The Heroine is My Stepsister, and I'm her Final Boss-Chapter 400 - 398: My Side.

Beings of immense strength reaching out to him, one after another—Lilith, the high elder, the elder, and now another empress. Atlas felt the weight of that realization sink into his bones like cold water.

A pressure behind his ribs grew, slow and unyielding, as if something inside him was being carved open to make room for a truth too large for a human frame.

He had once thought—hoped—that maybe he was overrated. A name thrown around too easily. A convenient vessel for the Guide. A pawn for some prophecy. A lucky survivor. A loud noise in the right place.

But standing here, in a realm where time wasn’t mere time, where space folded like cloth and beings older than suns breathed his name with recognition or hunger...

No.

He wasn’t overrated.

Here, in the fourth layer—his value was real. And dangerous.

His entrance into this place... it had sent ripples, and now those ripples were returning as waves.

His arm tingled again. A sharp buzz under the skin, crackling like static.

The lightning tattoo—Odin’s brand—flickered faintly, lighting the underside of his wrist with threads of cold blue.

It wasn’t painful. It was a whisper, a reminder.

A contract humming like a trapped storm.

He forgot many times, the main reason for his trip to hell. Forcing himself to remember.

Atlas frowned.

...Is Loki still alive at this point?

The intrusive thought came without permission, sliding across his mind like a shadow. He hadn’t thought it in a long time, not consciously, but the fourth layer... it loosened things inside him. Memories and questions he kept tightly sealed now drifted closer.

He remembered the dreams—those strange nights where he saw the demigods. Where Loki came most often. Not speaking, never speaking in words, but pushing something into him. Energy. Defiance. A quiet urging to keep going.

A flicker moved under his foot—his shadow quivered.

Hard. Violent.

A familiar pulse.

Atlas stiffened.

Veil? You’re finally waking up my friend?

But the quivering stopped.

Still resting...

The thought softened.

I thought you were dead as well...

He forced his attention back to the empress before him—the so-called god of this layer. Her presence pressed down on the cave like a hand on a drum, bending the air with a gravity more emotional than physical.

She smiled a razor-thin smile, and the temperature shifted—warmth bleeding into a chilling draft, as if the cave breathed through her.

Atlas asked again. Calm. Sharp.

"The key..... And the crown."

The empress stopped smiling.

That tiny gesture—barely a breath—shifted the weight in the cave. Her disappointment wasn’t a sigh. It was a sudden drop in pressure, like a storm forming.

"I’ll take that as a no," she said.

Atlas didn’t flinch.

He didn’t break deals.

Didn’t break oaths.

’I said it,’ he replied. ’I’ll do it.’

His voice felt heavier than he expected. A small echo traveled along the cave walls, brushing over stone and snow like a cold breath.

He wanted Amrit.

Whatever the cost.

Whatever the means.

That was his goal.

Aurora smiled faintly from the side—relief and pride mixing in her eyes. She knew. She understood why he refused to bend. She had watched him crawl out of hopelessness too many times to mistake this for arrogance. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Merlin, silent until now, nodded once—subtle, but genuine.

The empress stood.

Her presence filled the cave instantly, the way fire fills a dry room—all consuming, unchecked. She stepped closer to Atlas. The light in the space dimmed around her, colors flattening.

"The side you chose," she whispered, "you’ll regret it."

Her gaze flicked toward Michael, and the cave tightened.

"The prophet you chose," she continued, "is someone who is colliding with Odin himself. The axe at his back... a gift from a desperate lesser god..do you still choose to follow who is colliding with the ones who dethroned your mighty god...?."

Michael stepped forward, wings twitching slightly at the edges.

"We know," he answered.

Calm.

Certain.

There was a steadiness to him that even the fourth layer couldn’t erode.

Raphael stepped beside him, and the faint scar across his cheek glowed softly in the cold. Gabriel and Uriel were not here—lost in the gates—but their names hung between them like ghosts.

"All of us knew," Michael said, and his voice vibrated with something close to reverence. "Raphael. Gabriel. Uriel. All the fallen arc angels. We know what he’s become. What he’s becoming. And still—"

He took one step forward, wings unfurling slightly in a silent declaration.

"—we will follow him."

The empress’ eyes narrowed. A pulse of hostility cracked the air. The cave walls trembled, small stones snapping off like brittle bones.

Even Atlas blinked in surprise.

He turned to Michael.

"...Why?"

Michael lowered his head—just an inch. A gesture that meant far more here than bowing in heaven once did.

"Let’s say," he murmured, "I felt the voices of Gabriel and Uriel."

A hush spread.

Even the ambient hum of the fourth dimension stilled.

"We lost them at the gates," Michael said softly. "But they survived. Somewhere. Somehow. And they told us the truth of the prophet. Your truth....and the truth of the future to come..."

His eyes lifted, faint fire glowing behind the darkness of his corrupted wings.

"At the end of that truth," he said, "they saw glory.

Our glory."

A weight hit Atlas’ chest.

Heavy.

Unexpectedly warm.

He didn’t know if it comforted him or terrified him.

The empress’ power flared bright—so bright the entire cave illuminated like lightning flashing in a closed room. Shadows shoved themselves away from her.

She wanted to kill all of them.

It was visible in her stance, in the arch of her fingers, in the way the cold around her thickened, becoming a weapon instead of weather.

Michael reached for his weapon.

Raphael’s hand drifted to his side.

Aurora moved closer to Atlas without thinking.

Even Merlin’s eyes sharpened, ancient spells coiling around his fingertips.

But then—

A tremor.

Almost a sigh.

Almost a ripple in the universe.

The empress exhaled sharply, expression twisting with frustration.

"Lilith..." she muttered.

The name alone froze the cave.

"She would eat me alive," the empress whispered, "if I even brushed against her son’s path."

Aurora stiffened.

Michael swallowed.

Raphael stepped back instinctively.

Even the Guide inside Atlas felt it—the shift, the memory, the echo of someone whose shadow stretched past gods and dimensions.

The empress gathered herself, dissolving her bloodlust back into a veneer of superiority.

She glared at Atlas.

"You’ll learn your place soon," she said.

Her form blurred—like ink submerged in water—and then vanished entirely.

Silence dropped.

Heavy.

Complete.

The cave felt larger without her.

Colder.

More real.

Atlas released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. The exhale fogged the air before him, drifting upward in a spiral—an almost symbolic echo of the doubt rising inside him.

He touched the lightning tattoo on his arm again.

It buzzed faintly beneath his fingers.

Alive.

Waiting.

"Atlas," Aurora whispered, stepping closer. "You okay?"

No.

Yes.

Maybe not.

He nodded anyway.

But inside—

Inside, the familiar fracture spread deeper.

A hairline crack across an inner world he kept stitched together through sheer stubbornness.

Genesis.

Lilith’s son.

Prophet.

Guide’s avatar.

Odin’s contractor.

Enemy to gods.

Target of empresses.

Hope of fallen angels.

The titles stacked like chains.

He remembered, suddenly, the first time he felt a whisper from the Guide when he was young—just a rustle in the back of his mind, like wind brushing a door that shouldn’t open. He remembered ignoring it. Fighting it. Needing it.

And now... now all of this.

Michael approached him.

"You don’t need to carry everything alone...prophet..."

Atlas scoffed softly, a bitter curl of his lips.

"I don’t? I feel like that’s exactly what everyone expects."

Michael didn’t deny it.

Because it was true.

"A genesis doesn’t walk unnoticed," Merlin murmured. "Even gods chase the scent...Accept it atlas...accept your true worth..."

Atlas didn’t like that phrasing.

He stepped away, breathing in the cold cave air. The stone smelled faintly metallic, and small flecks of frost glittered across the floor like crushed stars.

The Guide inside him stirred, uneasy.

They’re watching, it whispered.

All of them are watching.

Atlas didn’t answer.

Instead, he stared at the entrance of the cave—a narrow slit where light barely touched the floor. The snow outside was falling slow, thick, each flake catching the dim glow like drifting ash.

He whispered, more to himself than anyone:

"I’ll get the key. And the crown. I’ll finish what I promised, but first, we rest." he voiced.

Everyone nodded, finally calming their nerves and soothing their souls. At last, they could rest. They were exhausted, utterly exhausted.

Atlas approached Lara and gently pulled her into the corner. It was time; they had talked about this moment before.

Lara felt the warmth of his endearing grip. Her cheeks flushed simply from his touch.

"It’s been a while..." she whispered.

Atlas heard her clearly. "A while since what?"

"Since you touched me... or even really talked to me," she replied softly.

"Lara..." Atlas couldn’t help himself. Seeing her cute, shy expression, he pulled her into a tight hug. "Lara..."

"Yes?"

"Your system... we need to talk about it."