Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1677: The Abyssal Seed

The three brothers exchanged glances before locking eyes with Orion.

"Brother, you pack the hardest punch right now. You make the call," Leonidas said. He had already bounced back from the Commander’s brutal reality check, offering Orion a cheeky grin.

"I have the power, and I don’t fear the Great Dragon King of Light. But I’m trapped in the Titanion Realm," Orion said, settling back beside the Commander. The dancing flames mirrored in his deep, calculating eyes. "We don’t have the luxury of an all-out war. The only play left is an alliance."

"Find him. Open negotiations. Offer him the right to claim territory on the continent of Titan. With his vast reserves, he will eventually hit the demigod sixth stage. He deserves a seat at the table to vie for the Divine Mantle."

It was a flawless strategy. Bribing a bitter rival with prime territory and a shot at the Divine Mantle. Orion knew Mondusath’s greed. The Great Dragon King of Light would never ignore a path to a Divine Mantle. To any powerhouse at or above the level of a Demigod Artifact, the Mantle was the holy grail of ascension—an irresistible lure.

"What if he declines?" Leonidas asked.

The question proved he still couldn’t comprehend the magnetic pull a Divine Mantle held for a true demigod. Orion didn’t bother explaining. You couldn’t grasp that desperation until you reached the peak.

"He won’t," Orion stated flatly. "Track him down and give him the coordinates to the Titanion Realm. Invite him to Titan. I will negotiate with him myself."

Orion glanced at Deputy Commander Edward. None of the other brothers had the sheer combat power to intimidate the Dragon King. Since the Commander was off the board, Orion had to step up.

More importantly, Orion wanted Mondusath to physically feel the overwhelming pressure of the Ascendant Plane. He needed the Dragon King to sense the allied demigods entrenched on Titan—specifically supreme heavyweights like Kaidric and Morando, the Vice Chairman of the Saint Gran Council. Finally, Mondusath needed to face Orion. Armed with his Demigod Artifact, Orion projected the lethality of a sixth stage powerhouse.

It was a calculated flex of pure dominance, masked as a sincere invitation.

"It’s a solid strategy," Edward said, his eyes gleaming. He studied Orion, deeply impressed. "If this works, we could even use Mondusath as a blade to persuade—or purge—the rogue demigods in The Sunward Reach and The Continent of Chaos."

"Agreed," Arthas chimed in, nodding in approval.

Not too long ago, Orion had been a rookie begging for backup from his undead legions. Now, he was a seasoned warlord, weaving politics and raw power into a masterful web.

"Then the plan is set."

The Commander sealed Witch’s frozen coffin away. The brothers exchanged silent nods and dispersed. Alexander walked away with a slumped posture, his silhouette heavy with unresolved grief.

"Let him process it," Leonidas muttered, stepping beside Orion. His voice was grim. Watching Clown and Witch erased so effortlessly had shaken him to his core.

Once Leonidas departed, Arthas snapped from his reverie and turned to Orion.

"Care to hear our history?"

Orion shook his head, catching Arthas off guard.

"No need. It’s buried in the past, and those two have paid their dues." Orion could detect a faint undercurrent of mourning in the necromancer’s voice.

"We Survivors are born with rigged odds," Arthas mused. "The more talented we are, the closer we dance with the abyss. Our trump cards let us cheat death, so we start believing our own myth. We survive. We grow arrogant. We get complacent. And complacency is what finally kills us."

Orion memorized the words. These weren’t empty platitudes; they were lessons carved in blood.

"Long ago, Clown and Witch weren’t the monsters you saw. They were..." Arthas trailed off, shaking his head. "Never mind. If you ever have a moment, keep an eye on the Survivor’s Platform. Watch the new blood. You’ll learn a lot from their mistakes."

With a final clap on Orion’s shoulder, Arthas tore a rift in space and stepped through, returning to the Ever-Burning Volcano. Arthas genuinely hoped his insights would help Orion temper his spirit and fill in the cracks of his rapid rise.

Orion watched the spatial rift close, then turned back to the Commander. The two of them were the only ones left on Blade’s Edge Peak.

"Commander, how is my boy holding up?" Orion asked. Caelus was his most gifted son; naturally, he was worried.

"Relax. He’s deep in Secluded Meditation," the Commander replied. "That foul energy rooting into his inner world is a pure blessing. Once he fully refines the corruption, he might just forge his path to become a demigod. Tsk. Having a demigod disciple that young... Now that’s worth bragging about."

The Commander favored the boy. Caelus possessed lethal talent and a razor-sharp mindset. Blessed with a natural inner world, he was spared the grueling wars of conquest Orion had suffered. All Caelus needed to do was shadow the Commander, his father, and his uncles in the Champions Alliance. By reaping the spoils of their victories, devouring rare treasures, and draining World Essence, his ascension was guaranteed.

"Speaking of power, where do you stand?" the Commander asked.

He was far more intrigued by Orion’s current limits than the boy’s potential. He had detected a faint, crushing pressure radiating from Orion’s avatar—a pressure that didn’t belong to the avatar itself, but was bleeding through the laws of reality directly from Orion’s true body.

"Embracing limits to restrict the self. Seeking the infinite and immortality within the finite."

The Commander’s eyes flared. "Fascinating. It seems being imprisoned in the Titanion Realm wasn’t a cage at all. It was the catalyst you needed to perfectly comprehend the profound truths of the fourth stage."

The truths the Commander referred to were the essence of the fourth stage divine calling. Intrigued as he was, the Commander didn’t pry further. That revelation was Orion’s personal dominion.

"So, you’re only missing the final piece of the fifth stage?"

Orion nodded. Yet, there was no pride in his eyes. The more terrifying his strength grew, the more glaringly he felt his own insignificance. Before ascending, he had lusted after the might of a demigod. But ever since crossing that threshold, the journey had been nothing but a brutal gauntlet of shattered illusions and endless hurdles.

...

Somewhere beneath the Continent of the Pantheon, deep within a ruined subterranean palace.

This was the exact spot where Clown had sacrificed himself. Now, it was a desolate tomb—floors choked with black ash and littered with the broken remains of puppet dolls.

In the dead silence of the hall, a spatial rift tore through the darkness. A figure wreathed in blinding golden light tumbled from the breach, crashing violently onto the stone floor.

"It worked."

The voice—deep, resonant, and divine—echoed through the dark. It was battered, yet laced with delirious relief.

The figure slowly pushed himself upright. With a single breath, the overwhelming radiance retracted. It was a paradoxical sight; the light remained, yet it cast no true illumination, obscuring his features to a mere silhouette. Across that shadow-form pulsed veins of dark gold—a Divine Sigil. Flecks of divine power drifted around him like dying stars.

He reached out and brushed a hand over the tear in reality. Space knitted itself back together flawlessly, like a master weaver sealing a seam.

"The scent of the Ascendant Plane. This is the place." He surveyed the ruined hall, his eyes burning with a mix of triumph and disgust. "Pathetic insects. To think you could strike a bargain with us."

Stepping over the shattered puppets, he recalled the soul he had just consumed. The timing had been perfect. Just as the gods grew desperate for a tether to the lower realm, some fool had sacrificed an Awakened to them. What baffled him was the vessel’s absolute surrender. The willing sacrifice had allowed him to devour the Awakened’s soul without a shred of resistance.

"Survivor’s Platform... Commander Thresh... Orion... and the rest of the traitorous filth." A cold sneer touched his lips. "The planar laws may restrict our wrath, but judgment is inevitable."

He tipped his head back, golden fire igniting in his eyes. His gaze pierced the cavern roof, staring through the veil of reality into the eternal void, locked onto a world impossibly far away.

"Did you really think the four gods would be so easily robbed?"

Lowering his gaze, he formed his right hand into a blade and plunged it directly into his own abdomen. He carved himself open, and an ash-black egg spilled from the wound. It gave off no aura, lying utterly inert on the floor. Yet, the figure stared at it as though it were an abhorrent Demon—his gaze heavy with dread, loathing, and sheer malice.

Without hesitating, he thrust his hand into his chest, tore out his own heart, and crushed it. From the ruined tissue, a single drop of pure, golden blood coalesced. He let it fall onto the black egg.

"The negator of laws. The ultimate end. All of creation will crumble to ash within its dimension."

A wicked smile stretched across his face. His hands wove a rapid sequence of seals, wielding his innate divine laws to force the abyssal egg directly into the Titanion Realm’s The Weave of Reality.

Astonishingly, the intrusion went completely unnoticed. Orion, the Lifeless Dreadgod, Archbishop Kysar, and Moriphara—the four lords of the realm—sensed absolutely nothing.

But the realm itself felt the infection. The dormant consciousness of the Titanion Realm reacted on pure instinct. The World Tree shuddered violently, instantly halting the sprawling roots it had extended to devour other worlds.

Boom!

Across the world on The Primordial Continent, a hidden cathedral buried deep within the landmass suddenly imploded under the sheer weight of the world’s power, erased from existence.

"Futile." The figure’s laughter was a grating, rasping sound. "The cancer is already in the bloodstream. Crushing the Zenith Cathedral is far too late."

The black egg had bypassed the realm’s defenses because the Four-Faced Beast had permanently tainted the Titanion Realm with fragments of the four gods’ divine laws upon its death. The figure had simply used that lingering taint as a backdoor.

The World Soul had sensed the parasite and obliterated the cathedral, but it was a step behind.

Feeling the furious fluctuations of the Will of the Realm, the figure merely scoffed. He opened his mouth and exhaled four ethereal golden sigils. Swiping a hand through the air, he tore open four microscopic, randomized spatial rifts, scattering the sigils to the four winds.

"The seeds of faith are sown. Now, for the final phase."

His descent into the mortal plane was a harbinger of judgment—not just for the traitors and blasphemers, but for the entirety of the Titanion Realm.

"Since the dawn of time, the birth of an Ascendant Plane has always been baptized in endless slaughter and cannibalistic warfare," he whispered. "Titanion Realm... I shall personally serve the first course of this bloody feast."

The figure’s body began to warp and twist, completely consumed by naked malice and pure hatred. He spread his arms wide, embracing the void. Ignoring his grievous, self-inflicted wounds, he walked forward. Invisible stairs seemed to form beneath his feet, sending out crystalline ripples across the dark with every step. With every ripple, the rigid boundaries of the world shattered, bridging physical reality with the absolute void.