The Heroine is My Stepsister, and I'm her Final Boss-Chapter 34: A vision

Demon Realm – The Valley of Gluttony

Words spread like wildfire through the demon realm. Every royal, every noble—be they devils cloaked in silk or silent succubi draped in shadows—whispered one name with reverence and fear.

"The Guide..."

"....The Guide."

"..THE GUIDE has come! The prophecy has come true!"

Haaa... The fatty demon sighed, leaning back on his ornate throne carved from obsidian and sinew. His bulging green stomach jiggled as he chuckled to himself, the sound wet and gurgling like swamp gas. He gazed out over his new fiefdom, watching as his netizens chanted the name of the prophesied savior.

For centuries, he had worked alongside the crimson demon for one purpose: connection. Fame. Destruction. The elder who never was—that's what they called him. A title earned not by lineage but by deeds so vile they inspired awe even among demons. But now, staring at the symphony unfolding before him, he couldn't help but feel hollow. Disappointed.

Perhaps it was a generation gap; after all, the crimson demon was three hundred years older than him. Or maybe it was just disillusionment. Whatever the case, there was no denying the surge of boredom coursing through him. His family had been chosen for the Extinction Festival—a yearly ritual where entire races were wiped out in honor of the One Below All, the creator of demons. It was said that this bloodshed would please their god enough to reincarnate once more, descending to guide the demon race and he did so.

But those hopes had been crushed when the legend—the crimson one—proved to be nothing more than an old soul bound by duty. His sole purpose? To serve "The Guide."

"...I feel like eating somebody," the fatty mused aloud, licking his lips. "Should I just eat the so-called chosen Guide? Haha...that would be hilarious..."

His laughter echoed through the chamber, bouncing off walls slick with ichor and malice. Then, suddenly, magic pulled at his essence, sharp and unyielding. Sweat poured down his bloated face as a summoning circle erupted beneath him, glowing with runes darker than despair itself.

"Fuck... What the fuck does he want from me now?"

Before the thought could fully form, the fatty vanished from his throne, reappearing in the heart of their ruler's castle.

Pierce!

In less time than it took to blink, a massive sword impaled him through the chest, pinning him to the black marble floor. Green blood pooled around him, steaming faintly as it sizzled against the cold stone. Despite the pain—or perhaps because of it—he forced a grin, bowing his head awkwardly since his body was already pinned down.

"....This was your partner?" came the voice of the Demon Queen, her tone dripping with disdain.

"Sadly, yes," replied another voice—familiar, clipped, and utterly indifferent. "Don't ask me why I chose a youngling as a partner. I don't care anymore."

"But he will do." Another voice spoke.

The fatty felt the weight of countless eyes upon him, though he dared not look up. The air crackled with power, pressing down on him like mountains made of hatred. Shadows loomed overhead, stretching impossibly long across the ceiling. And then he saw them—not the figures themselves, but their silhouettes. One shadow stood out starkly, bearing four massive wings.

'Why in the fucking Blezulbub is a fallen angel here?' he thought, panic rising like bile in his throat. 'And not just any fallen angel—a royal one.'

Pierce!

Another sword slammed into his torso, grinding bone and flesh alike. His face smashed into the marble, tasting dirt and decay. Still, he remained silent, knowing full well that any movement—even breathing too loudly—would mean instant death.

"....."

"....."

"....Okay," a raspy voice broke the silence. Familiar. Horribly familiar. "Now that the fatty is here as well, let's start our discussion."

The fatty froze, recognition slamming into him like a freight train. That voice. That insufferable, gravelly tone. There was only one person it could belong to.

'Crimson... Why?' The fatty's mind screamed, rage bubbling beneath layers of terror. 'You betrayed me. After centuries of loyalty, you betrayed me—and The Guide. Oh Atlas gonna love this...Why the fuck are you aligning yourself with our enemies, the fallen ones?'

Pierce!!

A final sword drove straight through his soul, shredding whatever remained of his being. His true name unraveled into nothingness, disintegrating along with his corporeal form.

Silence fell heavy and suffocating, broken only by the faint drip-drip of green blood pooling on the black marble. All his previous thoughts with his soul gone to cinders.

All five beings—including the crimson demon—gazed upward as the soul sword spiraled down from the heavens. Crimson eyes widened in shock before softening into reverence. The dark-winged fallen angel flapped his four massive wings in awe, centuries of waiting finally culminating in this single moment. Beside him, the woman cloaked in shadow shifted her eight glowing orbs into two piercing gazes, meeting his arrival with unwavering faith.

And then they bowed—not out of fear, but out of devotion. Their heads dipped low, bodies trembling under the weight of his presence. He landed silently, his long black hair cascading around him like a shroud woven from night itself. No horns adorned his head; instead, an infinite halo of darkness hovered above him, casting eerie shadows across the room. His golden "truth eyes" burned brighter than any star, cutting through lies and deceit to reveal the raw essence beneath.

With a flick of his wrist, he wiped away the fatty demon's green blood as one might brush off dust or insects—a gesture both dismissive and commanding. Standing at eight feet tall, his towering frame loomed over them all, radiating power that seeped into their very souls.

"You all have waited..." Atlas's voice was hoarse, cold, and laced with authority so profound it seemed to resonate within their chests.

.

.

"HAAAAAAA!!!!!!"

Atlas jolted awake, gasping for air like a drowning man breaking the surface of a stormy sea. Panic clawed at his throat as his disoriented gaze darted around the unfamiliar surroundings.

"...a dream?" he muttered, sweat pouring down his face in rivulets. His heart pounded against his ribs, threatening to burst free.

"Where...what...Eli?" he called out, his voice shaking. "Am I in heaven as well? Wait...what happened to your arm...?"

Eli didn't respond immediately, her wide eyes locked onto him as if trying to memorize every detail of his face. She moved closer, step by tentative step, until she could reach out and touch him. Her palm pressed gently against his cheek, confirming what her mind struggled to believe—he was real. Breathing. Alive.

"...you dummy," she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks once more—but these were different. These weren't tears born of despair, but of pure, unadulterated joy.

SLAP!

Her hand struck his chest with surprising force. "You idiot! I told you not to die!" she shouted, anger bubbling up alongside relief.

SLAP!

"You should've just left me..." Her voice cracked, wavering between fury and sorrow.

SLAP!

"You should've...just escaped..." Her words dropped to a whisper, barely audible over the sound of her sobs.

SLAP!

Her palms continued to strike his chest rhythmically, each slap punctuating her grief-turned-joy. Finally, unable to hold back any longer, she threw herself into his arms, clutching him tightly as though afraid he'd vanish again. Tears soaked into his shreaded shirt, mingling with the warmth of his beating heart.

"Thank God you're alive..." she murmured into his chest, her voice muffled but filled with gratitude.

Atlas held her close, his gaze drifting past her shoulder toward the shadow entity standing nearby and the colossal form of Jörmungandr looming above them. Something monumental had occurred while he slept. All he remembered was the fight with the dark entity—and then nothing but darkness. And yet, the dream lingered vividly in his mind, its edges sharp enough to blur the line between reality and illusion.

He pushed aside thoughts of the crimson demon, the fallen angels, and the infinite halo. For now, none of that mattered. What mattered was Eli. Her trembling body pressed against his, her tears soaking through his shirt, her uneven breaths syncing with his own.

His truth eyes glowed faintly green as he looked at her, seeing beyond flesh and bone to the core of who she was. Broken, yes—but resilient. Fragile, yet fierce. A paradox wrapped in human skin.

He patted her rugged hair softly, attempting to calm her racing heartbeat. "...Eli," he began, his tone gentler now, "....mind telling me what happened? .....And about your arm?"

Of course he wanted answers—it was a miracle itself. He was alive. She was alive. And before them, two godly abyssal monsters burned with eerie green light, their forms illuminated by the glow of his Truth-Seeking Eyes.

'...what the fuck happened really?'

[NOTIFICATION]

[NOTIFICATION]

[NOTIFICATION]

[NOTIFICATION]

[NOTIFICATION]

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".....Seriously....what in the actual fuck is happening??"

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