy core dust ignited in a blinding flare.

Atlas moved, burning every drop of his dwindling mana, Supersonic screaming through his veins. He grabbed Claire and the healer, his body ablaze with agony, legs pumping faster than ever, outrunning the apocalypse.

The ground vanished beneath them, a molten scar carving into the land. His vision blurred. [Healing mitigated... process... ]

He collapsed just outside the blast radius, his knees buckling, lungs heaving.

Claire’s body hit the ground beside him, her cloak in flames, patches of her skin charred and blistering. She groaned, her fingers twitching.

The healer landed softly last, her robes intact, though soaked in ash. Her staff dimmed.

Atlas’s shirt clung to his back, blood mixing with sweat, the scent of scorched cloth and burnt iron clawing at his senses. His nerves screamed, like tiny wires fraying at every joint.

Claire coughed. "I believed in you," she said, her voice a cracked whisper, more ash than sound. She smiled weakly, her green eyes wild with triumph and exhaustion.

"Fuck your belief," Atlas spat, collapsing fully. His muscles gave out, his arm falling limply across the dirt. His body was a map of bruises and burns. The virus gnawed at his bones again, a rat chewing through steel. Yggdrasil’s healing flickered like a dying flame.

He stared up at the sky, the mushroom cloud blooming above the crater—a black rose of fire and vengeance, petals unfurling slow and proud.

"How the hell did you...?" he murmured, eyes barely open.

"Shush...." Claire said, the word soft. She leaned over him, a new scar curling along her collarbone like a brand. Her hand rose and signaled the healer to silence. "Secret."

She suddenly coughed, her entire body lurching. Blood sprayed from her mouth, hot and dark, pooling on the dirt like a curse made liquid. It wasn’t a trickle—it gushed in sickening waves, more than any body should hold, her breath rattling behind it, wet and sharp.

"Claire—!" Atlas moved before thinking, instinct overtaking caution. Her limbs trembled violently, her fingers twitching against the blood-slick earth as if trying to cling to it. Her skin was pale, unnaturally so, and thin trails of glowing red pulsed along her throat and arms—mana burns. Deep ones. Internal nerve scarring.

The healer was already there, staff raised, her yellow eyes wide. A warm golden light burst from the orb at its crown, coating Claire in radiance, but the damage was rooted—deeper than muscle, deeper than bone. It had laced into her core.

Her mouth opened, but no words came. Only more blood.

Atlas’s hand caught her shoulder. "Claire... Goddamit, I thought you were smart," he growled, his voice cracking between rage and fear, the edges of both cutting into him like barbed wire. His other hand went to her back, steadying her, fingers trembling as he gripped her.

But Claire’s hand slapped his away, weak but sharp. Her glare burned through tears of pain, jaw clenched as blood ran down her chin. "Don’t look at me like that," she hissed, voice raw and broken. "Like I’m a child. Like I need saving."

Atlas didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His lips curled in a bitter snarl as he grabbed her again—this time harder. "You and your fucking pride," he spat, pressing her against his chest as her body convulsed with another retch. Blood spilled again, painting the front of his shirt in crimson streaks. He gritted his teeth, forcing her to stay upright, one hand holding the back of her head, fingers tangled in her sweat-drenched hair. "Damn it, Claire, breathe."

"I am breathing," she muttered, coughing again, more blood wetting her lips. She leaned into him for a moment—not from choice, but necessity. Her body sagged like a puppet with its strings frayed.

"...Claire, I don’t wanna see you doing that dumbshit again..." he complained.

Then came the grin. Sharp, bloodstained, wild.

"Fickle... is your influence, Atlas," she whispered, half-laughing, half-choking.

Updat𝒆d fr𝒐m freew𝒆bnov𝒆l.c(o)m