The Heroine is My Stepsister, and I'm her Final Boss-Chapter 50: The Crimson Pact

Within the Realm of Dreams – The Bubble of Ego

His clawed hands strained against the pull of the golden bubble, dragging it toward him with excruciating slowness. Every movement felt like wrestling an ocean current—resistance pressing back with all the weight of mortal defiance.

{{{Who is this mortal...?}}} Dracula mused, his crimson eyes narrowing in fascination. Only immortals possessed egos vast enough to resist the natural flow of dreams. Yet here was a mere human—a fragile flame flickering defiantly amidst the storm. This encounter was unprecedented.

Dracula leaned closer, his glowing gaze piercing through layers of illusion until he could see into the heart of Atlas’s dream. Seconds stretched into hours as he absorbed every detail—the pain, the triumphs, the choices that had carved out this singular soul. From birth to now, Atlas’s life unfolded before him like a chaotic tapestry woven by fate itself.

{{{...a unique human indeed... First of his kind if I presume. Fate will work its way on him sooner or later.}}}

Dracula straightened, shaking off the remnants of Atlas’s psyche. He didn’t have time for philosophical musings. What mattered now was purging the acidic stench of sulphur tainting the purity of dreams. Without hesitation, he plunged deeper into the bubble, diving headfirst into their shared consciousness.

"Haaaa!!" Lara shouted, her voice slicing through the tension like a blade. Her sharp gaze locked onto the figure perched lazily on the windowsill—a crimson demon whose very presence seemed to sear the air around them.

Atlas turned, his golden eyes flaring with recognition. Hate coiled tightly in his chest as he glared at the intruder—the same devil who had haunted his nightmares since the beginning.

"...is the reunion finished? Or am I interrupting something again?" The demon drawled, his tone dripping with mockery.

Atlas bared his teeth, fury bubbling beneath the surface. "Why don’t you just piss off? What do you want really? Why the fuck are you after me? Isn’t my hand enough for demon scum like you?"

The crimson demon chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Sharp tongue you’ve got there, oh future GUIDE." He sauntered forward, each step deliberate and infuriatingly casual.

"Well, you ’are’ addictively charming... Can’t blame me for sticking around." His grin widened, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth. "But let’s put your harem-making process on hold for a moment. I propose a truce—a temporary one."

Lara stepped between them, her eyes narrowing as memory surfaced. She remembered this creature—the partner of the green, bloated demon who’d gleefully guided them toward the Dark Continent, toward Atlas.

"...you were there..." she accused, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. "Your fat friend showed us the way, and now you want a truce? What are your intentions toward my brother?"

Atlas froze, his protective instincts roaring to life. Before she could blink, he lunged at the demon, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him against the wall.

"You fucking bastard," Atlas snarled, his grip tightening. "You led her to this hell!"

The demon laughed, unperturbed even as his face contorted under the pressure. "Hehahaha...huuu... You weren’t lying when you said you were stronger. But oh, Guide, we don’t have time for petty revenge like in the forest. The big dog is here. So I heartily advise preparing for his arrival."

Atlas hesitated, his anger warring with logic. The crimson demon was right—Dracula was coming, and nothing else mattered until they dealt with him. For now, his priority was clear: Lara’s safety.

"So..." Atlas growled, releasing the demon but keeping his fists clenched. "What’s it gonna be, huh? Oh GUIDE."

The title grated on Atlas’s nerves like nails on glass. "...okay, crimson shit. We have a deal. But stop calling me GUIDE. It’s creepy as fuck." freёweɓnovel.com

The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of anticipation hanging heavy in the air. Even the cacophony outside—the battle cries of demons and the crumbling castle—had vanished without a trace.

"..." The demon tilted his head, sensing something none of them could yet perceive.

"...what? You got a problem with that?" Atlas snapped, irritation flaring once more.

"...No, it’s not that, brother..." Lara murmured softly, her wide eyes fixed on the window. The silence was deafening, unnatural. And then—

"He’s here," the demon whispered, his voice barely audible over the sudden tremor that shook the mansion to its core.

Like an earthquake tearing through reality itself, the ground beneath them shuddered violently, shaking harder with each passing second. Atlas didn’t hesitate—he grabbed Lara, pulling her close as both leapt out of the crumbling mansion window. The crimson demon followed suit, his wings flaring wide to catch them mid-air before they could crash into the abyss below.

But when their feet touched down again, it wasn’t solid earth that greeted them. Gone were the green grasses and familiar landscapes; instead, an endless expanse of pale hills stretched out before them, harsh and alien. It felt wrong—unnatural—as though the world had been stripped bare of its soul.

"Where on earth are we?" Lara whispered, her voice trembling, eyes darting across the desolate horizon.

The crimson demon landed beside them, folding his wings tightly against his back. "...better question," he drawled, smirking despite the tension thickening the air around them. "What ’are’ we standing on?"

Atlas activated his truth-seeing eyes, the landscape shifting instantly under their gaze. Orange hues bled into existence, revealing cracks and veins pulsating faintly beneath their feet. And then he saw it—five towering mounds rising behind them, unmistakably shaped like fingers. His stomach churned as realization slammed home. They weren’t on the ground at all.

They were on someone’s hand.

Two blazing red suns erupted in the darkened sky above, casting long shadows over the trio. Slowly, impossibly, a massive face loomed closer, eclipsing even the stars. Its features were sharp, cold, and utterly divine—a god staring down at ants daring to trespass upon his domain.

"Naaahhh... this is too much..." Atlas muttered, glancing sharply at the crimson demon. "Hey cunt, what’s the plan?"

Lara stared up at the colossal figure, her breath hitching audibly. "Hah... this is... Dracula?"

"Hahahaha... I guess all the other demons are already done for," the crimson demon laughed, his tone laced with grim amusement.

Dracula’s glowing crimson eyes bore down on the three tiny figures perched atop his palm, his voice booming like thunder splitting the heavens themselves.

{{{Hmmmm..... You are the last one.... You should be enough.}}}

His words reverberated through the atmosphere, making the very air vibrate with power. For a moment, silence reigned supreme, broken only by the sound of Atlas grinding his teeth together.

{{{I will ask this only once—and only once, demon. How. Did. You. Get. Here?}}}

The crimson demon smirked wider, spreading his wings as he ascended slightly above the group. Bowing dramatically, he addressed the ancient being before him.

"Oh lord of the dreaming, the undead, first among immortals—I give you my finest bow." His sarcasm dripped like venom, but there was no mistaking the respect buried deep within his mocking tone. "And for your question, I shall solemnly voice the truth—and only the truth. Me. And the demons you encountered—all of us, every single one—were summoned. Summoned by him." He pointed downward, his clawed finger jabbing accusingly at Atlas. "Our GUIDE!!!"

Atlas froze, his golden eyes widening in shock as the implications sank in. That insane fucker had just thrown him under the bus—in front of Dracula, no less.

’That crazy bastard!!!’

Dracula’s gaze shifted fully onto Atlas now, locking onto the mortal standing defiantly on his palm. The word GUIDE stirred something primal in the ancient ruler’s mind. He’d heard whispers of such a title thrice in his immortal life—foretold in prophecies written in blood and ash.

The Guide. Apostle of the One Below All. Or perhaps its pure reincarnation. A harbinger of chaos, destruction, or salvation. Whatever the truth, the demons had preached endlessly about this figure in their sacred texts.

Memories surged like a black tide within him—each wave dragging him deeper into the abyss of his own past. The weight of that cursed title coiled around his thoughts, its venom seeping into the marrow of his identity. With every heartbeat, the familiarity grew heavier, sharper, until it wasn’t just recollection—it was resurrection.

His friend’s laughter.

The throne room’s shadows .

The Holy war.

And then—ice.

A glacial stillness crept through his veins, crystallizing in his chest before clawing up his throat. His pupils dilated, then hardened like obsidian. His remaining Mercy drained from his gaze, replaced by something older, darker—the unflinching chill of a predator surveying its prey.

This wasn’t just recognition.

This was reckoning.

{{{...Him?}}}

"YESSS!!!" the crimson demon roared triumphantly, throwing his arms wide open.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stop. Then—

{{{THEN HE MUST DIE!!!}}}

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Monster’s Guide

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Chapter 7: Grimjotnar

The Grimjotnar are a broken race, their blood poisoned by the dying curse of the Elder Giants—beings who once clashed with gods and shattered continents. When the giants were struck down by divine wrath, their surviving descendants were twisted into monstrous parodies of their ancestors: too mighty to be human, yet too small to be true giants.

Strengths:

Titan’s Sinew – Even the weakest Grimjotnar can lift a warhorse with one hand. Their bones are dense as ironwood, and their punches can crumple plate armor like parchment.

Rune-Branded Flesh – Scars from ancient giant-kin rituals glow when enraged, granting temporary resistance to magic. The oldest warriors bear "Oath-Marks" that let them shrug off fatal wounds—once.

Storm-Eater Metabolism – Their bodies burn energy at a terrifying rate, allowing them to fight for days without rest. In battle-frenzy, some enter "Frostfire Trance", where pain fuels them instead of weakening them.

Memory of Ruin – A rare few inherit fragmented visions of the giants’ lost techniques—how to split the earth, summon avalanches, or strangle dragons bare-handed.

Weakness: ????

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