Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1441: The Goddess of Vengeance

"Humanity is born into shadow, stumbling through the dark in search of meaning. Only those who hold the light in their hearts can truly see."

"You can still see the light. There is still a chance for redemption."

"Submit. Let the Holy Light of the Order wash over you and purge your sins."

Just as Raveth finished speaking, an elderly voice echoed from the depths of the cathedral. It was a voice of perfect equilibrium, carrying a holy resonance capable of banishing fear and malice.

"If submission would bring my family and friends back to life, I might consider it," Aina replied, her voice dripping with mock contemplation. "But the Holy Order already hanged them. The dead don’t care much for repentance."

"Step aside, Ascetic. Don’t ruin yourself for a dying cause."

Aina stepped forward. The wind whipped her cloak around her, sending her hair dancing wildly. Illuminated by the cathedral’s glow, her stunning features didn’t look demonic; she looked like a descent of the divine.

Seeing her, the Ascetic—Cyrion—paused as he emerged from the nave.

He stared at her, bewilderment clouding his eyes. He couldn’t sense a trace of evil on her. Unlike the man behind her, whose aura was a chaotic storm of malice, this woman felt... pure.

"You... you are not of the darkness," Cyrion concluded. It was the first time in his long life that he questioned his instincts regarding the Holy Order and the nature of Light.

"I never said I was darkness," Aina smiled, taking another step. "At most, I am Nemesis. The Goddess of Vengeance."

"Halt," Cyrion said, his voice earnest. "This is consecrated ground. It is not a place for you."

"Consecrated ground is usually where the filth hides deepest," Aina countered. "I’m just here to clean it up."

She refused to stop.

Cyrion closed his mouth. His eyes hardened. He slowly raised a hand, and the air grew heavy. Condensed Holy Light gathered in his palm, unleashing the terrifying pressure of the Legendary realm.

Cyrion was the true ruler of Port Caelwyn. The bishops and priests were mere administrators; he was the city’s shield.

"Enemies of the Light must be torn asunder!"

ROAR!

Facing the blinding light, Aina didn’t flinch. She kept walking.

But behind her, Raveth exploded into action. His body swelled, tripling in bulk. Two new, grotesque arms burst from his back as he vaulted over Aina, howling with bestial rage as he crashed toward Cyrion.

The slaughter had begun.

Across Port Caelwyn, the infected citizens began the first wave of cannibalism. Following close behind were the operatives of Hellscream, moving like reapers to harvest the fallen. Those who had succumbed to the slumber after their frenzy were tossed onto carts and hauled toward secret altars.

The largest of these altars was being erected near Namir Cathedral.

Aina had brought Raveth here for a specific purpose: to hunt Cyrion. A fanatical Ascetic, brimming with decades of accumulated Faith, was the most perfect, potent sacrifice imaginable.

Inside the cathedral, Aina stood before a marble statue of a goddess, sighing as she looked up at the stone face.

"Gods... why do you refuse to open your eyes? The light your Holy Order clings to twisted into darkness long ago."

Silence answered her.

"You caused this riot?!"

A hysterical shriek broke the quiet of the side chapel. The priest, Deryn—the one who had been enjoying the company of the nun earlier—leaped out. His hand was curled into a claw, aiming straight for Aina.

He seemed lucid. He had managed to suppress the curse within him. Unfortunately for him, he had no idea he was attacking a monster.

"An Alpha?" Aina murmured, unimpressed.

Schlick.

Deryn froze in mid-air. He looked down, eyes wide with disbelief, at the delicate hand that had punched effortlessly through his chest.

The girl who looked as innocent as a fawn had just cored him like an apple.

Despair washed over him. He couldn’t feel his heart beating. The strength of his bloodline vanished. Darkness swallowed his vision.

"A heart full of filth," Aina said, withdrawing her hand. She held the dripping organ up to the light. "Not fit for the altar. But you’ll make excellent fertilizer for my little darlings."

She produced a glass container, dropped the heart inside, and sealed it. It would feed the Cursed Tree later.

She took out a lace handkerchief and elegantly wiped a speck of blood from her fingers. She didn’t look like a butcher. She looked like she had just finished tea.

Minor Hell. Ashenheart Domain.

The tremors from the Ever-Burning Volcano were becoming violent.

Deep in the cavern where Orion’s demigod projection slumbered, the wind howled with unnatural intensity. Before Arthas could even voice a warning, Orion, Leonidas, Alexander, and the Deputy Commander all snapped awake.

"Arthas, sitrep?" Leonidas barked. He felt a heaviness in the air he hadn’t experienced since ascending to demigod status.

"The enemy is above us," Arthas said, eyes narrowing as he stood up. "I can sense his arrival, but I can’t pinpoint his location. He is... beyond us."

Orion exchanged a grim look with Leonidas, Alexander, and the Deputy Commander. Without a word, they filed out of the cave.

Outside, the sky was gone.

Total darkness blanketed the world. Even the fiery glow of the Ever-Burning Volcano seemed choked, unable to pierce the gloom.

"We are trapped in a magical formation," the Deputy Commander said, his voice tight. He tilted his head back, his eyes swirling with starry light as he scanned the structure for nodes or ley lines. Usually, destroying a few key nodes would shatter a formation or reveal a weakness.

But he saw nothing. No flaws. No structure.

The enemy had caged the volcano silently, with a skill that defied their understanding.

"To hell with this trickery. I’ll smash it open!"

Leonidas stepped forward. He punched the sky.

A phantom dragon roared into existence, ascending with the force of a hurricane. Thunder clapped and winds shrieked as the avatar of brute force collided with the ceiling of the world.

Zap.

A beam of pitch-black light shot down from the void. In a single instant, the dragon phantom was obliterated.

But the attack revealed the truth. For a split second, Orion and his generals saw it: a mirror.

A colossal, ink-black mirror covered the entire firmament. It leaked no aura, no energy. It simply was.

"That’s not a formation," the Deputy Commander realized, his face paling. "That is a magnetic field generated by the artifact itself."

A formation and an artifact field were two completely different nightmares.

"Relics cannot generate fields of this magnitude," the Deputy Commander whispered, terror creeping into his tone. "Only a Demigod Artifact possesses this power."

"The intruder... he wields a Demigod Artifact."

The words hit the group like a physical blow. A Demigod Artifact was a weapon that possessed a spark of divinity. It was absolute power.

A voice, massive and distorted, rolled down from the mirror, shaking the earth.

"Surrender the Ever-Burning Volcano, and I will allow you to leave with your lives."