Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1460: Overwhelming Force

Makareth, a Demon newly ascended to the rank of Archlord and bred for the sole purpose of war, was itching for a fight.

"Heh heh heh... The dark symphony of the Abyss has begun to play. All life shall dance to my tune, or they won’t live to see tomorrow’s sun!"

With a manic howl, Makareth tore into the distant clouds.

Miles away, Elara manifested from thin air, hovering just a few yards in front of a black-robed figure.

"Speak your True Name and submit. I might spare your life."

Elara’s tone was flat—too flat for an Archlord. To Cavendish, her complete lack of aura felt like a bad joke.

"Submit?" Cavendish scoffed. "You must be jesting. I am one of the Eight High Inquisitors of the Holy Order, a chosen zealot of the Goddess Agaman. Who are you to command my surrender?"

His voice dropped to a glacial chill. To him, Elara’s attitude was a blasphemous insult.

"Oh. So you choose death."

Elara raised her trident. Frost-bone armor encased her form, and Chillbone Fire ignited spontaneously at the spear’s tip.

"This is..."

Seeing the anomaly, Cavendish—an intermediate Archlord—sensed something was wrong.

But he was too late.

Elara had already vanished from his sight.

Cavendish’s pupils constricted. Pure instinct took over as he flared his transcendent power, erecting a defensive barrier around himself.

Clang!

Crack!

First came the collision of the trident against the ward, followed immediately by the sound of shattering glass.

Cavendish looked down, eyes wide with disbelief. The trident had pierced clean through his chest.

A fatal physical blow.

For an Archlord possessing a Body of Faith, however, this shouldn’t have been a dead end. It didn’t mean he was defenseless. Yet, the sheer dominance and eerie nature of Elara’s attack sent a shiver of true terror through him.

"You’re actually this weak?"

Elara’s indifferent voice drifted from behind him. Cavendish, humiliated and cornered, flew into a rage.

"Insolent brat! You push me too far!"

Cavendish roared, blood spraying from his lips. He prepared to detonate his Body of Faith in a desperate, suicidal gambit.

Too late.

The Chillbone Fire wreathing the Flame of Will wasn’t just burning his flesh; it was corroding his soul and boiling the very ocean of his faith.

The Flame of Will was a weapon that had long served Orion. Nourished by Orion’s will and reforged by the Demigod Arthas, it was a Relic. Once awakened, it was not something a mere Archlord could withstand.

Whoosh!

The Chillbone Fire erupted from the inside out. Before Cavendish could even release his Body of Faith, he was reduced to ash within his own spiritual sea.

Cavendish died with suffocating resentment.

"Is that the extent of your power?"

Cavendish’s death meant little to Elara. She only blamed her opponent for being too fragile. She hadn’t used a forbidden curse, nor had she revealed her Stoneheart Titan form. She had simply utilized a few martial techniques inherited from Orion’s bloodline, and this was the result.

Elara stared at the Flame of Will, her large eyes brightening.

She could feel the weapon’s excitement; she sensed its power. After devouring the enemy’s Body of Faith, the trident’s glow had become even more dazzling and opulent.

"Good girl," Elara whispered, gripping the Flame of Will tight. She squinted, smiling, and blinked back to her lines.

"The enemy retreated?"

In Aina’s understanding, a battle between Archlords should have darkened the skies and shattered the earth. Elara’s quick return made Aina question everything she knew.

"The enemy I engaged is dead," Elara said calmly. "It was... anticlimactic." She looked disappointed, like a child who hadn’t played enough.

The enemy was weak? Not an Archlord?

Aina trusted Elara’s strength—she was the Commander sent by Orion, after all—but she couldn’t help asking. She needed to be sure.

Elara looked at Aina, seeing right through her skepticism.

"Aina, he was an intermediate Archlord. He was simply too weak to withstand the weapon Father gave me."

Elara held the trident horizontal, letting Aina examine it. Hearing that this was a weapon Orion had once used, Aina immediately understood.

"It’s beautiful."

Aina didn’t truly grasp the Flame of Will’s power, so she praised it from a conventional aesthetic perspective.

"It’s also very strong."

"..."

Meanwhile, when Makareth appeared before another High Inquisitor, Albrecht, the man immediately recognized Makareth’s nature.

"A True Demon!"

"That is the stench of the Abyss!"

"Damned heretics... they actually lured a Vile God here and allowed a Demon to descend upon this land!"

"Light shall banish the darkness!"

Facing the Demon, Albrecht was filled with righteous fervor, a martyred impulse to die defending the world and exterminating evil. In that moment, Albrecht felt surged with power. He wasn’t fighting for himself, but for every living soul.

"A Demon descends, but the Light will purge the wicked!"

"I fight for justice! Die, Abyssal scum!"

Albrecht gripped his greatsword with both hands and hoisted it high. A miniature golden sun rose from the blade—the Sunray of Judgment, a secret art of the Holy Order designed specifically to combat evil entities.

Such sunlight could corrode a Demon, weakening the Abyssal energy clinging to them and crippling their combat prowess.

Sizzle!

It was the sound of flesh scorching, skin blistering, and blood boiling.

"It hurts!"

"I haven’t felt such exquisite, bone-deep pain in ages!"

"More! It’s not enough!"

"Heh heh heh..."

Makareth was a lunatic. An ordinary Demon would flee the Holy Light. But he was different. As an Awakened, Makareth actively threw himself into the sacred power that ravaged his body and soul.

He believed that if he endured enough of it, his physique would eventually develop a resistance to the divine. In Makareth’s philosophy, darkness and light were relative—mutually generative and mutually destructive.

"Why did you stop?"

Makareth stopped laughing. The High Inquisitor’s spell had faded.

The scorching sensation that had driven Makareth into a frenzy was gone, bringing his joy to an abrupt halt.

Makareth was angry. His voice dropped to a low growl. It was the calm that appears after extreme madness—a silence filled with cold, bloodthirsty, killing intent.

"You... you don’t fear the Light?"

"What kind of monster are you?"

Albrecht frowned, his face a mask of disbelief.

What had he just witnessed? A Demon enjoying the Holy Light?

It was as if the creature were taking a bath!

And if that was the case, what did that make him?

A bathhouse attendant?