The Heroine is My Stepsister, and I'm her Final Boss-Chapter 163 - 164: Number 5 part 2

The battlefield was a festering wound carved into the flesh of the world. The air reeked of scorched mana and blood, the stench clinging to the back of Atlas Von Roxweld’s throat like bile. Ash drifted down like corrupted snow, glowing flecks of fairy core dust catching in his sweat-matted black hair. Every breath he drew felt thick with iron, every beat of his heart a hammer strike against his fractured ribs.

His Truth Eyes flared crimson.

And he saw him.

Number Five descended from the dying airship, not like a man, but like a judgment. His boots barely stirred the soil. His golden hair gleamed with unnatural luster, untouched by the rot of battle. The sword in his hand was straight, elegant, and slim, forged with such density of mana it warped the air around it—a blade not just for killing, but for ending. Power bled from him in waves, thick as fog, crushing the field with invisible weight.

Atlas’s fingers twitched at his sides.

He’d faced monsters before—demons, warlords, even gods in disguise. But this... this was something else. Not just power. Purpose. Five wasn’t here to test him.

He was here for something...something else.

Claire’s breath caught. She stepped beside him, green eyes narrowed. "A warrior-mage?" she whispered, the words trembling on her lips. She didn’t look at Atlas as she said it. Her gaze was locked on Five, as if afraid that blinking would make the illusion vanish.

Atlas answered her without turning. "Like Lara," he muttered. "Like me."

A flash of memory: Lara training in the rain, her blade whistling through the storm, her lips twisted in a grin too sharp for a girl her age. And then later, coughing blood onto his hand as her body broke from within.

The healer stood a few paces behind Claire. White robes dusted with ash. Her staff shimmered faintly, yellow eyes sharp and unblinking. Watching. Not with fear. With interest. She tilted her head, like a scholar cataloging the final notes of a dying symphony.

Five landed.

"...Atlas Von Roxweld," he said, his voice too soft for the blood it promised. "The prince of Berkimhum. Son of Henry Von Roxweld."

Atlas’s head tilted slightly. He didn’t smile. He didn’t blink. But something in his eyes gleamed like a blade remembering its first cut.

Five gave a shallow bow, too rigid to be honor, too precise to be mercy.

"I greet you," he said, and as he drew his blade across his side in a ceremonial line, the wind moaned between them.

"...And it shall also be our final goodbye."

For a breath, the world held its breath.

Atlas flexed his fingers, blood dripping from his knuckles. His side still bled from Seven’s last desperate strike, pain radiating like a second heartbeat. His lungs were iron weights. The virus gnawed at him like wolves at bone.

And still, he stood.

"You’re not the first to say that," he said, voice raw. "But if you want a last goodbye..."

He raised his hand, palm open. The dirt quivered.

"...you’ll have to take it from me."

"Hmmm....You’ve made a mess," he said, voice soft, smooth, every syllable sharpened with contempt. "A dying boy breaking my tools. Impressive."

Atlas spat a gob of blood at the ground. It hissed on contact. "Tools? That what you call your dogs?"

His muscles throbbed. The virus gnawed at him, acidic in his veins. His Bone stat flickered to 120. Muscle 110. Barely functional. But his will was sharper than ever. Pain was his whetstone.

"Come closer, Five," Atlas said. "Let’s see how sharp you are."

The air groaned as Five’s aura expanded, his mana blooming like wildfire. The ground cracked beneath him, spiderweb fractures racing through the dirt. Flame kindled at his feet. Ice bloomed in the air. Wind coiled around his blade like a serpent waiting to strike.

Claire stepped back, shielding her face from the heat. "He’s using simultaneous casting," she murmured, breathless. "That’s forbidden tier. Atlas, we need to go...."

"No."

The word left him before he could think. A reflex. A truth.

Five cocked his head. "You’re infected," he said, voice almost amused. "That virus should’ve turned your bones to dust. Yet here you are, killing primes."

His blade lifted.

"Let’s see how long you last."

Atlas smiled. A jagged, feral thing.

"Long enough to carve your heart out."

He moved.

Sharpness. Enhance Speed. Tectonic Palm.

His mana flared, ravaged muscles snapping into action. The world blurred. The air screamed. His fist rocketed forward, aimed at Five’s heart.

BOOM.

The impact of blade against flesh split the air. A shockwave burst out, leveling trees in a fifty-meter radius. Fairy core dust ignited in blinding flashes of gold and white. Claire fell to one knee, her shield flaring, skin scorched from the edges.

Atlas slid back, boots tearing up the ground. His wrist howled in agony.

Five hadn’t moved.

"You’re good," Five said calmly. "For a dying man."

A spell cracked into life in his hand—a spear of fire, searing hot, aimed straight for Atlas’s heart.

Time slowed.

Supersonic.

Atlas twisted, barely dodging. The flame scorched his shoulder, skin blistering, armor flaking off like burnt paper. He didn’t cry out.

He charged.

Tectonic Palm connected again—but this time Five’s ice barrier met it mid-air. The shield splintered, shards biting into Atlas’s cheek, but the core held.

"Atlas!" Claire shouted, stepping forward. " he’s too strong!"

"Stay back!" he barked. "This one’s mine."

Five chuckled.

"So much pride for something so broken."

He moved like a phantom, sword whistling through air. Atlas ducked. Ice tore at his ribs. He spun, Sharpness igniting, and slashed with his bare hand.

Contact.

His fingers ripped through Five’s arm.

Blood.

But it healed. Almost instantly. Mana surged around Five like a second skin, knitting flesh like thread.

The ground split beneath them, spells colliding, elements devouring one another. Flame devoured ice. Earth swallowed wind. Lightning sparked between their blows. Atlas felt the battlefield buckle beneath their feet. Every step was war.

He hit Five again. And again. Bone crunched. But Five returned each strike with surgical precision.

A blade to the side.

A blast of mana to the chest.

A flurry of wind that knocked the breath from Atlas’s lungs.

His vision blurred.

Pain clouded everything.

But he couldn’t stop.

’Not yet..’

Five’s sword slashed again—Atlas caught it. With his bare hand.

The blade cut into his palm.

But he didn’t let go.

With a snarl, he ’twisted.’

SNAP.

The blade shattered.

Five’s eyes widened.

Atlas didn’t wait. He drove his fist into Five’s chest, mana surging. Armor cracked. Blood spurted. Five flew backward, crashing into the crater wall.

Silence fell for a moment.

Claire gasped.

The healer finally blinked.

But Five stood.

Bleeding. Breathing. Smiling.

"Interesting," he murmured.

A new spell flared.

A vortex of compressed mana formed in his palm—pure force.

It hit Atlas like a meteor.

He was slammed into the crater edge, stone fracturing behind him, ribs shattering. Blood gushed from his mouth. His body sagged.

"Atlas!" Claire screamed, running toward him. Her dagger flashed, but Five turned his gaze to her, and she froze.

The healer whispered, "Enough. He’ll kill you."

Atlas pulled himself up, trembling.

One eye swollen shut. Skin burned. Every breath was a razor.

But his voice didn’t falter.

"Not today."

He looked at Five.

"You think you’re a god? I’ve killed worse."

Five’s mana surged. "You’re no god-killer," he said. "You’re a boy with ghosts."

That hurt.

Because it was true.

And still—

Atlas roared.

Earth Manipulation ignited.

Stone ripped from the ground, massive slabs crashing toward Five.

Fire met them. They exploded mid-air. The heat seared Atlas’s flesh. But he kept going. Swinging. Clawing. Breaking.

Claire fought too, disrupting Five’s spells, her dagger slicing through his mana threads. Her hair flew wild, her voice a scream of fury.

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