Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1586: Ashes and Omens

Just as Kaelen and Steeltower’s retinue approached the city gates, a colossal hand plunged from the heavens, halting a mere three hundred feet above their heads.

"Clown, you treacherous cur! Take your pathetic schemes and get the hell out of the Stoneheart Horde!"

Orion’s furious voice rolled across the sky like thunder. The invisible pressure paralyzed Steeltower, ripping him from Kaelen’s side and dragging him into the air.

Suspended and exposed, Clown didn’t panic. This was merely a low-level avatar; its destruction meant nothing to him. Instead, the puppet raised its head, its eyes locked onto the sky with a mix of awe and pity.

"Worthy of the Survivors," Clown mused. Who would have guessed that a junior from the Champions Alliance was hiding such terrifying strength?

"Orion, this scion of yours isn’t bad. He has potential," Clown continued, looking down at Kaelen with genuine appreciation. In Clown’s eyes, several of Orion’s children were talented enough to warrant grooming. "When you die, I’ll spare him. I’ll give him a way out."

"Heartless wretch. My bloodline doesn’t need your mercy!" Orion intensified the gravitational pull, attempting to capture Clown’s avatar alive.

"You can’t catch me, Orion! The real show... has only just begun. Hahaha..."

Fwoosh. Flames erupted from the puppet’s core. Before Orion could close his grip, Clown detonated the avatar himself.

High above, Orion caught nothing but a handful of falling ash. He sifted the cinders through his fingers, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. Decisive. He directly sacrificed a sliver of his own soul. Extracting memories from a captive soul was child’s play for a titan, which was exactly why Clown had opted for immediate self-immolation to protect his secrets.

"Not bad. Serve the Horde well," Orion’s voice echoed one last time. He cast a brief glance down at Kaelen before his presence vanished entirely.

Outside the Gossamer Reach, dead silence reigned.

Kaelen and his guards stared at the empty sky. It took a long time before anyone dared to speak.

"Your Highness... was that Steeltower? One of our own?" a guard asked, his voice thick with confusion. The things Steeltower had just said and done were completely alien to the brother-in-arms they knew.

"Did he betray the Horde?" another muttered, anger bleeding into his tone. "The Chieftain executed him personally. He must have been a traitor."

"Steeltower didn’t betray us," Kaelen interrupted firmly. "He was likely already dead, his body hijacked by the enemy. It is our failure for not recognizing a hostile presence right beside us."

They had bled together on the battlefield. Kaelen refused to let Steeltower’s name be dragged through the mud. Besides, after hearing the cryptic exchange between his father and the imposter, Kaelen knew there were layers to this game he couldn’t yet see.

"Brothers, when we get back, we conduct a full internal purge. I won’t let what happened to Steeltower happen again."

After calming his men, Kaelen touched his forehead, a lingering chill running down his spine. The protective ward Orion had placed there pulsed faintly. That entity must have sensed my father’s magic. That’s why it didn’t attack me and chose to hide in my ranks to gather intel.

Far away, beneath the shadow of the Planetary Hive.

While Orion purged Vaelian and Clown, Insect Queen Moriphara was conducting her own cleansing of the unseen lurkers. Her methods, however, were far more sweeping.

Eight demigods swarmed from the Planetary Hive, sweeping outward in pairs to obliterate any unrecognized phantoms hiding in the dark.

When they encountered resistance, Moriphara stepped in.

Currently, a four-winged avian demigod was cornered. Dragged from the shadows, the phantom instantly dissolved into a streak of light, attempting to merge back into the void. The eight swarm demigods could do nothing to stop it.

Drawing upon the World Essence, Moriphara forced the avian back into reality. Yet, even she couldn’t strike a lethal blow. She watched as the avian folded into a bizarre, glowing tetrahedron and melted seamlessly into the Titanion Realm.

Moriphara scowled, staring at the empty space. A deep sense of unease settled in her gut. Too many unknown variables. I must prepare for the worst. Orion’s display of power at The Astral Tide had already shaken her absolute certainty in devouring this world. Now, this mysterious tetrahedron added an entirely new layer of lethal unpredictability.

"Dorolon," she commanded after a long silence. "Prepare a sacrificial rite. We make an offering to the Progenitors." It was the safest play she had left.

To the north, in Blackstone City.

The moment the Divine Idols of the Stoneheart titan illuminated the sky, Blackstone City erupted into a boiling cauldron of celebration.

Roars from the military camps pierced the heavens like eagles. In the taverns, the frantic clashing of ale mugs served as a raucous tribute to their king. By the fountain in the central plaza, the prayers of the citizenry swelled into a deafening tide.

The entire city was wired on adrenaline and absolute faith.

Blackstone City was an anomaly. It had weathered the crucible of war without succumbing to the usual plagues of famine, disease, or rampant crime. The Stoneheart Horde’s economy, rationing systems, and social hierarchy—even the city’s internal ecology—remained perfectly intact.

If this had been a human or blood elf kingdom, such stability would have been considered a divine miracle.

"War is war, I suppose. The city just isn’t as fun anymore," Lorelia sighed.

To the average citizen, the subtle shifts in Blackstone City went unnoticed. But to Lorelia, who knew every brick and cobblestone intimately, the changes were glaring.

Atop a massive boulder overlooking Moonshadow Valley, the spider broodmother lounged inside a small pavilion tent. Lilith had built it for her long ago, but Lorelia had relocated it here for the breeze and the panoramic view of the city.

She popped another crimson grape into her mouth, her cheeks bulging.

"No bards plucking lyres... no bonfires lighting up the night... no caravan bells... not even the snoring of drunk giants in the alleys." She rolled over in her nest, utterly bored. "So dull. Everything stopped when the war started."

It was strange. The fighting had paused ever since Orion’s demigod aura swept the Titanion Realm, obliterating the swarm forces pushing toward the northern borders. Blackstone City had earned a reprieve, yet the festivities hadn’t returned.

"Lady Lorelia, Dirtclaw and Rendall Archelder request an audience!"

Dirtclaw’s sycophantic voice echoed from outside the tent. Lorelia’s eyes instantly lit up.

"Dirtclaw! Did the Mistress send news about the Master?"

She darted out of the tent, materializing instantly in front of the two commanders. Her crimson eyes were wide and practically sparkling with anticipation.

"Ahem... Lady Lorelia, there has been no word from the south," Dirtclaw coughed, exchanging an awkward look with Rendall Archelder. Disappointment shadowed both their faces.

They had come here hoping she had news. Given the bizarre celestial phenomena and Orion’s echoing roars, the commanders were on edge. Since Lorelia shared a deep soul contract with Orion, they figured she would be the first to know if something had gone wrong.

"Ugh... I knew it. Good news never comes my way," Lorelia groaned, ignoring their crestfallen expressions. She strolled to the edge of the cliff, looking down at the sprawling city.

"Do not slack off. Reinforce the defensive lines," she ordered, her tone suddenly shifting. The lazy demeanor vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating edge. She glanced back at them. "The war isn’t ending this easily. The hardest battles are still ahead of us."

Seeing their confusion, she elaborated. "Think about it. If the Master had achieved a total victory, he would have returned to Blackstone City or the capital immediately. He hasn’t. Therefore, the war continues."

As she spoke, her eyes narrowed slightly. The innate cunning and supreme intellect of a broodmother bled into her aura, commanding absolute, instinctual obedience from the two seasoned veterans.

"Go. This is no time for idle gossip," she commanded, turning her gaze back to the city.

"By your command!"

Dirtclaw and Rendall Archelder exchanged a heavy look, bowed deeply, and retreated.

Moonshadow Valley, Military Quarters.

The two commanders walked in total silence until they were safely inside Dirtclaw’s command tent.

"She’s grown up," Rendall Archelder sighed, collapsing into a heavy chair. He suddenly looked very old, the weight of the war pressing down on his shoulders.

He was, of course, talking about the little spider. Without anyone realizing it, Lorelia had become the pillar of Blackstone City. She was their undisputed leader, and Rendall couldn’t find a single flaw in her tactical judgment.

"Why so grim, Archelder? Lady Lorelia’s growth is a blessing for the Stoneheart Horde. It calls for a drink," Dirtclaw said, bowing respectfully toward the mountain peak. He knew full well the broodmother could hear every word they said. "Grunt workers like us should be honored to follow her orders."

Dirtclaw grabbed a jug of ale and filled the older commander’s cup. "The affairs of the gods are beyond us. All we can do is perfectly execute the tasks My lord left in our hands."

Rendall Archelder shed his melancholy and downed the ale in a single gulp. "You’re right, Dirtclaw. You’re damn right."

After several more bowls of heavy ale, the two generals leaned over the map, diving back into the grueling work of fortifying the northern front.