Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1362 The Birth of Hellscream and the Crimson Baptism

A biting chill rode the night wind, slicing through the eerie stillness that gripped the town.

Shadows detached themselves from the darkness of the tree line. Dozens of figures, draped in black robes and moving with an unnatural, haunting grace, drifted into the streets of Nightfall. They advanced like smoke—silent, intangible, and bringers of death.

Then, the silence was shattered.

Snap. Hiss.

A single spark erupted into a roaring blaze. Torches flew through the air as oil was doused over wood. One home caught fire, then two, until a dozen were engulfed. The wind surged, feeding the conflagration until the flames danced like a sentient, wicked spirit.

The quiet was over. Agonized screams tore through the sound of splintering timber.

The black-robed killers didn't shout or run; they navigated the chaos with chilling efficiency. Steel blades glinted in the firelight while daggers found their marks with precision. There was no room for negotiation or doubt. They operated like demons harvesting a crop of souls.

Blood coated the stone streets, gathering in gutters and flowing thick and dark, resembling oil under the flickering light.

Aina watched everything from her high vantage point. She witnessed a family fleeing their burning residence only to be slaughtered in the open. She saw a man clutching his throat, his silent pleas for life drowned out by the roar of the inferno.

In the span of a single night, the tranquil town of Nightfall had been restructured into a waking nightmare.

As daybreak arrived, the pale gray light of morning exposed the ruin. Aina emerged from the trees and stepped into the smoldering wreckage. Climbing atop a pile of rubble—the broken remains of a wall—she surveyed the massacre.

"I declare the ritual complete," she proclaimed, her voice cutting sharply through the soot-heavy air. "The Hellscream faction is born."

She gazed down at the survivors—the murderers, the pariahs, and the criminals who had executed her commands.

"We are the ghouls ascending from the abyss. We feast upon injustice. We spit in the face of their righteousness. We embrace the darkness."

Aina pulled back her hood, showing her stunningly beautiful features. Holding a statuette of a Titan high above her, she looked like a dark saintess delivering a new gospel to the world.

"They peddle us illusions of hope," she shouted. "But we are the ones who throttle those fantasies in their cradles. We are the sins that the world attempted to wash away."

Even Orion, slumbering in his far-off domain, likely hadn't anticipated this. Aina wasn't merely killing; she was offering the souls of an entire town as a sacrifice to him. Her heart, hardened and consumed by absolute hatred, had driven her to the ultimate extreme.

"This place shall no longer be known as Nightfall. Terror and death shall be the law here. This will be a Paradise for the heretics, the exiled, and the damned."

A fanatical light burned in her eyes.

"I christen this place: Grimm."

As the name left her lips, a new artifact appeared in her palm—a small, swirling orb of pure shadow. It was the [Eye of the Storm].

Acquiring it had drained everything she had gathered in the Tower Defense World and every credit she had traded on the Ember Exchange, but the price was worth the power.

She hurled the sphere into the sky.

Immediately, the winds began to howl. The Eye expanded, birthing a colossal tornado that swallowed the newly named town of Grimm. A thick, black mist surged from the storm’s heart, masking the land for hundreds of miles in every direction.

"Do you hear it?" Aina shrieked over the gale. "Within the dark and the wind, a voice from Hell is roaring! It rises from the depths! It rises from fear itself!"

"We are the orphans forgotten by the world! We are the strays kicked aside by Order and Justice! We are the filth they spat upon!"

"We struggled in the shadows! We found no hope in our agony!"

"We suffered! We were tortured! We were mocked!"

Aina was delivering the performance of a lifetime. She understood that desperation drove people, but to lead a pack of wolves, one had to be a prophet. She was molding herself into their messiah.

"We shall overturn this world in our own fashion! We will forge our own order! Our own kingdom!"

"But first... destruction! We must welcome the Supreme Being who will cleanse the filth and hypocrisy!"

"Pray with me! Pray that the Supreme God of Stoneheart casts his gaze upon us! Pray for his blessing!"

Upon his throne, Orion’s eyes snapped open.

Divine light blazed within his pupils. He lifted his hand, and a swirling mass of chaotic soul energy formed above his palm.

He could sense them—thousands of consciousnesses screaming within the energy sphere. They were not entirely extinguished; their sheer terror kept them in a state of semi-awareness.

Orion observed the energy briefly. He chose not to crush them or consume them for a temporary surge in power. Instead, he gestured toward the Stoneheart Temple within his Divine Kingdom.

"Be cleansed."

The souls were funneled into the temple’s sanctum. There, they would be purged of their trauma and memories, washed pure, and reborn in his realm as his most loyal petitioners. They would grant him the most refined form of faith.

So this is the advantage of a sacrifice, Orion contemplated.

It was a fresh experience. Along with the soul energy, he had gained something far more critical: coordinates.

Aina’s ritual had provided him with a backdoor key. He could now circumvent dimensional laws and manifest a portion of his divine power directly into her world. The magnitude of power he could project depended entirely on the scale of the offering.

Is this what it feels like to be a God?

He closed his hand, feeling the tether.

Not bad.

He shut his eyes once more. Aina had paid the toll; now, he had to provide the results. He needed to grant her something that would cement her authority and transform that mob of thugs into an army of fanatics.

"We do not fear pain, for pain is the fountain of our strength! We do not fear death, for death is but the beginning!"

"We..."

Aina was perspiring. Her knuckles were bone-white as she gripped the Titan statue.

She was running out of rhetoric and beginning to repeat herself.

The gathering of murderers, bandits, and dark mages was becoming impatient. They were predators, and she could see the predatory shift in their gaze. If the 'God' failed to answer soon, they wouldn't worship her—they would tear her apart.

Answer me, she pleaded internally. Damn it, answer me!

"I... ACCEPT... YOUR... OFFERING."

The voice did not descend from the heavens. It vibrated within their very skulls, echoing through their bones. It was ancient, majestic, and terrifyingly heavy.

It was the voice of a higher power.

Aina nearly slumped over in relief. The lethal tension in the air vanished instantly, replaced by absolute dread and awe.

But Orion was not finished.

A wave of crimson energy erupted from the statue in Aina’s hand, washing over the crowd like a physical shockwave.

Every sinner, every killer, and every pariah in Grimm was struck by the corruption of Orion’s divine essence.

"Argh!"

Cries of agony broke out, but they were brief. Bodies began to contort and mutate.

Men doubled over as their spines elongated with the sound of snapping bone. Muscles ballooned, shredding through clothing. Skin petrified into a rock-like hide. Some developed tusks, while others grew extra limbs from their torsos.

This was not the Stoneheart bloodline gift. That was a refined inheritance meant to enhance potential.

This was Corruption.

Orion was forcing his power into their systems by brute strength, overcharging their bodies with Titan energy. It provided them with immediate, monstrous power, but the cost was total and irreversible.

They were burning their lives away with a flamethrower. They would be formidable monsters for a short time, but eventually, their potential would be spent, and their life force would return to Orion.

It was a ruthless tactic, a signature move of the Curse Avatar from eras past.

But to the desperate criminals in Grimm, feeling the rush of impossible strength flooding their veins... it felt like a holy blessing.