"Aina's original intention was to scour her world clean of all life—every blade of grass, every breathing soul."
"I persuaded her to narrow the scope. Now, the target is solely the human race of that world."
Orion's ntal voice remained impassive. "However, even with that restriction, I cannot guarantee our warriors will have the stomach for it. Slaughtering ard combatants is one thing; butchering millions of unard commoners by hand is another."
"A plague removes the personal elent. It is a thod everyone can accept because it absolves them of the direct stroke of the blade."
Reading the explanation, Tangere felt a chill crawl down his spine. The scale of the death sentence was staggering. Yet, almost imdiately, that chill was replaced by a tremor of dark excitent.
"Big Boss," Tangere projected back, his thoughts practically vibrating with glee. "If that's the case... do you mind if I recycle the refuse?"
"Since they're going to die anyway, it seems a waste not to use the biomass. Let raise a few new pets from the corpses."
Orion wasn't surprised. He had known Tangere was no saint from the mont they t. Their relationship had begun with Tangere's Plague Totem Pole—a tool designed for the despicable theft of Faith.
"Do as you see fit. Just get it done. And Tangere... stay put for now. Focus entirely on synthesizing this pathogen."
Orion severed the ntal link.
"He really will do anything to ascend to Archlord," Orion mused, opening his eyes in the physical world.
He didn't judge Tangere. The man was a plague master; infection, death, and power were the notes of his existence. It was only natural he would want to conduct a symphony.
Orion turned his attention inward, back to the Divine Kingdom. A disturbance in the ether caught his focus.
Deep within the Stoneheart Temple—specifically the Trial of Flesh, the mountain of blood that represented Orion's own essence—soone had reached the summit.
"A pity."
To climb the Mountain of Flesh and Blood and reach the peak required a will of iron, equal to anyone who had co before.
WAAAGH!
To climb the Mountain of Flesh and Blood and reach the peak required a will of iron, equal to anyone who had co before.
WAAAGH!
A bellow tore through the spiritual plane. It was the roar of a Stoneheart Titan.
It was deeper than a dragon's cry, sharper than an eagle's shriek. It was Rolan.
Standing at the summit, Rolan had transford. He now stood over three hundred feet tall, a colossus of muscle and stone. From his shoulders sprouted three heads; from his torso, six arms.
His aura was heavy, chaotic, and terrifyingly powerful.
"Little one, can you take that final step?"
Orion's avatar materialized in the high skies of the Temple, looking down at his disciple.
That Rolan had managed to inherit the bloodline to the point of manifesting the Three-Headed, Six-Ard form was impressive. It exceeded Orion's expectations.
When Orion said "a pity," he wasn't mourning Rolan's failure. He was lanting the limitations of biology.
Without a unique constitution like Elara's, this was the ceiling. Only she had the vessel capable of fully inheriting the Stoneheart Titan bloodline to achieve the perfect Four-Headed, Eight-Ard form.
There was no second Elara.
Three heads and six arms represented the absolute genetic limit for the Giant race. Unless a miracle occurred, this was where the road ended. Looking at Rolan, Orion saw the future limits of Rendall, Thundar, and Dace as well.
Truthfully, Orion had hoped for more heirs who could mirror his full power. But aside from his direct blood descendants and Elara, even his most promising student, Rolan, could only reach the tier of Fergus and Tarn.
Years ago, when Orion ascended to Demigod status, Fergus and Tarn had resonated with his bloodline. Few knew they, too, possessed the Three-Headed battle form.
"Three heads, six arms... sufficient to battle a Lord," Orion assessed. "He has gained enlightennt atop the mountain. The question is, can he condense his own Lord's Stone in one stroke?"
"I am actually looking forward to this."
If Rolan could form his Lord's Stone unaided, he would earn the right to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Orion's own children. True power was never just about bloodline; it was about the soul.
As for the material requirents for Rolan's ascension, Lilith had prepared them long ago. Territory and resources were waiting.
Orion did not disturb him. He sealed off the area to grant Rolan privacy, then shifted his gaze to the deepest abyss of the spectral ocean.
There, lying in the darkness, was another Stoneheart Titan.
Unlike Rolan, this titan possessed four heads and eight arms. His fra was even more colossal.
It was Kaelen.
Orion had granted him unrestricted access to the bloodline energy of the Temple to repair his broken body. The results were undeniable. Kaelen had not only returned to his peak but surpassed it.
It wouldn't be long before he erged. Once he did, and secured more territory and Faith, his ascension to Archlord was inevitable.
"With Kaelen's return, it is ti for Pallas and Kronos to depart."
"Once Rolan completes his conversion, he will take Kronos into the Abyss."
Orion had a clear board in his mind.
Pallas would go to the Platinum Authority. She needed to see the wider world, to understand governance and power on a macro scale. A flower grown in a greenhouse needed to weather a storm.
Kronos would go to the Abyss. He needed grit. Orion also intended to have a matured heir permanently stationed in the Abyssal World to oversee operations there. Kronos was the candidate.
As for Kaelen... Orion decided to keep the son who had grown up in exile close to ho. Kaelen would stay in the Titanion Realm to lead the war against the Insectoids. Fighting alongside his kin would forge the emotional bonds he lacked, deepening his loyalty and sense of belonging to the Stoneheart Horde.
Elara would be the spearhead for the invasion of the Eldoria continent.
And Caelus? Orion worried about him the least. As a mber of the Platinum Authority, Caelus would naturally join the invasion of other worlds. The Commander was already taking him to the trial grounds of the Death-Soul Race. His future was secure.
With his plans set, Orion withdrew his gaze from Kaelen.
He glanced briefly at the areas where Rendall, Thundar, and Dace were struggling. So fought against the sea of blood; others had begun the climb; so sat in ditation, frantically absorbing power.
There was nothing more for Orion to do but watch.
Titanion Realm, Blackstone City.
Also being watched were Dirtclaw's two sons, Anubis and Wepwawet.
Though calling them "whelps" was hardly accurate anymore.
They stood nearly eight feet tall—veritable giants by the standards of the Gnoll race. Their fur was thick, their muscles corded like steel cables.
But in the eyes of their old father, Dirtclaw, they were still just pups.
"Good job." Dirtclaw grunted, circling them. "Peak Alpha Level. You haven't shad ."
His stare made Anubis and Wepwawet shift uncomfortably.
It wasn't just parental authority; it was bloodline suppression. The sheer weight of Dirtclaw's presence instilled a primal fear in them, an instinct to run and hide.
Dirtclaw didn't care about their fear. He only cared about their strength.
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