The Heroine is My Stepsister, and I'm her Final Boss-Chapter 55: The Reckoning Awakens

The Sea of Dreams – A Realm Torn Asunder

{{{DON’T!}}} Dracula roared, his voice splitting the air like thunder as he lunged for the crimson demon’s neck. But with a final smirk and an obscene gesture—a middle finger raised defiantly—the demon dissolved into the glowing sigil etched onto Atlas’s chest, vanishing completely.

{{{I will destroy the medium then,}}} Dracula snarled, his nails elongating into razor-sharp blades. He reached toward Atlas’s lifeless body, determination burning in his crimson eyes.

{{{I won’t let you disgrace him any longer...}}} he growled, but before he could touch the corpse, a sudden force pushed against him. The dream bubbles he had summoned earlier swelled and burst, forcing him back. Their collective hum turned hostile, almost mocking.

{{{How dare you, mortal ingrates!!}}} Dracula bellowed, rage boiling over as cracks began to form once more across the dreamscape—the very ones he had sealed shut moments ago.

Crack!

Crack! Crack!

Atlas’s body glowed red from within, pulsating with an unholy light that defied death itself. Slowly, his limp form rose, floating above the ground like a phoenix reborn. The cracks spread outward, fracturing reality as though the world itself were being torn apart at its seams.

Like an earthquake ripping through the fabric of existence, the fissures multiplied, radiating outwards from Atlas’s suspended figure. His crimson glow illuminated the abyssal sea of dreams, casting eerie shadows on the endless void. Whispers echoed around them—voices of demons, spirits of despair, ancient entities long forgotten—all stirred awake by the disturbance.

The sigil burned brighter still, searing the darkness with its malevolent aura. It pulsed rhythmically, drawing power from some unseen source deep within the chaos. The dream realm quaked violently as these ruptures consumed everything in their path, spilling forth souls of destruction and ruin. This was no mere awakening; it was the unleashing of doom incarnate.

Dracula clenched his fists, watching helplessly as the crimson tide swept away countless dream bubbles—each one carrying fragments of lives, hopes, fears—and replaced them with torrents of demonic energy. His pale skin flushed red under the oppressive glow, yet he stood firm amidst the tempest, witnessing the cataclysmic rebirth unfolding before his eyes.

{{{Here we go again....}}} Dracula muttered grimly, raising his hands. Ancient symbols materialized in the air around him, representing the laws governing this fractured domain—the Dreaming World. With every flick of his wrist, they wove intricate patterns meant to contain the burgeoning chaos, but even he knew it was futile.

As if drawn by gravity, streams of blood-red mana poured into the widening chasm, dragging hordes upon hordes of demons, devils, half-bloods, and other abominations into the fray. They surged forward relentlessly, flooding the dreamscape with their presence. And then, abruptly, half of this infernal horde was yanked inward, sucked into Atlas’s glowing chest like moths to flame.

[Massive Amount of Unholy Mana Detected.]

[Demon King’s Heart Resonating...]

[Demon King’s Heart Evolving.....]

[Demon King’s Heart > Chaos.... Error... SS... Error...]

[Demon King’s Heart > ???]

[@$%@%%@%!%% Is Trying to Possess the Host.]

[Denied!]

[@$%@%%@%!%% Is Trying to Possess the Host.]

[Denied!]

[@$%@%%@%!%% Is Trying to Possess the Host.]

[Denied!]

[@$%@%%@%!%% Wishes to Temporarily Possess the Host, Otherwise He Will Devour the Host’s Soul and Condemn Him Into Hell for All Eternity.]

[...Granted!]

Atlas’s eyelids fluttered open, revealing irises ablaze with fiery crimson. His dark hair shimmered with an ethereal red aura, while the scar on his chest healed seamlessly, leaving no trace behind. Turning slowly to face Dracula, a sinister smile curled his lips.

{{{It’s been long... my friend.}}}

Dracula couldn’t bring himself to look up. He stared at the ground instead, his jaw clenched so tightly he could feel his teeth grinding against each other. That familiar whisper—soft, almost nostalgic—cut through him like a blade. Atlas’s tone carried an unbearable familiarity, a mockery of their shared past wrapped in deceitful love. His gaze alone felt like it could devour Dracula whole.

{{{You are my friend, no longer...}}} Dracula murmured, his voice hollow with solemnity, echoing into the void as if trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

{{{MY Sons and Daughters!!!}}} he roared, and with that single cry, the entirety of his creation appeared by his side. Soldiers of dreams, knights of nightmares, builders of stories, whisperers of destinies—all encased in a radiant blue hue. The infinite sea shimmered under their presence, every entity bound by Dracula’s law.

But something was missing.

’My disciples... where are you?’ Dracula thought desperately, searching for the connection he had forged over millennia—but there was nothing. No response. Just silence.

Meanwhile, Atlas cracked his neck, bones popping audibly as his body began to shift. His childish frame morphed rapidly, growing taller, broader, until he reached his prime age. Dark hair streaked with crimson cascaded down his back, reaching all the way to his legs. His bare skin rippled as pieces of armor and flesh were pulled from the endless horde of demons pouring out of the rift. They clung to him like moths drawn to flame, covering his shoulders, neck, chest—until only his head remained exposed. And above him, a dark halo materialized, hovering ominously.

Then came the book—the charcoal-covered artifact that had haunted Atlas since its first appearance. It flew across the rift, shedding its dull exterior to reveal five empty eye sockets. The moment it stopped before Atlas, one of Dracula’s crimson eyes bulged painfully from its socket, defying every laws he created for himself.

{{{Haaa...}}} Dracula protested weakly, clutching at his face, but the force tore his own fingers clean off. Blood splattered uselessly onto the ground as the eye floated toward Atlas, who caught it effortlessly in his hand.

{{{Oh Drakey, Drakey, Drakey... you shouldn’t have,}}} Atlas purred, examining the disembodied orb with amusement. {{{Thanks for guarding our dear old keepsake.}}}

The eye writhed erratically in his grasp before settling into the center of the book’s middle socket. It pulsed with satisfaction, bathing the tome in a sinister crimson glow.

{{{My cute DEMONS!!!}}} Atlas bellowed, laughter dripping with malice. At his command, the chaotic onslaught froze mid-motion. Every demon turned to face him, forming perfect lines as though held together by invisible strings.

The many demons finally saw who had summoned them. Their eyes, filled with malice, churned into reverence in a split second.

"The Guide..."

"The Guide!"

"He lives... The old crimson @$@%%%@ was right all along."

As they all assembled unconsciously, their will, their way, their sins fell into the hands of the Guide. Many waited; many forgot. The Book of the Damned prophesied his return. But in the end, he came again. The Halo of Infinity, given by the One Below All, marked their Chosen One’s arrival at last.

One of the cracks was suddenly pierced by a heavy sword, ripping apart from the inside. A green, fat demon tore through the rift but did not enter. Backing away, he made room for another demon to walk through. Her two horns shone brightly as she emerged. The Demoness of Slaughter, the Demon Empress @$@%%@$%% #$$#$, appeared once more, her eyes reflecting his avatar.

"Finally... he’s back," she muttered in awe.

The fatty demon couldn’t help but look around for his partner, the crimson one. He was the one who had held all of Hell together, urging patience while he and the Demon Duke $#$$## ventured into the dreaming.

Many sought revenge firsthand, but out of respect for him and his guidance, they waited—until now. All of them waited. He waited. The Demon Empress waited. And finally, their patience bore fruit.

"I hope you’re alive somewhere here, you old fool," the fatty demon stressed.

Slowly, Atlas raised his fist—a gesture that seemed to compress reality itself—and cracks spider-webbed outward once again.

Like puppets obeying their master, the demons channeled their energy back into Atlas. Some of their forms dissolved into streams of red light, merging with his aura until they became part of him entirely.

{{{What do you say, Drakey? Like old times???}}} Atlas taunted, lowering his fist and pointing directly at the army of blue—the dreamers loyal to Dracula.

Dracula, now cradling his regenerating eye, mirrored the motion. His remaining hand pointed sharply at the army of red—the hellspawn aligned with Atlas. This was it. The culmination of centuries of creation, destruction, betrayal, and rebirth.

He gazed upon his creations—one life after another, painstakingly crafted and nurtured. Each soldier represented a fragment of his soul, a piece of his legacy. For millennia, they had thrived in his absence, maintaining the delicate balance of the dreaming world. Now, they stood ready for him ready to die for him.

{{{My children...}}} Dracula whispered tenderly, meeting Atlas’s cold gaze.

{{{... following the guidance of my disciples, judgment day has come. You have maintained and managed this realm beautifully in my absence. The dreaming has never been more vibrant or alive. But we have trespassers—scum who sully our sacred land with their filth. Our world of dreams must remain absolute. As your Creator!}}} Dracula thundered, his voice amplifying with divine authority. {{{As your Progenitor!!! As your GOD!!! I COMMAND YOU ALL!}}}

{{{ATTACK!!!!}}}

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