Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

The war of wills was silent. It was a hurricane ravaging the sea of his consciousness, a lightning storm illuminating a chaotic darkness. In the endless struggle between the Flower Goddess and the demigod's will, Orion waited for a rescue that never came.

Ridiculous… so ridiculous… a thought echoed in the storm. No one is coming to save me.

To rely on others is to invite despair…

The only one who can save me… is me. It has to be me.

This was not just a thought; it was a roar from the very depths of his soul. In the agonizing crucible of that wait, Orion finally understood. Hope was not a thing to be placed in the hands of others. When the final moment came, he could rely on no one but himself.

The war of wills is an invisible game of chess. Under the crushing weight of desolation, despair, and helplessness, some minds shatter into paranoia, others curdle into hatred. And some, a rare few, awaken.

Orion was of the last kind. He finally understood that the only true fortress was the self. Each thought became a chess piece, each conviction a defensive wall. As he relentlessly affirmed his own existence, his own sovereignty, he forged a bastion within his mind, a citadel that would not be easily breached or broken. His will hardened, becoming dense and heavy as a fallen star.

But this change did not go unnoticed. The two foreign powers, the curse and the will-projection, sensed the shift. They ceased their struggle against each other and, in a moment of shared purpose, turned their combined might against the rising fortress of Orion's consciousness.

"I WILL DEVOUR YOU BOTH!"

The defiant roar echoed in the depths of his mind. It was his final scream before the end, and it was his solemn oath.

The battle that followed was beyond the measure of time. Orion found himself in an endless sea of flowers, locked in combat with a great serpent whose body was a flowing river. He fought until the sky bled into dawn, and fought until the last light died, again and again, without rest.

He fought until he was so weary he could no longer open his eyes, could no longer see anything at all. He fought until his last ounce of strength was spent. And then, his consciousness retreated, sinking into the deepest, quietest part of his soul.

"Heh heh heh… his will is broken!"

"The body is mine!"

Two triumphant thoughts rang out in his mind—the demigod's will and the Flower Goddess's curse.

"Let us devour his essence first. Then we shall settle the matter of ownership between us."

"Agreed."

The enemy of my enemy is a temporary friend. With their pact sealed, the two powers surged toward the depths of Orion's consciousness like twin tidal waves, intent on scouring away the last vestiges of his being.

Yet, just as they were about to breach that final sanctuary, a flash of light erupted from within it.

It was the concept of a blade. Cold, absolute, and possessed of a killing intent so pure that to merely witness it was to be unmade.

A single cut that carried with it an eternity of pain.

A single, perfect strike that annihilated everything in its path.

Orion slept, and as he slept, his mind finally knew peace. Of the two blade-flashes gifted to him by Commander Thresh, one had now been spent.

This trial had been far more perilous than the Flower Goddess's first invasion; though the blade had appeared then, it had not been consumed. This time, it had been. It had sliced through the divine power and the will-projection, severing the consciousness from the energy. The invaders were scoured away, leaving behind only pure, raw power—nourishment that now flooded Orion's body and soul.

"The Commander's presence," Alexander murmured, a note of reverence in his voice. "As clean and decisive as ever."

He and the Deputy Commander had both felt the echo of the blade's intent emanating from Orion's body. Just as Orion fell into his deep slumber, a final flash of light burst from his eyes—the sign of a spirit made whole, transparent, and perfect.

Alexander's gaze burned with inspiration. He hoped that one day, his own killing intent could achieve such a state of absolute purity.

"Excellent," the Deputy Commander's voice confirmed. "The divine power and the phantom have both been rendered down and absorbed into his body. Though he sleeps, his consciousness did not shatter."

"Hulk has passed the trial. He is worthy."

It was the first time Edward had given Orion his unqualified approval.

With his mind at peace, the invading powers within Orion's body collapsed, their wills erased, their essence dissolving into pure faith energy that integrated itself into every fiber of his being. It was a "gift" from the Flower Goddess and the demigod phantom. In their contest for his soul, neither had been the victor. Orion had.

"Very well," said Edward. "Leave the last one to me."

His storm avatar spoke the words and then dissolved into a single, unstoppable blade of wind that pierced the wall of the ward. A minute later, Sphinx was dead, her body torn to pieces. The Wind Ward slowly dissipated.

"This avatar is returning. The Valkorath Realm requires a warden," Edward's voice announced. "The situation here is chaotic. A major war could erupt at any time. Prepare your true forms."

With that final instruction, the Deputy Commander stepped into a portal and vanished.

Alexander looked up at the sky, his brow furrowed. The Deputy Commander's true form must have already descended upon the Emerald Dream Realm, engaged in the great chess game against the other demigods.

Lowering his gaze, Alexander flashed to Orion's side, catching the unconscious warrior before he could fall. He turned his attention to the battlefield below. It was a charnel house.

Isabella was slumped over the back of her colossal dragon, her armor shattered, her breathing shallow. The dragon itself was in retreat, shielded by an undead lord.

Though Selinda was dead, her seven remaining lords had proven too much for Isabella's forces. If not for the aid of a Legendary-tier shadow assassin, her fate would have been much worse. Even so, the dragon's belly was riddled with dark wounds that wept black ichor, defying the creature's potent regenerative abilities.

"Not dead," Alexander observed upon reaching them. "Good enough."

He knew Isabella had talent, but her pride, born from a life of privilege under her Archlord father's protection, was a flaw. In her own kingdom, she had known nothing but victory and adulation. Such flaws could be corrected.

"Give her to me," he said to the great dragon. "With your constitution, you can still fight. Return to the front. You will not retreat until the enemy does."

The dragon let out a low whine of protest but did not dare to disobey. It carefully transferred Isabella to Alexander's care before turning and flying back toward the battle.

Alexander adjusted his grip on Orion, then hefted Isabella's unconscious form over his other shoulder. Burdened with his two comrades, the lone assassin began the long walk back to their makeshift camp.