Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1333 Ash Pantheon

[Ash Sentinel]

[Designation: A distinction reserved solely for the elite among the Awakened of the New World. It marks the primary rank within the hierarchy of the Ash Pantheon.]

[Privileges: Enhances the existential status of the holder. Provides filtration rights and top-tier purchasing priority within the Survivor's Platform marketplace. Grants the authority to trigger the Ash Altar.]

Unlike his previous honors, [Ash Sentinel] provided a rare peek into the hidden gears of the world.

Orion gazed upward, searching for an explanation. Sensing his curiosity, the Commander spoke, his voice sounding as if it traveled from a vast distance.

"Our very existence is inextricably limit-locked to the Survivor's Platform," the Commander remarked, swirling the wine within his horn. "From birth, we belong to the Ash Pantheon. Until we reach the stage of a Demigod, we are nothing more than 'Ash Seeds'—disposable tools."

Orion offered no reply. The mystery surrounding the Survivor's Platform was being pulled back, layer by layer.

"However, once you achieve ascension," the Commander went on, "you develop the potential to serve the Pantheon. You gain the power to activate the [Ash Altar] and offer up Seeds from competing pantheons as sacrifices."

"You understand the mechanics," the Commander noted. "You assisted Edward with his own ritual."

Orion gave a nod. He remembered Lolth, the Queen of the Blind Spiders. An Awakened and a Seed of a rival deity, she had been forced into submission by the Deputy Commander before being offered to the altar.

"And what is the profit from such sacrifices?" Orion inquired.

The Commander let out a sharp, knowing grin. "I suspected as much. You aren't a scholar or a wanderer at heart. You share the nature of Arthas and the others—you are a pragmatist."

This was no insult. In such a brutal reality, selflessness was a luxury few could maintain. Everyone was hunting for an advantage.

"View the Survivor's Platform as an all-powerful god, or perhaps a fundamental law of the universe," the Commander clarified. "Through sacrifice, you trade for your desires. Be it rare materials, pure Faith... or even purchasing a higher position within the Ash Pantheon."

He leaned in slightly. "My personal advice? Invest in your status. The perks are... unexpected."

He stopped there, hinting that certain truths required personal experience to truly grasp.

Orion paused before finally asking the question that had plagued him for years. "Commander... are there many others of your level? Beings of your strength within the Survivor's Platform?"

"Is there anyone more powerful?"

Before his Cultivation reached this peak, Orion would never have dared to ask. Knowledge was a hazard for the weak. But as a Demigod—and a formidable one—he felt he had earned the right to understand the true hierarchy.

The Commander did not reply immediately. He took a slow, deliberate drink, his focus on the horizon. It was an inquiry that the Deputy Commander, Arthas, Leonidas, and Alexander had all avoided in the past.

"There are," he eventually admitted, releasing a heavy sigh. "I am uncertain of the number. Most, similar to myself, are locked in a profound slumber."

Why? Were they hiding from a disaster? Or were they waiting for one to arrive?

Before he could articulate the thought, the Commander’s form blurred, vanishing from his position and reappearing inside a nearby tent. Moments later, the heavy, rhythmic sound of snoring drifted out.

The talk was finished. The implication was blatant: You have not yet climbed high enough on the food chain to deserve the rest.

For a long time, Orion stood alone atop Blade's Edge Peak, observing the shifting clouds and the wind howling through the void where Caelus once stood.

Finally, he flickered out of existence.

Silverwood Realm, Staghelm City.

Deep in the inner sanctum of the palace, the Moon Elf Isilra drifted unclothed within the radiant waters of the Moonwell. Her eyes were clamped shut, her features twisted into a grimace of intense pain.

Flooding above the surface, a spectral image of Demigod Gima watched her daughter with growing dread.

The emergency had started three days prior. The life within Isilra's womb had suddenly turned erratic, its life force breaking apart and reconstructing with violence. It wasn't merely the fetus; Isilra’s own stability was failing. Her life essence was being drained by the unborn child at a frightening speed.

Despite being at the peak of the Arch Lord rank, Isilra was wasting away, unable to cope with the parasitic consumption. She had been forced into the Moonwell, desperately soaking up lunar essence just to keep her heart beating.

Just as Gima reached the point of hopelessness, the air warped. Orion appeared at the well's edge.

"Orion, you've arrived!" Gima shouted. As the Demigod of the Moonwell, she permitted only two souls into this holy domain: her daughter and her son-in-law.

"Orion, you..."

Gima's relief was instantly replaced by bewilderment. She felt it at once—the pressure radiating from him wasn't just familiar; it was overwhelming. It sparked a primal terror she hadn't experienced in centuries.

For a Demigod to feel this insignificant, he had to be... an equal.

"You've ascended?" Gima breathed in shock. "Already?"

It defied reason. Typically, an ascension of such scale would demand centuries of deep meditation and hibernation.

"I have," Orion replied with a respectful nod, confirming her fears.

He didn't waste a second on explanations. His focus locked onto Isilra in the water.

The moment he had departed Blade's Edge Peak, he had sensed it. The link was visceral. He understood perfectly what was happening to the child—Lorian.

Lorian had been conceived prior to Orion's ascension. His bloodline was a powerful mixture, caught somewhere between the Arch Lord and Demigod stages. However, the child lacked a conscious mind.

When Orion reached the Demigod rank, a Bloodline Resonance was triggered. The father's rise caused a sympathetic evolution in the son. Lorian was instinctively attempting to overhaul his own biology to match the new divine blueprint.

For Isilra, this was a disaster. As the host, the sudden explosion of power in her womb didn't treat her as a mother, but as fuel. The child's transforming bloodline was predatory, discarding Isilra's "inferior" physiology and consuming her to fuel its own advancement.

Had Isilra not been a unique Moon Elf with the Moonwell's healing properties at her disposal, Lorian would have already drained her dry.

"It is the Bloodline Resonance," Orion stated, his tone steady yet urgent. "My ascension caused a rejection within the womb."

He waded into the Moonwell, the water swirling around his waist. He pulled the unconscious Isilra into his arms, placing a hand softly over her lower stomach.

He didn't try to crush the energy. Instead, he channeled his own Divine Power into the infant, steering the chaotic turbulence. He refined the edges of the boy's aura, assisting Lorian in stabilizing and condensing that power into a specific form: the Stoneheart Titan.

Gradually, the violent tremors faded. The theft of Isilra's life force ceased.

After dozens of breaths, Isilra's eyes began to flutter. She looked up, dazed, at the man cradling her.