Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1440: Light blooms in the darkness

Aina watched the thieves vanish into the gloom of the winding alleyway and offered a helpless little shrug.

Raveth remained silent. He knew better than to speak. The Saintess was in a volatile mood, vibrating with a manic energy that made the air around her feel thin. Provoking her now would be suicide.

"Come on," Aina said, turning on her heel with a bright smile. "You recommended this city. Show me around."

Raveth nodded stiffly. He took the lead, guiding her toward a district he knew well.

Decades ago, this had been his home. These streets had belonged to his grandfather. Now, Raveth was nothing but a fugitive, a heretic hunted by the Holy Order. As they passed the city gates, his eyes had flickered over the notice board. His face was still there, sketched in charcoal, promising a bounty for his head.

"I know a tavern," Raveth said after they had navigated through two blocks of shadowing buildings. It was the first time he had volunteered words since the robbery. His voice was raspy, thick with a complicated nostalgia. " The owner brews a secret recipe. It’s... passable."

"Then we must taste it," Aina said, drifting behind him, her face hidden deep within her cowl. "After tonight, no one will ever taste it again."

Raveth didn’t reply. He just kept walking.

The Governor’s Mansion.

The item known as Crimson Fever had changed hands three times in the last hour before finally landing on a velvet cushion in the Governor’s study.

Governor Hargrove, a corpulent man whose personal power hovered around the mid-Alpha level, took the crystal vial from his elderly steward.

"My Lord," the steward rasped. "The Rats in the lower city took this off a mysterious woman. The appraiser says the markings on the glass are a sealing spell. Crude, but effective."

"And they brought it to me?" Hargrove asked, holding the bottle up to the chandelier.

"They thought an item of such magical potency belonged in your collection, not in the gutter."

Hargrove didn’t speak. He ran a sausage-thick thumb over the engraved runes, testing the strength of the seal. He could feel the resistance, but it was weak. If he pushed, it would shatter.

"What’s inside, I wonder?"

He gave it a gentle shake. The black-red smoke swirled lazily, responding to his movement with a hypnotic, almost sentient grace. It was beautiful. It pulsed with a lethal allure that tugged at the back of his mind.

Curiosity is a vice that kills cats and kings alike. Unable to resist, Hargrove channeled his internal energy and popped the magical seal.

Hiss.

The cap flew off. A wisp of crimson fog drifted out, smelling of sweet rot and iron.

Both the Governor and the steward inhaled deeply, their eyes glazing over as the mist filled the room. Then, like a phantom, the fog dispersed, seeping through the windows and vents, spreading out to embrace every corner of Port Caelwyn.

The Blind Beggar Tavern.

Raveth had spent a small fortune of his remaining gold to buy Aina the vintage wine he had promised.

She took a sip, swirled the liquid in the goblet, and wrinkled her nose.

"To be honest," Aina said, setting the cup down, "your taste is terrible. This is swill. It’s barely drinkable."

She didn’t look at him. Her gaze was fixed out the window, toward the upper district where the Governor’s mansion stood. She had felt the seal break. The dominoes were falling.

"I suspect," she continued, a playful smile touching her lips, "that the story behind this wine is far richer than the drink itself. I’m a good listener, Raveth. Don’t you have an urge to confess?"

The cork was out of the bottle. The Crimson Fever was loose. The chaotic variable was now a constant.

She turned her attention to Raveth. He had been the first to consume the Cursed Fruit, and his strength had grown because of it. But loyalty born of power was brittle. Aina preferred to bind her dogs with their own histories. Understanding a man’s trauma was the surest way to hold his leash.

She intended to break all four Divine Envoys this way, one by one, before her "friends" from the Survivor’s Platform arrived. She wouldn’t tolerate insubordination when the real game began.

"My full name is Raveth Eryndel," the large man said quietly, staring into his cup. "Port Caelwyn was my grandfather’s fiefdom. As you can see... I was once nobility."

"But..."

He trailed off. It was the classic tragedy: a decline in power, political maneuvering, and a hostile takeover by rival houses. It wasn’t as complex as Aina had imagined, nor as dramatic. But in the dark of the night, waiting for the screaming to start, it was enough to pass the time.

Midnight.

A roar tore through the silence of the Governor’s Mansion. It didn’t sound human.

Governor Hargrove, in the throes of ecstasy with his favorite concubine, suddenly froze. His eyes rolled back, filling with blood. With a savage, guttural snarl, he tore the woman’s throat out with his teeth.

Fifteen minutes later, the dead concubine twitched. Her broken body snapped upright, her eyes burning with the same crimson madness. She crawled off the bed, hungry.

This was ground zero.

But it wasn’t isolated. Across Port Caelwyn, in back alleys, guard towers, and merchant homes, the same scene played out in synchronization. The Crimson Fever had finished its incubation.

"Your story is finished," Aina said, standing up abruptly. "And so is this city. Let’s go."

Raveth shouldered his massive greatsword and followed her out into the street.

The night air was already changing. The smell of the sea was being replaced by the metallic tang of fresh blood.

"Light blooms in the darkness," Aina whispered, looking toward the East District.

Suddenly, a pillar of Holy Light erupted into the night sky. It came from the local cathedral, the seat of the regional priesthood.

"Look at that," Aina laughed softly. "The Holy Order is active. It tells us exactly where to go."

The Crimson Fever was a biological weapon designed to sweep the board. It instantly turned anyone below the Alpha level into a mindless, infectious vector. Those at the Alpha level could resist it, but their bodies would be fighting a war on the inside, purging the virus over three to five days.

During that window, they would be weak.

And that was when Hellscream would feast.

"The signal is out," Raveth reported, his voice devoid of emotion. "Our hidden operatives have begun constructing the sacrificial altars."

Aina didn’t answer. she just began walking toward the pillar of Holy Light. Raveth hesitated for a fraction of a second, looking at her back, before falling into step behind her.

Namir Cathedral.

High Priest Deryn was in the private prayer chamber, "administering rites" to a newly inducted nun.

He was close to climax when the young woman’s eyes snapped open, glowing a feral red. She lunged up and sank her teeth into his chest.

Deryn screamed, shoving her away. He slapped her across the face with enough force to knock her unconscious, assuming it was some violent act of rebellion.

He scrambled up, pulling his robes together, and stumbled toward the central font of Holy Water. He frantically scooped the blessed liquid onto the bite mark.

It sizzled, but the wound didn’t close. Instead, he felt something wriggling beneath his skin.

"No..." Deryn gasped, his face draining of color. "This isn’t a wound... it’s... a curse!"

He turned and ran toward the cloister at the rear of the cathedral. The Holy Water was useless. His only hope lay with the ascetics in the inner sanctum.

He was right to be afraid. The Crimson Fever wasn’t a natural plague. It was cultivated from the Cursed Fruits. Even Tangere, the creator, might not recognize this strain. It had mutated, fusing with the bloodline curse to create something entirely new.

Outside the cathedral, bathed in the faint, dying glow of the defensive wards, Aina stopped.

"Light blooms in the darkness," she repeated, turning to look at Raveth with a beatific smile. "Here is the heart of the light. Do you yearn for it, Raveth?"

Raveth looked up at the magnificent cathedral, his eyes cold and hard.

"There is no true light here," he said, gripping the hilt of his sword. "When the Holy Order burns... we will be the light."