Summoned as an SSS-Rank Hero… with My Stepmom and Stepsisters?!

The blue butterfly led us to the clearing. But it wasn't the same anymore.

The place where the ruins had stood yesterday now seemed to breathe in reverse.

The ground rippled, the stones quivered like living membranes, and the air itself… the air had changed density. It had become heavy, sweet, almost viscous.

Above us, the sky was saturated with gold—not the gold of sunlight, but molten metal. Thousands of butterflies swirled there, their wings beating with an animal frenzy. Each beat released shreds of mana that drifted down slowly, like glowing ashes.

I could feel my heart pounding in my temples. Each pulse echoed in the air. The entire Garden seemed to breathe with me.

Then it came—the voice. Distorted. Broken. Inhuman.

It burst from above, yet seemed to come from everywhere at once.

— Mother... what have I done to no longer deserve your gaze, I, the king of butterflies? You used to come so often... before... you spoke to me... you laughed...

The sound cut through my chest like a blade. Every syllable made the mana vibrate. A divine plea, flayed and raw, its tone wavering between sorrow and madness.

Sylvara stepped closer. Her cold fingers slid between mine.

I turned my head. Her amber eyes burned, anchored in the present.

— Kaito... now's our chance. While it's talking to whatever that is.

I swallowed hard, a tremor running down my throat.

— Yeah... you're right.

I took a step forward. The air rippled beneath my soles.

My palms were already heating up.

Genesis.

Two spheres appeared above my hands—translucent, one silver, the other clear blue. They pulsed gently, in rhythm with my heartbeat.

Around us, the mana compressed.

The butterflies began to beat their wings even faster, caught in a collective reflex. Their shapes formed a golden vortex above us.

I closed my eyes.

H₂. O₂.

The spark ignited.

A white light burst forth, pure, shadowless. No fire, no sound—just a wave. A wave so dense it bent reality onto itself, swallowing the sky, inverting the ground. The wind was consumed. The noise too. Then everything came back all at once.

A thunderclap without thunder.

A light that devoured light.

The Garden screamed.

The butterflies disintegrated in a silent cry, melting like glass beneath an invisible sun. The roots, the stones, even the mist dissolved in the incandescent breath.

Sylvara stepped back, her arm shielding her face, wings folding tight.

When silence returned, words fell into my mind—cold, mechanical:

[Level 38 reached.]

[Level 39 reached.]

[Level 40 reached.]

[Level 41 reached.]

I let out a hoarse, half-choked laugh.

I'd been level 34 last time. No idea how I'd jumped straight to 37. Maybe when I was unconscious, or during yesterday's fight... whatever.

I looked at Sylvara. Sweat plastered her hair to her forehead, her wings trembled, her gaze locked on me.

I smiled, drunk on adrenaline and exhaustion.

— We'll do it, Sylvara. This time, we'll make it.

I believed it. For a second. Just one. Before I saw him—there, at the center of the clearing—the King of Butterflies was still standing.

Untouched.

His body had changed. They were no longer wings, but curtains of flesh and light, living draperies that rippled around him like veils caught in an invisible sea. Each movement released a golden dust, and the air thickened with that impure, almost sweet substance.

My throat tightened. Every part of me refused to accept what my eyes were seeing. That thing... it wasn't supposed to come out unscathed. Not from that.

A shiver ran through the clearing. The wind stopped dead.

Then a voice rose. Deep. Resonant. So vast it made the ground tremble beneath my knees.

— You came here before… yesterday.

His words echoed inside my ribcage. Each syllable carried the weight of centuries, the tone of judgment.

— I spared you once. And you return… to profane Mother's rest.

His face—if you could call it that—tilted slightly toward us, with a flicker of something almost human: anger.

— There will not be a second time.

The final words fell like a sentence.

The air froze instantly. The warmth of mana vanished, replaced by a metallic cold, sharp and brutal. The golden light turned blood-red, staining the ruins like an inverted sunset.

My instincts screamed before I even knew why.

Sylvara moved first.

I only saw a flash of wings, a burst of azure—and suddenly she was on me. Her hand slammed into my chest, knocking me flat.

— Kaito!

The breath left my lungs. The world spun. And right where I'd been standing a second before, the ground vanished.

Not a collapse. Not an explosion. Nothing. A hole. Perfect. Smooth. As if a god had erased matter with a snap of its fingers.

I turned my head, heart pounding in my throat. The crater's edge still vibrated, glowing white-hot, melting moss and stone.

Sylvara loomed over me, panting, wings still spread, her skin shining with sweat.

— You sensed that coming? I croaked.

— No… I heard it.

Her gaze lifted toward the monster. The King hadn't moved. He just watched us, head slightly tilted, like an entomologist fascinated by his prey. His "veils" pulsed softly, spilling red mana threads into the air.

My hand trembled on Aurelia's handle.

Part of me wanted to run. Another, more reckless part whispered that we couldn't—not now. Not after all this. Not after surviving this far.

I looked at Sylvara. She was trembling too, but not from fear—from sheer tension. Her wings vibrated at an almost invisible rhythm, ready to strike.

The King took one step. Just one.

And the whole world seemed to bow beneath him.

Sylvara didn't wait: her blue shadow shot forward through the sickly light of the Garden, striking the King with a rage that was hers alone.

Her claws clashed against blades of light. Each impact made the dungeon resonate—a warped, funereal bell tolling deep into my bones. The ground cracked beneath their steps, the air shimmered as if heated to the breaking point. I tried to follow their movements, but their bodies were only flashes amid bursts of mana.

I braced myself on Aurelia and forced my legs to move. My breath scraped my throat, my fingers already knew what to do.

— Genesis!

Light erupted. Ten golden spears burst from the ground around the King, fired in a circle of judgment. The air tensed—then exploded. The spears shattered like glass against his skin. No resistance. Not even a reaction. He barely looked up, annoyed by an insignificant drizzle.

— Tch…

I wanted to scream. But there was no time. I reshaped the seal—tighter, sharper.

— Genesis!

Chains appeared, molten and fluid, slashing through the air to coil around his wrists and ankles. The black metal growled with a bestial hum before tightening.

The King shuddered. For a heartbeat, he stopped moving.

I leapt.

— First Movement: The Dawn's Bleeding!

Aurelia blazed, carving a scarlet arc through the air. My strike fell like a ray torn from the sun. The red light burst… then died against him.

The King merely raised his wrists to block. At the same moment, the cuffs groaned, deformed, and cracked beneath his skin, as though the matter itself refused to contain him.

— Damn it!

Sylvara seized the opening. She dove, wings wide, a war cry tearing from her throat. I saw only a flash of azure before a golden mass erupted from the monster's back—a tail, thin and razor-sharp like a whip of steel. It struck her full force.

The sound froze my blood.

A dry crack.

Sylvara was thrown back, crashing against a crystal pillar before collapsing in a cloud of dust.

— Nooo!

I turned, fury flooding me. My blood hammered in my skull, my whole body vibrating. Thought vanished. I was nothing but burning mana.

— Second Movement! Emergence of the First Ray!

I drew the perfect circle, weapon spinning, every fiber screaming in pain. A red disk of light expanded around me, rumbling like thunder. The King advanced, unhurried.

The remaining spears shattered into dust. The last chains tore like paper.

He raised his hand. Two fingers. That was all it took to stop my spear.

For a heartbeat, I thought I felt Aurelia tremble, as if rejecting this world itself. Then—a sharp crack. The metal split. Not into fragments—no. It broke cleanly, as if those two fingers alone had defined the limit of its existence.

I froze, unable to comprehend.

Aurelia… my weapon, my pride, my companion through blood and sweat—had just been cleaved by that thing's touch.

Our eyes met. His glowed with molten gold, but held no warmth. A dead light.

— Did you really think… you could stand against me at such a pathetic level?

His voice wasn't mocking or cruel—just cold, certain, detached.

I didn't even have time to trigger my trump card.

An invisible force hit my chest. A shockwave of absolute purity. My body folded, torn from the ground. The world flipped.

I flew.

I hit something—a wall, maybe—then again. My head smashed against stone, earth, light. My vision fractured: shards of sky, glints of gold. Blood flooded my mouth.

I lay on my back, no idea how long. The ground still trembled beneath me, dry quakes that made my bones ring. The whole world seemed to beat with my heart—slow, thick, painful.

I felt blood slide down my cheek, hot, then cooling, blending into dust. My vision blurred, and all I could still make out was the King's silhouette—standing, unmoving, his torso haloed in light. His presence warped space, swallowed sound. Even mana hesitated to move near him.

I tried to breathe, but my chest protested. My ribs felt buried in my lungs. A rasp escaped me.

Sylvara.

I turned my head slowly. She was there, a little farther off, lying crooked, wings shattered, face half-covered in blood and dirt. Her hand twitched weakly against the ground. She was still breathing. Barely.

A wave of rage and terror hit me—raw, physical. Not now. Not like this. We'd promised to make it out alive. That wasn't just panic—it was a vow. I'd made her laugh, and she'd believed me.

Anger burned in my throat, deep, feral.

No. Not this time.

I rolled onto my side, pushing up with my left hand. My right hung useless, twisted at an impossible angle. The impact must've dislocated it. I didn't care. I planted Aurelia into the ground and used it to stand. My back screamed, my legs shook, but I stood.

The world warped around me. I saw golden filaments everywhere—in the roots, the air, the soil's flesh. They pulsed, breathed, intertwined like a living network. And all of them converged on the King.

I blinked. The threads reacted—quivered—as if they had seen me. They connected, began to dance around me, slow, patient, until they formed a perfect pattern.

It was as if the Garden's mana itself remembered me.

I lifted my head, gasping, lips moving almost on their own.

— ...Oblivion.

The word vibrated in my throat.

Then came the shock.

Mana tore from my veins like a rupture—violent, uncontrollable. The air cracked. A blinding white light devoured the sky, the pressure crushed my lungs. Even sound broke apart.

When my vision cleared, there was no upper body left on the King. Just a burning hole spewing liquid gold. The light reflected off each drop, so beautiful it stunned me.

Then gravity changed its mind.

The liquid rose. Slowly.

The droplets gathered, fused, became flesh again. An arm, a shoulder, a torso. The wound closed—smooth, perfect. The King stood once more, unscathed.

He turned toward me. His eyes shone like dimmed suns.

— You're strong, human… You actually managed to wound me—the King.

His voice spread through the entire Garden. The trees shuddered at his tone, the roots tightened under my feet. He wasn't laughing. He was observing—like a teacher watching a student grasp a forbidden truth.

I didn't answer.

My gaze stayed fixed on Sylvara. Her chest barely moved. I saw her cough, a bead of blood rolling down her lip and falling to the ground.

— At least she… she has to live…

The words slipped out. My throat tightened, the taste of iron on my tongue.

I tried to step forward, but my legs gave out. My whole body screamed—emptied, hollow. The mana drained away, my circuits burned to the core. The light left me, trickling through my trembling fingers.

The world fell silent.

Absolute silence. Perfect. Sacred.

Then suddenly, the world changed color.

The golden light turned red. At first gently, like a sunset falling upon us… then faster, harsher. The sky folded, tore open from within. Scarlet streaks split the vault like cracks across molten glass.

The air reeked of burnt metal. Even mana seemed to ignite inside my lungs.

I looked up. And I saw the impossible.

A slit opened in the sky, high above, over the ruins. Not a tear in matter—a wound in reality. From it poured a light so red it was almost black, deep and resonant, swallowing shadows instead of casting them. And at its core—an eye.

Gigantic.

Magnificent. Terrifying.

It towered over the world, as vast as the floating isles themselves. An eye without pupil, rimmed with living light, watching the world like a mother gazing at her lost child. My breath caught. Every heartbeat echoed in my chest to the rhythm of that divine gaze.

The King of Butterflies froze. All his rage, all his majesty collapsed into a single emotion: fear. His "wings" sagged. His face lifted toward the light. His voice was a trembling whisper.

— Mother… you've finally returned?

His words vanished into the thunder of the heavens.

The air split open. And an arm descended.

I had never seen anything like it. A colossal arm of pure light, every fiber coursing with golden veins. It passed through the rift in the sky, slow at first, then faster—and when it reached the earth, the world exploded.

The impact was cosmic.

The shockwave threw me back, but I didn't even feel pain—everything dissolved into white. The King screamed—a sound of beast and god—a roar that made the stones themselves tremble. His body twisted, warped, and burst in a geyser of golden liquid.

In an instant, he was gone.

The entire Garden was drenched in golden rain, each droplet evaporating on contact with the ground. The scent of burned mana faded, replaced by a sweetness, gentle and unreal.

When I opened my eyes again, I was suspended in the void.

Not sky. Not earth. Somewhere in between.

A massive, luminous hand cradled me softly. Its fingers, made of pure mana, held me without crushing. I felt a warmth unlike anything of this world—not hot, not cold. Just… alive.

I looked up.

The light from the sky pierced through me, but I could make out a face above the rift. Not quite human—a figure of light, shifting, feminine, with a beauty beyond the mortal.

Then came the voice, carried by mana itself. It needed no sound. It passed through me—gentle, absolute.

— Son of Balance… at last, you've returned.

My heart tightened. I tried to speak, but no words came. The world trembled around me, as if every stone, every tree, every flower held its breath.

The hand closed slightly, just enough to shield me, and slowly began to rise toward the rift. Gold streamed down its fingers, an inverted rain returning to the heavens.

The Garden dimmed. Its colors faded. The red light turned white, then the white became silence.

And when everything finally vanished, I thought I heard, in the last breath of the world:

— Rest now.

Then nothing. Only endless white.