The world held its breath.
Not in silence—never silence—but in tension, like a muscle drawn so tight it forgot how to relax.
Atlas stood amid ruin and lightning, blood dripping from his chin, LAW flickering weakly through his veins, Thor's hand still hovering inches from his throat. Cities burned in the distance. The sky churned like a wounded animal. Some fallen Angels lay broken across shattered stone. Humans fled, screamed, prayed, ran—
And then something changed.
Not above.
Below.
It began with a single human.
A woman crouched behind an overturned cart, rain and ash streaking her face. She had been running. She had been screaming. She had been certain she was about to die. Her eyes were wide, empty with panic—until she looked up.
She saw Atlas standing.
Bleeding.
Unbowed.
And for the first time since the storm began, she stopped running.
