Titan King: Ascension of the Giant - Chapter 1278

Chapter 1278: Genesis of the Bloodline, The Gorgon’s Ambition
One year bled into the next, and before long, three had vanished into the ether.

Inside the sealed chamber, silence reigned. The air was thick with the scent of decay. Orion’s Mirror Avatar and the Curse Avatar were long gone, devoured entirely. Even Orion’s own physical vessel had been consumed by the insatiable hunger of the Bloodline Seed.

His limbs had withered, his flesh desiccating like parchment in a fire, until finally, in a silent cascade, his body collapsed into a pile of fine dust.

Yet, from within that heap of gray ash, a crimson light pulsed—a rhythmic, hypnotic beat. The Bloodline Seed hovered there, radiating a bewitching, almost demonic glow. The light flickered erratically, signaling a turbulence within.

Is this the failsafe the Flower Goddess left inside me?

The thought rippled through the consciousness anchored to the seed. It wasn’t truly a surprise; Orion had calculated this probability long ago. Deep within the core of the Bloodline Seed lay a microscopic speck of pure white—the branding of the Flower Goddess. Because Orion had not yet ascended to become a Demigod, the mark remained dormant, a sleeping parasite waiting for a host strong enough to matter.

In the old days, I might have gone running to the Commander for a fix, the voice within the seed mused. But now…

The Flower Goddess’s mark was the final external barrier standing between Orion and his evolution. He had two choices. He could try to digest the mark—a gamble with poor odds—or he could weaponize it. He would drag the mark with him into the chaotic void, using its divine potency as a battering ram to carve out his internal world.

It was a dangerous play. One slip, and the mark would wake, consuming the Bloodline Seed and erasing Orion from existence.

My seed isn’t strong enough yet.

With a wet, tearing sound, root-like tendrils erupted from the crimson sphere. They lashed out, snatching the two Gray Crystals and the crackling Thunder-Core relics that sat nearby.

The Gray Crystals were the antithesis of World Essence, raw fuel for tearing through the fabric of the void. The Thunder-Core, humming with the laws of lightning, would not only supercharge Orion’s mastery over the element but act as the chisel for his new world.

Orion was going all in. Save for the Deathly Soul-Reaper stationed on the Sixth Layer of the Abyss, he had sacrificed every asset, every tool, and his very flesh to the Bloodline Seed.

Now, only the hunger remained. It would be a long slumber, and a violent awakening.

Titanion Realm. The Northern Seas.

The waves battered the jagged cliffs of Serpent Isle.

To the aquatic legions of the Sea Race, this place was simply a strategic point on a map. But to the Serpentfolk, the natives of these rocky shores, this was the continent of Jynx. And for Lysinthia and her budding Gorgon population, the name Jynx had become a rallying cry, a promise of dominion.

Atop the island’s lighthouse, the wind whipped at the cloaks of two women standing shoulder to shoulder. Lysinthia stood beside Lycanor, overlooking the sprawling jungle below. They were both Orion’s women, a bond that had evolved from a rigid hierarchy into a genuine sisterhood born of survival and ambition.

“You’ve finally made it,” Lycanor said, her voice cutting through the gale. “Five years of grinding warfare, and we’re finally at the endgame.”

Lycanor, a Blood Elf of striking beauty, turned her gaze from the horizon to smile at Lysinthia. The change in the Gorgon was palpable. Lysinthia was no longer just a soldier; she had ascended to the Legendary level, claiming her place as the undisputed Lord of the Gorgon population.

For years, the Gorgons had been the underdogs, scrapping for territory. Now, they stood on equal footing with the indigenous Serpentfolk, ready to challenge the old order.

“My ascension seems to have spooked the Medusa Queen,” Lysinthia said, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the distance. “She’s played her trump card. She woke the Guardian of the Serpentfolk—Shaka the Discipliner.”

She could feel them—two burning signatures of power far out in the jungle. One was the familiar aura of the Medusa Queen. The other was ancient, heavy, and unfamiliar.

“The Guardian?” Lycanor hummed, unimpressed. “I’ll handle the old relic. You focus on the Queen. You deserve a fair fight.”

Lycanor could sense the weight of the Guardian’s power; it dwarfed the Queen’s. But to Lycanor, currently sitting at the absolute peak of the Legendary level, it was merely a nuisance.

As the consort of the Giant King and a political bridge for the Blood Elf race, Lycanor had been flooded with resources from the Stoneheart Horde. They had spared no expense in her cultivation. She had gone from a high-tier fighter to an apex predator.

“Fairness?” Lysinthia turned, her eyes shimmering like clear, deep pools, yet holding a terrifying intensity. “Since when does this world offer fairness?”

She gestured to the land below. “I am what I am because of the Master’s favor. I have run wild here, destroyed armies, and grown strong only because I stand in his shadow. Your presence here, sister, is just another layer of his protection.”

Lysinthia’s expression hardened. “Look at the Medusa Queen. She has no backing, no patron. She is being eaten alive, piece by piece, by my brood. Fairness is a fairy tale told to the weak to keep them in line. Justice belongs to the strong.”

Lycanor stared at her, genuinely surprised.

It was a harsh truth, one Lycanor had learned the hard way when she was sold into a political marriage. The Blood Elf race understood this better than anyone. They were pawns in the great game between humanity, the dragons, and the Stoneheart Horde.

That was why she, the jewel of her people, had been married off. That was why Grand Elder Lireesa had to swallow her pride and sit in meetings as a glorified decoration. That was why the ambitious Elven King, Rommath, had locked himself in the City of Blessings, hiding from the whispers of his own impotence.

Fairness was a lie.

“Ha…” Lycanor let out a low, dark laugh. “I see it now. There’s a reason the Stoneheart Horde rules. You’re just like your Master. Cold. Absolute ice in your veins when it comes to outsiders.”

Lysinthia didn’t deny it. The reputation of Orion and the Stoneheart Horde might have been stabilizing across the continent, but their doctrine was total war. They didn’t just defeat enemies; they erased them. Countless lives had been extinguished in their conquest of other worlds. When you are fighting for survival, you don’t offer a fair shake to the guy trying to kill you.

The entire upper echelon of the Stoneheart Horde, revolving around Orion, shared this cynicism. They believed in only one law: The Law of the Jungle. If the Horde was strong enough, the world was theirs. If they were weak, they deserved to perish.

“Sister Lycanor, I’m counting on you,” Lysinthia said softly, turning back to the jungle.

“Just stall Shaka the Discipliner. Once I’ve beheaded the Medusa Queen, I’m not going to kill him. I’m going to break him. I’ll twist his soul until he becomes a Banshee Hexer.”

She smiled, a cruel, beautiful expression. “I want the Guardian of the Serpentfolk to become the watchdog for the Gorgon population.”

It wasn’t a boast. For a newly ascended Lord like Lysinthia, hunting a Queen was simply the next item on the agenda.