Chapter 463: Chapter 460: Echoes Beneath the Ice

The ground shook beneath their feet.

Not once.

Not twice.

Continuously.

Each tremor rolled through the cracked obsidian plains like the heartbeat of something colossal buried beneath Hell’s skin—slow, deliberate, ancient. Ash and embers drifted through the air in lazy spirals, glowing briefly before dissolving into nothing. The sulfurous wind carried the faint metallic taste of blood long since spilled.

The giants came in waves.

They were not true Titans—those primordial horrors still slumbered deeper in the layers—but lesser echoes of that lineage: towering brutes of fused stone, sinew, and corrupted flesh. Some wore jagged armor plates that had grown organically from their hides like tumors of obsidian and iron.

Others were bare-skinned, bodies scarred with sigils that burned a dull, hateful crimson, veins of molten slag pulsing beneath translucent skin. Their roars overlapped into a single, unending bellow that vibrated through ribs and teeth.

Pegasus met the first charge head-on.

Lightning detonated from his wings in blinding arcs as he surged forward, a living thunderbolt crashing into the front line. The impact hurled three giants backward; their massive bodies skidded across the scorched earth like broken statues, leaving furrows of molten glass in their wake.

"Move!" he bellowed over the roar. "Don’t let them surround us!"

Aron loosed arrows in rapid succession, each shaft a line of condensed sunlight that cut through the haze. One pierced a giant’s eye socket and detonated from within, blasting its skull apart in a shower of burning bone fragments. Another pinned a charging brute through the throat, nailing it to the ground in a blinding flare; the creature thrashed once, then went still as solar fire consumed its core.

Kael moved like a living wall.

He planted himself between Nephra and the incoming horde, shield raised, runes blazing pale blue as each impact rang through his bones like hammer blows on an anvil. A giant’s club—carved from petrified spine—slammed down. Kael caught it on the shield rim, boots digging trenches into the scorched earth as he held. Muscles corded, veins bulging.

"For Tyr!" he roared, shoving forward with explosive force and cleaving upward with his sword. The blade sang through corrupted flesh, splitting the creature’s arm clean off at the elbow. Black ichor sprayed in an arc that hissed against the ground.

Nephra stepped through the gap without breaking stride.

Death answered her call.

Shadowed chains erupted from the cracked earth, coiling around a giant’s legs like living serpents. They tightened—not crushing bone, but severing soul from body in a single, merciless pull. The corpse collapsed forward, already empty, eyes dimming to dull glass as the essence drained away into the void.

Iris moved last.

And then everything changed.

She vaulted upward with impossible grace, spear spinning once in her hand before she hurled it.

The weapon became a line of white judgment—pure, unyielding light.

It struck a towering giant square in the chest and did not stop.

The spear carved upward in a perfect diagonal, splitting the creature from hip to shoulder as though it were wet parchment. The two halves slid apart slowly, steam and corrupted ichor spilling in thick ropes as the body collapsed in near-silence, the halves thudding to the ground like felled trees.

The battlefield paused.

Even the giants hesitated, burning eyes flickering in confusion.

Then the roar returned—louder, angrier.

More poured in.

From fissures that split the plain like fresh wounds.

From ruined arches half-buried in ash.

From beneath the ground itself, clawing upward in sprays of dirt and flame.

Pegasus slammed another bolt of lightning into the horde, breath coming harder now, sweat freezing on his brow in the shifting heat. "There’s too many!"

Aron grit his teeth, nocking another arrow. "Where the hell is Atlas?"

No answer.

Another giant fell—then another took its place.

They fought as demigods should: rotating positions, covering one another, exploiting openings with ruthless precision. But Hell did not care about tactics. It cared only about numbers. About attrition. About breaking will through sheer, endless pressure.

A massive shape rose at the rear of the horde.

Bigger.

Thicker.

Its body was layered in stone plates etched with ancient contracts—yellowed parchment fused into flesh, runes still faintly glowing beneath layers of soot. Its head scraped the low-hanging clouds as it stepped forward, each footfall cracking the ground anew, sending fissures racing outward like lightning in reverse.

A Greater Titan.

Pegasus felt the shift in pressure before he saw it clearly.

Lightning faltered in his palms.

"This is bad," he muttered.

Kael swallowed, shield arm trembling for the first time. "We can’t—"

A voice rolled across the battlefield.

"Enough."

The word was soft.

It carried anyway.

The giants froze.

Every single one.

The Greater Titan halted mid-step, its raised foot hovering inches above the ground, stone grinding in protest.

The clouds above parted with unnatural smoothness.

Two figures stood in the sky.

Atlas floated effortlessly, hands clasped behind his back, expression unreadable—calm bordering on indifference. Wings of light and shadow had folded away, leaving him silhouetted against the bruised sky.

Beside him—

Lidia.

Demon Queen of the 1st layer.

Her hair flowed like living flame, horns curved elegantly from her temples in polished obsidian and gold. Her eyes glowed with molten amber, lips curved in a broad, amused smile as though she had arrived at a festival rather than a slaughter.

"Oh, honestly," she said, voice warm and rich with mock exasperation. "You boys are so enthusiastic."

She leaned in and kissed Atlas on the cheek.

A quick, affectionate peck—casual, proprietary, utterly unapologetic.

The battlefield went dead silent.

Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Lidia straightened, clapping her hands once—sharp, commanding.

"Back off," she ordered. "All of you."

The giants turned as one.

Without protest.

Without hesitation.

They lumbered away—mountains in retreat—vanishing back into Hell’s broken landscape as though they had never been summoned at all.

Atlas descended.

He landed lightly, boots touching the ground without a sound.

Pegasus stared at him, mouth slightly open. "What the hell just happened?"

Atlas glanced at the retreating giants, then back at Pegasus. "My past affairs catching up."

Iris’s jaw tightened.

Just slightly.

Pegasus snorted, wiping sweat from his brow. "You say that like you didn’t just have a Demon Queen kiss you in front of the entire battlefield."

Iris turned sharply. "Pegasus."

He grinned, unrepentant. "What? I didn’t do anything. *He* did."

Lidia laughed—delighted, bright, utterly unbothered. "Oh, I like this group already."

Atlas shot her a look—half warning, half resignation. "You’re not supposed to be here."

She shrugged one elegant shoulder. "Neither are you. Yet here we are."

She stepped back, form already beginning to fade into crimson mist. "We’ll talk later, Atlas. Try not to die before then." 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

And then she was gone—dissolving like smoke on the wind.

The silence returned, heavier now.

Pegasus finally exhaled, long and slow. "I need an explanation. A long one."

Atlas turned. "Later."

They moved on.

Babylon loomed ahead.

What remained of it.

The city was a corpse—towers shattered at their bases, streets split open like wounds that had never healed, walls collapsed inward as though crushed by a god’s fist in rage. Statues of forgotten demon lords lay broken and half-buried, faces worn smooth by time, war, and the ceaseless ashfall. Empty plazas stretched beneath a sky the color of old bruises.

As they passed through the ruins, whispers followed them.

Demigods from other squads emerged cautiously from shadowed doorways and cracked alleys—weapons lowered but ready, eyes wide with recognition and fear.

One voice cut through the murmur.

"So it’s true."

A young demigod—bloodied, armor cracked, one arm hanging limp—stared at Atlas with wide, haunted eyes.

"The favorite son of Zeus came down here to kill you."

Pegasus stiffened.

"And?" Atlas asked calmly.

"He destroyed everything in his path," the demigod continued, voice shaking. "Whole squads. Whole streets. Then... then he died."

Pegasus turned sharply. "What?"

Atlas stopped walking.

"It wasn’t me," he said quietly.

The others looked at him.

"At the end," Atlas continued, "Zeus killed him. His own blood. In the Third Layer."

Pegasus swallowed hard.

Atlas met his gaze without flinching. "Be careful."

Pegasus’s voice was barely audible. "You’re saying—"

"That Zeus has ways," Atlas said, "to kill his children. Even in Hell. Even when they think they’re untouchable."

They passed the castle gates—twisted iron hanging from broken hinges.

Beyond them—

Cold.

It crept into their bones as the world shifted. Heat bled away in an instant. Ash turned to frost beneath their feet. Snow fell—slow, silent, black-flecked flakes that stung exposed skin.

The Second Layer.

The Icy Lands.

Atlas paused, breath fogging the air in thick clouds.

"I’ve never been here," he admitted.

Pegasus blinked, incredulous. "You’re joking."

Atlas shook his head. "I skipped it."

They moved forward.

The cold deepened with every step—seeping through armor, through flesh, into marrow. Visibility dropped as swirling snow thickened into white walls. The wind howled low, carrying distant, distorted screams that might have been memory or warning.

A shadow stirred ahead.

Weapons rose in unison—

Then a figure stumbled out of the dark.

A demigod—male, young, armor rent open across the chest, blood frozen in black streaks down his front.

He fell to his knees before them, gasping.

"Help," he rasped. "Please—"

His eyes were wide with terror.

And behind him—

Something moved.

A low, wet rasp—like flesh dragging across ice.

Then another.

And another.

The snow shifted.

Shapes rose—tall, thin, impossibly long-limbed. Pale skin stretched tight over bone, mouths split too wide, eyes glowing pale blue in hollow sockets. They wore the tattered remnants of demigods armor—

The wounded demigod looked up at Atlas, lips trembling.

"They’re coming," he whispered.

The first creature lunged.