AgWorld Chapter 477 - 474: Roommates from Hell and Deals with Angels
Chapter 477 - 474: Roommates from Hell and Deals with Angels
Elara keyed in the access code for their new quarters with the same expression she used when cleaning blood off her null-blade. The door slid open on a sleek high-security tower suite.
White walls, reinforced windows overlooking the floating districts of Middle Heaven, and enough monitoring crystals embedded in the ceiling to watch a small army.
"Secure residence," she muttered. "Finally."
Atlas stepped in behind her. The door shut. The lock engaged with a heavy clunk. Then the lights flickered once, twice, and the entire apartment groaned like it was waking up from a bad nap.
A coffee table materialized in the middle of the living room with a wet smack. An orc battle axe was buried halfway through the wood, still dripping black blood.
"What the—" Elara drew her sidearm.
The axe handle had fresh fingerprints on it. A Victorian tea set appeared on a side shelf. One of the cups whispered, "She’s definitely into him. Look at the way she stands."
Atlas raised an eyebrow. "The housing system is glitching from the fractures. Great."
The apartment AI chimed in with a cheerful female voice. "Welcome, newly bonded residents! Compatibility protocols engaged. Please enjoy your cohabitation experience."
Elara’s eye twitched. "We are not bonded. Override that."
"Override denied due to administrative fracture. Would you like rose petals on the floor?"
"No!"
A hot spring bath bubbled into existence in the corner of the living room, steam rising and filling the air with mineral scent.
A demonic lingerie drawer popped open in the bedroom hallway and started spitting out black lace that rearranged itself into suggestive shapes.
Atlas walked over to the coffee table and poked the axe. "This came from a combat timeline. Fresh kill too." He glanced at Elara. "You taking the bedroom or the couch?"
"I’m taking watch rotation. You sleep. I monitor."
The AI played soft violin music the moment they stepped within three meters of each other.
Elara immediately backed up until her shoulders hit the wall. The music stopped. "This is going to be a problem."
They lasted twenty minutes before the next wave hit. A holographic pillow shaped like a yandere stepsister appeared on the sofa, big glowing eyes fixed on Atlas. "Mine!" it squeaked in a high-pitched voice before lunging at him with plush arms.
Elara grabbed it mid-air and slammed it into the wall. It kept chanting "Mine!" until she stuffed it behind the demonic drawer.
Atlas laughed. Actually laughed. The sound caught Elara off guard.
"You’re enjoying this," she accused.
"Little bit." He crouched by a glitching bookshelf that kept flickering between normal wood and burning ruins. "Help me pull this apart. There’s something inside."
Together they yanked the shelf open. Data fragments spilled out—literal glowing save files from the original game. One hovered in front of Atlas: "Lara’s Romance Chronicles – Bad End 17: Atlas executed for treason. Lara descends into villainy. Player satisfaction: 12%."
Another: "Atlas dies choking on poisoned wine. Lara becomes regional warlord. Player satisfaction: 41%."
Elara read them silently. Her jaw tightened. "These were supposed to be deleted."
"Everything leaves traces," Atlas said. He pocketed two of the stable fragments. "Good thing we’re roommates now."
The argument started an hour later.
Elara was trying to set up a perimeter with null-field generators while the apartment kept spawning candlelit dinner tables for two. One appeared right under her elbow, complete with two glasses of wine that smelled like old regrets and broken promises.
"Stop it," she snapped at the AI. "I have a job. He is my assignment, not my—whatever this is."
Atlas leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. "You’re wound so tight you’re going to snap. I’ve seen people like you burn out in three days on Earth. Usually in corporate hell."
"I am not from your pathetic Earth," she shot back. "And I didn’t ask for this. One minute I’m monitoring a fractured player, next minute I’m assigned 24/7 handler duty because the council doesn’t trust anyone else. And you—" She jabbed a finger at him.
"You just stand there, calm, untouchable, like none of this matters. Like you already know how it ends."
Atlas didn’t flinch. "You burned evidence for me within hours of the assignment. Don’t lecture me about professional distance."
Elara opened her mouth. Closed it. The yandere pillow popped back into existence between them. "Mine!"
They both stared at it. Then they started laughing. Hard. The kind of laugh that comes after too much tension and not enough sleep. The pillow looked offended and vanished again.
While Elara was still catching her breath, a small section of floor near the hot spring rippled.
A short, red-skinned demon no taller than her waist crawled out, covered in apartment dust. It had tiny horns and nervous yellow eyes.
"Finally," it wheezed. "Been hiding in the system buffer for three cycles. You’re him, right? The one the Succubus Queen keeps ranting about in the lower baths. Atlas."
Atlas tilted his head. "Depends who’s asking."
"Name’s Skritch. Minor imp, excellent gossip network. The fractures let me slip up here. I can feed you real info from the lower realms—cult movements, who’s actually scared of the council, which demon lords are hedging bets.
In exchange, keep the null-blade lady from erasing me."
Elara rubbed her temples. "One more stray and I’m null-blading everyone in this room."
Skritch hid behind Atlas’s leg. "She’s terrifying. I like it."
The AI chimed again. "Relationship compatibility: Dangerously high. Dimming lights for ambiance."
Elara threw her left boot at the ceiling AI core. It bounced off with a sad little spark.
"Bedroom," she told Atlas. "Now. Separate corners. I’m taking first watch."
She didn’t sleep much anyway.
The next morning Raphael’s summons arrived via priority crystal. Atlas only. Elara was ordered to wait in the antechamber.
She paced the sterile white room for forty minutes, seething. A message drone buzzed past her security clearance and she snatched it out of the air before it reached Raphael’s sanctum door. The report inside made her blood run cold.
Lara’s cult had started physically manifesting Thunder Marks—small storm symbols—on temples across three lower realms.
Believers were gaining minor weather control. The changes were spreading faster than containment teams could respond.
She stored the crystal and waited.
Inside the sanctum, Raphael’s private garden floated in null-space. Perfect flowers that never wilted. Trees locked in eternal spring. Even the breeze felt artificial.
Raphael stood in the center, wings folded tight. "You will remove the fear. My fear of irrelevance. No records. No side effects. Then you leave."
Atlas sat on a stone bench like he owned the place. "Sure. But I get one unrestricted question about the Writer or the game’s true creators. Truth only."
Raphael’s jaw worked. "Agreed."
The process was not majestic. Atlas just talked.
"So you’re scared of being forgotten," he said conversationally. "Big important angel, council bigshot, and deep down you’re terrified one day they’ll just... move on without you. Classic. Tell me about the first time you felt that."
Raphael’s wings started molting. Perfect white feathers drifted to the ground. "Stop enjoying this."
"I’m not. Much." Atlas kept going, calm and relentless, poking at insecurities like a sarcastic therapist.
Raphael tried to maintain dignity, failed, yelled, paced, and eventually sat down hard on the grass while more feathers came out.
By the end, Raphael looked smaller. Less like an untouchable councilor and more like a tired guy carrying too much.
The deal delivered more than expected. Raphael admitted the Writer wasn’t one person. It was a layered enforcement system. Multiple gods and councils had tried hacking it over the centuries.
All failed. Atlas’s arrival with intact Earth memories had cracked something fundamental because the system had never been designed to handle a player who remembered the real world.
While digging through the fear layers, Atlas felt something else. A hidden hook. "You weren’t just siphoning faith for power," he said quietly. "You were feeding it upward. To something that scares even you."
Raphael froze. His new fear was written all over his face.
He honored the deal anyway. Answered Atlas’s question with cold precision. The answer painted a bigger picture—hints of multiple layers above the councils, bored entities, and narrative rules that treated everyone like code.
As Atlas stood to leave, Raphael spoke one last time. "You removed one fear. I now have a new one—you."
Atlas smiled. "Good. Fear keeps people honest."
Elara was waiting right outside the sanctum doors. The moment he stepped through she grabbed his arm. "What happened?"
He looked at her—really looked. The handler who was starting to crack under the weight of her assignment, the woman who had laughed with him in a haunted apartment an hour earlier.
"I just made our biggest enemy slightly more human," Atlas said. "That’s always dangerous."
She didn’t let go of his arm immediately. "The cult is manifesting physical marks now. Thunder Marks. It’s accelerating."
Atlas nodded. "Then we accelerate too. Skritch is already sending feelers downstairs. And our lovely apartment probably spawned lunch by now. Maybe more lingerie."
Elara groaned but there was the ghost of a smile. "One more domestic incident and I’m requesting a transfer to literal Hell. At least demons are honest about wanting to corrupt you."
They walked back toward the tower together. Behind them, in the null-space garden, Raphael stood alone among his fallen feathers, staring at nothing.
In the apartment, the AI greeted them brightly. "Welcome home, newly bonded residents! Dinner for two is ready. Also, the succubus drawer has restocked with new options."
Skritch peeked out from under the couch. "Told you the Queen likes him."
Elara threw her remaining boot at the AI core. This time it sparked properly and the romantic music cut off mid-note.
Atlas sat at the candlelit table that had appeared again. "Pass the wine that tastes like regret. We’ve got work to do."
Elara sat across from him. The axe still stuck in the coffee table. The yandere pillow watched from the corner with glowing eyes. The hot spring bubbled invitingly.
She picked up her glass. "Fine. But if that pillow says ’Mine’ one more time, I’m burning this entire tower down."
Atlas clinked his glass against hers. "Welcome to domestic hell, partner."
The apartment lights dimmed again anyway.