Luminaria bit into her thumb without hesitation. Her divine blood flowed freely, glowing faintly with a soft golden-white radiance as it filled the goblet she conjured in her other hand.
There was no struggle in her act —to a Goddess, such a thing was effortless. What unsettled her was not the act itself, but the consequence of it. Her gaze faltered as the cup filled to the brim.
What if Fate notices? What if this offering shifts the balance further? Her heart tightened. Still, her guilt bound her tighter than her fear. She had promised him anything, and she would not withdraw.
"Here," Luminaria said softly, extending the cup toward Atlas.
Atlas's fingers brushed hers as he took it, his lips curling into a faint, unreadable smirk. His eyes never left her —the glow of her blood shimmered in his reflection.
For the briefest moment, he considered lunging at her throat, to claim it all, but the crushing weight of her divinity reminded him where he stood. He was not yet ready. Not yet.
Without hesitation, he raised the cup.
Gulp.
Gulp.
Gulp.
The thick, luminous liquid ran down his throat like molten ambrosia, burning yet refreshing, heavier than wine yet sweeter than nectar. His body trembled as each swallow spread heat through his veins, igniting every cell, every fiber of his being. His pupils dilated, his chest heaved, and a hunger unlike anything he'd ever felt threatened to overwhelm him.
The taste was divine—no, it was addictive. Far richer than his own blood, far more intoxicating than anything he had ever consumed. His instincts screamed at him to throw down the cup, pin her against the wall, and drink until she was nothing but an empty husk. His hands twitched at the thought.
But his reason—his schemes—caged the beast inside. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to set the cup aside as he licked the last traces from his lips. He looked up at Luminaria, his eyes sharper, darker, more dangerous than before.
The room stilled. The Goddess's breath caught in her throat as she realized—he was different already.
Atlas exhaled slowly, feeling the coursing transformation in his body. His muscles felt denser, his skin tingled with energy, and his very soul hummed as though re-forged. He could feel something vast, something sleeping within him, being stirred awake.
Finally, he spoke. "Tell me…" His voice was calmer now, yet edged with authority. "…what has changed in me after drinking your blood?"
Luminaria's gaze softened, though her divine sight pierced into his core. She looked not at his body but at his very essence. Her lips parted in awe.
"Your soul has been refined," she said, her voice tinged with both relief and unease. "Your divine power… its quality has ascended. You are close—very close. At this rate, you might break through into a Mid-tier Deity anytime soon."
Atlas's eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief breaking through his composure. Mid-tier Deity? He clenched his fist. He had not even known he was walking the path of godhood.
"Luminaria," he said sharply, his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean I might be breaking through into a Mid-tier Deity? I am not even a Deity."
This time it was Luminaria's turn to be taken aback. Her lips parted in visible shock.
"Atlas…" she whispered. "…you are already a Deity. A Minor Deity, born from the myth that grew around your existence as the Son of Fate. That myth crystallized into divinity nearly seven years ago."
Her words struck him like thunder. His chest constricted.
"No," Atlas shook his head. "That's impossible. It has only been a month since my death in my home world. Barely a year since I was reborn here."
His tone was absolute, his certainty unshakable. But Luminaria's expression told him otherwise.
"Atlas…" she said carefully, regret etched across her face. "In the mortal plane, a decade has already passed since your rebirth."
Silence.
Atlas froze, his breath hitching as the truth sank in. Ten years? His heart pounded in his ears. His mind spun.
Then—memories. Selphira's mocking smile. Corvane's twisted delight. Their strange tones when speaking of "years" and "endurance."
His stomach turned to lead.
So I wasn't alive during those years… I was unconscious.
His fists trembled, his teeth grinding. Gods know what they did to me. What they took from me. What they used me for…
Rage tore through him like wildfire. Ten years of his life, stolen. Ten years of torment he could not remember but could feel deep in his soul. His chest burned, his vision tinted red.
Atlas lowered his gaze, a sinister smile curling on his lips. "So that's how it is…" His voice was quiet, but venom dripped with every syllable.
His wrath only deepened. His hunger for vengeance sharpened into something merciless. And yet—he knew. Only power could grant him the retribution he craved. And his source of power stood before him, watching him with guilt-ridden eyes.
For now, he would drink her blood. For now, he would learn her secrets. For now, he would play the role of the victim—and one day, she would kneel as his slave.