The Heroine is My Stepsister, and I'm her Final Boss - Chapter 353 - 342: It You now.

Broken angels raised their shields, wings torn but unbowed, as prayers echoed through the ice. Their chant rose — not to Heaven, but to memory.

“We remember the light we lost. In the name of the the acclaim, in the name of the new chosen prophet…”

And with that, the white barrier around the town flared alive.

It was not elegant magic. It was desperation, soul-force turned into substance.

The wall of light shook, cracked, then hardened — a dome of divine spite forged by the abandoned.

Merlin stood within the heart of that storm, eyes blazing blue beneath his hood. He turned once, gaze locking on Michael — the chained one, the first light of Heaven, still seated in shadow.

“Why aren’t you still moving?” Merlin’s voice cracked with fury and disbelief. “Your kin are dying out there!”

Michael’s golden eyes did not rise. “I am….bound.”

“By what?”

“By myself.”

Merlin spat, slamming his staff into the ground. “Then damn your regret. If you won’t fight, at least lend your strength.”

Outside, the heavens screamed.

The thunder demigod raised his hand, and lightning descended — not in bolts, but in rivers, pouring down like the judgment of an uncaring god.

The shield trembled. Dozens of Fallens were thrown into the air, their black wings snapping like broken sails.

Lara didn’t hesitate. She leapt forward.

Her boots shattered the frost beneath her as she sprinted toward the front lines, her spear gleaming blue.

Magic burst around her like fireflies — every rune, every skill, every fragment of power she had ever learned burning through her veins.

“Lara!” Eli shouted, but she was already gone, plunging into the light.

Lara’s spear met the lightning. It screamed. The force hurled her backward, but she spun midair, slammed her weapon into the ice, and used the rebound to hurl herself forward again.

Her voice rang out, a spell-chord layered with rage.

“Azure Veil — shatter!”

The spear split into seven trails of light, each one a mirror of her own motion. They struck the thunder demigod’s chest, tearing a hole through his radiant armor.

For a heartbeat, divine ichor spilled — silver and burning — before sealing itself with blinding light.

He looked down at her with something like curiosity. Then, he smiled.

“You bleed faith,” he said, lightning gathering around his hand. “Let me burn it away.”

But before he could strike, fire met thunder.

Claire descended.

Her form was no longer human — her skin shimmered with dark luminescence, wings of shadow-light spreading behind her.

A halo of black fire circled her head, burning upward like an eclipse made flesh. She struck the thunder demigod midair, their powers colliding in an explosion that lit the sky scarlet.

“Don’t touch her,” Claire hissed, voice layered with the voices of a thousand echoes.

Below, Eli moved.

The fruit of Yggdrasil pulsed within her, veins glowing with molten green. Her every breath exhaled life-force so dense it made the air shimmer. She placed her hands on the ground — and the earth answered.

Roots burst through the frost, ancient and alive. They coiled around the legs of the fiery demigod, dragging him downward. Each root glowed with runes of rebirth, sucking the divine flame from his aura and channeling it into the soil.

Eli’s voice rang out like thunder. “Life consumes death — and rebirth consumes gods!”

The fire demigod roared, igniting his body. The entire field turned into a living sun. Dozens of Fallens disintegrated instantly, their armor melting into glass. But Eli stood firm, her eyes blazing with emerald fury.

“You burn,” she said, “because I let you.”

Then she drove her blade into the ground. A pulse of light exploded outward, forming a ring of living vines — golden, breathing, radiant — cutting through the inferno and protecting those behind her.

The third demigod — the one veiled in runes — raised his hand. Words of creation and ruin spilled from his lips, each one warping the air. The shield above the town cracked like a mirror struck by fate.

Merlin ran.

He didn’t watch the sky; he didn’t look at the carnage. He ran straight for Michael, his staff glowing brighter with every step. The chained angel’s head lifted as Merlin approached.

“Tell me,” Merlin said, breath ragged, “if you won’t stand, will you at least give?”

Michael said nothing.

“I need three things,” Merlin pressed, his voice low, fierce. “Your blood. Your feather. And the Invocation — the one only Heaven’s First and Morning Star ever knew.”

Michael’s eyes widened, the faintest flicker of shock crossing his face. “That invocation hasn’t been spoken since the War of Dawn.”

“Then let it be spoken again.”

Outside, the barrier screamed.

Lightning carved through the air, slicing towers in half. Fire swept the streets. The prayers of the fallen faltered.

And then — one of the thunder demigod’s strikes broke through. The barrier shattered. The sound was like a scream from the heart of creation.

Michael rose halfway — then stopped. The chains coiled tighter. He gritted his teeth, wings flexing helplessly.

“Mortal,” he said quietly, “you don’t know what you’re asking.”

The mage’s eyes glowed like blue suns. “I know exactly what I’m asking.”

Michael looked toward the battlefield — his brothers, the fallen remnants of his host, torn apart again by the children of the gods who replaced them. His hands trembled.

Then he tore his feathers free.

The sound was wrong — too raw, too human. Gray-white plumes fell like dying stars, streaked with divine blood that smoked as it hit the floor. He ripped another, then another, until the ground beneath him was slick with crimson light.

“Do what you must,” Michael growled, voice shaking. “But make it matter.”

Merlin nodded once, his jaw set. He raised his hands. The feathers lifted, suspended midair; the blood followed, spiraling upward in a crimson halo. The mage’s mouth opened — and the air froze.

He began to speak in the First Tongue.

The language that predates gods. The sound of stars being born, and of time bending to will.

The runes flared around him, burning through the ice, etching themselves into walls, floors, and even his own flesh.

Michael felt it, and his eyes widened in grief. “Yo..you..You’ll die, using that language.”

Merlin smiled faintly. “I’m old. That’s what we’re supposed to do — make room for the young.”

The air ignited.

Runes turned to flame, feathers became blades of light, and blood transmuted into pure, celestial fire. A circle of power formed around Merlin, spinning faster and faster, until the very laws of the world bent under its weight.

Michael stepped back, wings trembling. “It should be… me,” he whispered. “Not you.”

But Merlin was already gone, lost within the spell.

Outside, the battle raged.

Lara and Claire fought back-to-back, surrounded by flames and ruin. Claire’s dark wings shielded them both as Lara launched spell after spell, her voice hoarse, her magic raw. Eli’s light pulsed like a heartbeat, her power keeping the Fallens alive, even as they fell one by one.

Then the cat leapt.

From the tower’s roof, the small, golden-eyed creature soared upward, its form distorting midair. For a heartbeat, it was still a cat. The next, it was a comet — fur blazing gold, eyes twin suns. It struck the thunder demigod in the chest like a meteor, driving him through the storm and into the distant mountains. The explosion turned the horizon white.

The Fallens roared, rallying behind the miracle.

But the rune demigod raised his arms again, his symbols burning black now — and from the heavens, meteors began to fall.

Dozens. Then hundreds.

Each one burned with divine aura.

Eli’s light flickered. Lara’s spear dimmed. Claire’s wings cracked.

Then the tower erupted in brilliance.

As Merlin finished his chant…

A column of light shot into the sky, cutting through the clouds, the storm, the fire — piercing the heavens themselves.

The falling meteors froze midair, suspended like stars caught in a web. The demigods turned, eyes wide, as ancient power filled the air — not human, not divine, but something older.

Michael looked up from the corner, his expression unreadable. He had thought the old mortal would use the chant of the first tongue to help them…..but.

Then, slowly, the chains around him began to melt.

The ground split open. The frozen layer screamed as if the world itself had been wounded.

Merlin stood at the center of the ritual, body breaking apart into light. He looked at Lara, Eli, and Claire once, and smiled — tired, proud, unafraid.

“Go,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “The rest… is you.”