Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1419: Gate of Taboo

However, the final words etched into the stone tombstone silenced them.

To make this choice was to swallow a bitter fruit, the taste of which they could not yet fully comprehend.

"The Cult of Four and Atlantis are already battering down our gates. If we do not open this door, we are dead anyway," Amon growled.

Though a Cetus Giant like the others, Amon was shorter in stature, yet his temper and martial prowess were second to none. He was a creature of fire and fury, the absolute antithesis of surrender.

"If we surrender now, there is still time," Ishraena countered softly.

She was the sole female Demigod among them, yet physically the most imposing. Paradoxically, she possessed the most delicate mind. To Amon, however, Ishraena was spineless—the standard bearer for the cowards.

"Surrender? How is that different from slavery?" Amon spat, his voice rising. "Ishraena, do you wish to see all sea-kin driven by your hand, and the hands of the Cult, to bleed and die for gods we do not know and profits we will never share?"

That she could still speak of capitulation at the very door of their ancestors enraged him.

"Amon, you are a Demigod. Try using your brain for once," Ishraena shot back, her voice sharp. "Surrender does not equate to enslavement. There are many paths—negotiation, cooperation, trade. A ceasefire to ensure the survival of our kin... is that not more important than your pride?"

She met his scorn with cold logic. In her eyes, Amon’s obstinacy had shuttered his reason. She had brought her ancestral key-shard this deep into the crypts, which already proved her ultimate loyalty. Suggesting surrender was merely her duty as a rational leader proposing an alternative to extinction.

"Hah! A ceasefire?" Amon laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "You speak of peace? I ask you—who will avenge the kin we have lost these past years? Do you expect me to simply let it go? You have no right to ask that. None of us do!"

Amon’s conviction was ironclad. He would open the door. He would scour the intruders from the seas.

"Enough!"

Before Ishraena could retort, Morveth’s voice boomed, cutting through the bickering.

"Ishraena is here. That means she has already made the same decision we have," the High Chief stated calmly. "Your words do not bind us; they only wound."

As the reigning patriarch of the Cetus Giants, Morveth commanded absolute authority. Both Amon and Ishraena owed their ascension to Demigod status to the resources he had mobilized from the entire race. They could have fled to any corner of the ocean with their power, but the weight of their people’s sacrifice kept them rooted here.

"The current situation may not guarantee total extermination yet, but the difference is negligible," Morveth continued, his eyes weary but hard. "If we do not wish to discard the backbone and will of the Cetus Giants, we must fight to the end. And if we fight to the end, it is a death match. Is there truly a difference between fighting to the death and being exterminated?"

There wasn’t.

In the end, it was kill or be killed.

"Ancestors, Morveth heeds your teachings," the High Chief declared. He straightened his massive frame and bowed deeply to the tombstone.

Ishraena and Amon exchanged a glance, their animosity fading into solemnity. They bowed in unison.

In that moment, three wills were finally twisted into a single, unbreakable cord.

Moments later, with Morveth leading and his two lieutenants flanking him, they approached the forbidden door. They gripped their ancestral artifacts, flared their bloodlines, and together, pushed open the gate of taboo.

Outside Azurehold, The Battlefield.

The war raged on, defying the expectations of the Atlantean observers.

The Cetus Giants were beasts, yes, but they were far from mindless. Their tactical formations and fluid coordination revealed a race that combined raw power with high intelligence.

They manipulated hydro-kinetics to create crushing shockwaves. Scattered across the battlefield, Orion even spotted massive beasts summoning localized storms and lightning strikes underwater.

"Brother, a race this sophisticated cannot be blind to the geopolitical board," Orion said, his eyes narrowing. "It is abnormal that they haven’t approached us for an alliance."

Watching the Giants fight, Orion realized their intellect was not in question. So why not seek Atlantis’s aid? Even if a formal alliance failed, simply neutralizing Atlantis—keeping them on the sidelines—would have been a masterstroke.

"They didn’t ask," Leonidas rumbled, sensing the anomaly as well. "Either they look down on us, or they see us and the Cult of Four as birds of a feather—invaders to be purged indiscriminately."

"There is a hidden variable here," Orion muttered. "The answer hasn’t surfaced yet."

A sudden, inexplicable chill ran down his spine. It was a sense of crisis—a premonition of disaster. For a Demigod, such a feeling was never a hallucination; it was a warning from the cosmos itself.

"Tell Kraken to be careful," Orion ordered sharply. "If anything feels wrong, he pulls back immediately."

"Done. I’ve already messaged Squiddy," Leonidas nodded, his gaze locked on the battlefield, trying to pinpoint the source of their unease.

The Cult of Four Command Post.

High above the fray, atop the back of a colossal, armored whale, the three Pontiffs—Valerius, Konak, and Jack—surveyed the carnage.

"The three old monsters of the Cetus Giants remain hidden," Pontiff Valerius noted, clutching his scepter. As the architect of this war, his focus was solely on the enemy’s apex combatants. Their absence was unsettling.

"We have seen this pattern in previous conquests," Pontiff Konak said, his voice smooth, trying to quell the rising tension. "In the vast majority of cases, the enemy is simply holding their breath, preparing to unleash a final trump card."

It was a platitude, but it served its purpose. The Cult of Four feared no trump card.

"I can send an avatar to strike the core district of Azurehold," Pontiff Jack spoke up. Known as ’The Clown,’ his painted face hid a cunning mind. Volunteering his resources earned him approving nods from Valerius and Konak.

"We would be grateful, Pontiff Jack," Valerius agreed.

Jack raised a hand, divine light flickering at his fingertips.

Instantly, a marionette appeared before them. It was a construct packed to the brim with alchemical explosives.

Jack injected a sliver of his will into the puppet. The blades mounted on its back began to spin furiously, slicing through the water as it rocketed toward the center of the battlefield.

Its target was the heart of Azurehold.

In the distance, Orion and Leonidas watched the streak of light tear through the water, their attention instantly captured.