The Heroine is My Stepsister, and I'm her Final Boss-Chapter 141 - 142: Veil

Atlas sat in stillness. Not the meditative kind. Not peace. This was the kind of stillness that wrapped around your spine like a noose, silent, coiled, ’waiting’. The war room was abandoned for the night—candles long since burned down, the hearth cold, scrolls curled in exhaustion on the oak desk—but still, it watched him.

He hadn’t moved for minutes now.

Because something was moving inside him.

Not muscle.

Not mana.

Something deeper.

Something older.

And the golden glow of the system interface—ethereal, pulsing—lit his face like a lantern left burning in a crypt. Letters shimmered in front of him like fireflies trapped in amber, each flicker vibrating through his bones like the rumble before an avalanche.

His eyes didn’t blink.

His breath didn’t shake.

But his soul?

It shifted.

[GENESIS SPARK — Status: Dormant → Initiating...]

"So..." Atlas muttered, voice cracking like a dried branch. "In lamest terms, I’m pregnant with a tree."

He snorted. A sound half laugh, half choke. Sarcasm oozed out like blood from a knife wound he hadn’t realized was there.

"I can create life," he said again, slower this time, letting it roll over his tongue like a poison he was forcing himself to swallow. "But I need to fuck. Not just fuck—I need to fuck like a goddamn fertility cult priest."

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. Harsh. Crooked. The kind you spit out when nothing’s funny, but your soul forgot how else to scream.

"And if I don’t...?" He leaned forward. Voice low. "A goddamn tree ’grows inside me.’ A branch of the World Tree, straight through the ribcage. What a fucking punchline."

His hand gripped his side reflexively, as if expecting bark to crack through his ribs.

"Yggdrasil fruit, huh?" he muttered. "Wasn’t just called the ’fruit of life’ for nothing..."

The room didn’t respond.

But the presence within him did.

It throbbed—gently. Like a second heartbeat. Like a child’s foot kicking from the womb. A pulse, ancient and warm, brushing against his insides like roots exploring soil.

That’s when Veil stepped in.

Not stepped in. Not opened the door. No. He ’curled into existence’—like shadow uncoiling from under Atlas’s skin. Like an idea he’d tried too long to suppress.

"Yo," Veil drawled, like he’d just walked into a tavern and not a divine existential meltdown.

His voice scraped the air. Gravel coated in mirth. Feral and amused.

Atlas jumped. "Fuck—!"

He clenched a fist. "Goddamn it, Veil, learn some ’fucking manners!"

Veil only grinned wider, as if Atlas’s frustration was air to breathe.

He opened his mouth.

Ink dripped from his tongue.

Fragments of half-digested text fell between his teeth like torn petals, stained and twitching.

"I ain’t no human noble," he said, licking his gums. "Hell, I ain’t even human. Don’t force your ’delulu culture’ on me."

"Delulu? Where the ’fuck’ did you even learn that word?" Atlas stared, brows knotting. "And how are you chewing on sentences?"

Veil tilted his head, smug. "Ate some books."

Atlas blinked. "You read books?"

"No," Veil grinned wider. "Ate them."

Atlas swore under his breath, dragging his hand down his face. "You what? You absolute, nightmare-born, flaming dumpster of a demon—you ate my fucking library?!"

"Correction," Veil said, sitting cross-legged mid-air like a smug shadow monk, "I ate the ’good parts’. You really collect a lot of crap, y’know? Half of them were about wartime taxes and crop rotation. Boring as ass."

He burped. A curl of inked smoke floated from his mouth, curling into runes before vanishing.

Atlas groaned, slumping back into the chair.

Everything ached.

Not physically—but in that metaphysical ’too-much-shit-at-once’ kind of way. Like his brain had been tossed into a blender of godhood, war, magic, and now—’fucking photosynthetic pregnancy.’

"You know what?" he muttered. "You’re right. You’re not human. Because if you were, I would’ve killed you years ago."

Veil didn’t flinch.

Didn’t stop grinning.

But he ’did’ grow a little quieter.

"You look down," he said, and this time there was no humor in it.

Just... observation.

And that cut deeper.

Atlas didn’t respond immediately. He watched the flicker of his system screen. Watched the numbers rise. Watched the integration tick toward doom.

Finally, he muttered, "It’s the fruit."

Veil blinked.

"Thought you were fine," he admitted. "I mean, you didn’t go noodle-paste or blow up or melt into a puddle. You just got... glowy. Regenerated a little. I thought it ’failed’."

"No," Atlas whispered. "It didn’t fail."

He touched his chest.

"It’s ’inside’ me."

[Genesis Seed Stability: 39%]

[Spiritual Sync with Isabella: Accelerating]

[Emotional Anchor Detected: Hope, Desire, Confusion]

His breath hitched.

"...It wants out."

Veil frowned for once.

"What’s it gonna be?" he asked quietly. "A tree? A kid? A monster?"

Atlas didn’t answer.

He didn’t know.

All he knew was that every second he waited... it grew.

Not just in size.

But in meaning.

"You mean read them?" Atlas asked, his tone flat—but the twitch in his brow betrayed something sharper. He leaned in just slightly, golden eyes narrowed like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or grab Veil by the collar and shake him.

Veil stared back blankly.

"No," he repeated, as if Atlas was the idiot in the room. "Ate them."

There was a beat of silence.

Not dramatic.

Just... stunned.

Atlas blinked once. Then again.

"You... ate my books?" he said slowly, voice rising like a fuse being lit. "Like, with your fucking mouth?"

"Is there another way?" Veil smirked, folding his arms with the smug superiority of a demon who absolutely knew he was pissing you off.

"Hell, what the fuck?!" Atlas snapped, half-standing. "Books aren’t food! You don’t eat knowledge like it’s a fucking midnight snack!"

"Again," Veil said, gesturing lazily to himself, "not human. I don’t do your little page-flipping bedtime ritual. I evolve. I devour. You pushin’ your fragile little court rituals on me is kinda embarrassing, bro."

Atlas’s jaw clenched so hard it creaked. "You’re doing this on purpose."

Veil’s grin split a little wider, teeth gleaming like polished obsidian.

"Hehehehe..."

That laugh. That laugh. Low and loose, like it was dragged up from some ancient throat that never learned to take anything seriously.

"Fuck you," Atlas spat, throwing his hands in the air, then letting them slap down onto his lap like he’d just surrendered to gravity itself. His back hit the chair again with a thud, breath heavy, tangled between rage and resignation. "Seriously. You’re lucky I don’t have time to exorcise you."

"You love me," Veil said with a wink. "You’re just mad ’cause I’m right."

"You’re not right," Atlas muttered, rubbing his temples. "You’re just an accident without legs."

"Tragic, and yet—still smarter than most of your nobles," Veil quipped. He drifted lazily in the air, body folding into an impossible recline, like he was lounging in a hammock made of shadows.

"Ha...ha....so funny," Atlas voiced.

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