Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1383 I don't understand where I went wrong

Did they manage to take Blademaster Grommash prisoner?

Or did destiny twist his path?

Answers came to Orion's inquiries, yet not quite as he anticipated. Several of his elders—Onyx, Rockwell, Earthshaker, Slagor, and Delilah—drew near, hauling a worn-out and weary form among them.

Grommash it was.

"How exciting," Orion whispered, a smirk tugging at his lips.

He understood the situation perfectly. Either he'd slipped into a hallucination or been drawn deep into Sylvana's recollections. Either way, it held no importance. Be it vision or truth, his Demigod senses stayed sharp. Though this recollection might cap his abilities at Legendary rank, his grasp on force principles let him unleash might way past normal bounds.

After all, he excelled at overpowering foes beyond his tier.

Within the reenactment, half a day elapsed until Orion faced his former foe.

"Blademaster Grommash. The 'Invincible Alpha-being.' I just heard your name from an Ogre Lord," Orion stated, his tone sleek and icy. "It is a pity. If I were still merely Alpha-level, I would grant you the chance to challenge me properly."

"I challenge you!"

Orion halted. That phrase varied. Grommash had shown defiance in his recall, sure, but the phrasing—and the raw poison in it—had shifted.

Orion held back his response at first. A smile crossed his face instead.

Right here, this Orc—who could forge a Lord's Stone by pure determination—remained stubbornly unyielding.

Orion lifted his hand, slashing a quick gesture over his neck.

Earthshaker advanced without delay. Before Grommash's eyes growing wide, the massive figure chopped off the heads of five captive Orcs.

"Continue," Orion commanded, his voice even. "We haven't reached five hundred yet."

Since reliving this instant the initial time, his outlook had transformed. Previously, a spark of admiration might have stirred. Now, Grommash's resistance just irritated him.

Delilah, Onyx, and the rest eyed their Lord. Noting his seriousness, they picked up the dark task once more. Executions turned into a deadly contest.

"Think carefully before you speak to me again," Orion warned. Calm, aloof, and downright horrifying, he stood.

"I... challenge... you!"

The Blademaster's resolve stood firm, yet his tone lost its battle cry edge. It emerged as teeth gnashing and profound, abyssal loathing.

"I'll give you a chance," Orion agreed with a nod. "But your challenge will have to wait until I have slaughtered every last Orc here."

Curiosity drove Orion to test if that steely resolve could endure everything. He faced his commanders.

"Prophet's orders," he declared, invoking the name they recognized him by then. "I have no use for Orc prisoners. Kill them all. Feed their meat to the snow wolves and the spiders."

Surprise flickered briefly over Onyx and the others, yet loyalty guided them instinctively. They proceeded to carry out the directive.

A nightmarish spectacle unfolded next. Heads tumbled like boulders. Blood gathered, then streamed, creating a scarlet stream that wound toward Grommash's feet.

"Ahhhhhhh!"

Grommash shattered.

Stone he was not. All his deeds, every clash he'd waged, aimed at securing the Orcs' tomorrow. His struggles served his Clan. Yet witnessing his kin slain like animals now, his unassailable faith crumbled inward.

"I... WILL... KILL... YOU!"

No throat seemed to birth that cry. It echoed as if a Devil seized him, born from crunching bones and a severed tongue.

Accompanied by a sickening, moist rip, Blademaster Grommash's form exploded. Chunks of flesh and sinew burst forth in a macabre shower.

As the scarlet haze cleared, Grommash had vanished. Floating where he stood, a armament remained.

A Bone Forged Sword.

A shrill wail escaped the sword as it hurtled at Orion.

Orion made no move to evade. He charged ahead, intercepting the blade mid-flight and seizing its handle.

Die!

Upon contact with the bone, a choking wave of slaughter intent wrapped around him. From the emptiness, Grommash's spirit howled at him.

From the grip, Crimson Transcendent Power burst, seeking to pierce Orion's form and taint him.

"Not bad," Orion commended.

The Blademaster's furious essence he disregarded. The murderous aura he brushed aside. With an effortless twist of his arm, he wielded the Bone-Forged Sword in a sweep.

Red sword-glow surged forth, ripping apart the ranks of awaiting captives.

BOOM!

Scores of Orcs vanished in a flash.

"Using your amassed killing intent to butcher your own people... this is too amusing," Orion chuckled ominously.

Thrum! Thrum! Thrum!

In Orion's hold, the pale Bone-Forged Sword quivered fiercely. No longer humming with might, it moaned in distress.

Orion lifted the edge once more. Yet another cut. Another surge of doom. Additional Orcs perished by the blade born from their champion.

No... No... No...

Through Orion's senses, the fierce call to Kill melted into a desperate, pleading No.

Uncontrollable tremors gripped the sword. The bold crimson Transcendent Power, once assailing Orion, withdrew, retreating into the weapon's core. The white bone's point shifted to a somber, corroded crimson.

It resembled blood-streaked tears.

"Even if you lived a thousand times, you would never be my match," Orion murmured gently to the sword.

Amid the slaughter, with the gore-soaked bone blade clutched, he gazed upon his troops' stunned expressions.

Yet prior to uttering a word, reality warped.

Like a voyager yanked via a wormhole, Orion sensed the pull. Myriad visions streaked past—hues, noises, time shards smearing into luminous trails.

Once the realm steadied, Orion found himself atop a serene, lofty spot.

Sylvana stood before him. Her gaze shone lovely, pure, and completely captivating.

"The numbers have shifted," Sylvana uttered, her words laced with worry. "The Fate of the Beastfolk has become blurred. I can no longer see the future."

These were Orion's initial words caught.

"Elder," came a response. Beside Sylvana waited the known Old Elder from the Fox Tribe. "The destiny of the Beastfolk Race rises and falls. Occasionally, a divination will be wrong. It is unavoidable."

"Sylvana!" Orion summoned gently.

No yell escaped him. He grasped at once that Sylvana and the Old Elder perceived him not. To their eyes, he was absent.

Orion extended his arm, aiming to graze Sylvana's shoulder. His fingers slipped through her as vapor.

An odd feeling it was. Orion pondered whether he embodied a specter, or if they formed the phantoms.

"In the original reading," Sylvana pressed on, eyes fixed afar, "Grommash was supposed to soar during this battle. He was destined to become one of the premier figures of this continent."

"I don't understand where I went wrong."

Toward the battlefield's locale—the site Orion had departed—a deep reluctance etched her features as she glanced.

Shortly after, prompted by the Old Elder, Sylvana climbed down the observation post. Escape marked their departure from the Beastfolk's stronghold.

Her fading silhouette drew Orion's thoughtful stare. Thus, Grommash's altered actions marked a rift from Sylvana's predicted path.

Ere deeper pondering, the vision fractured like brittle panes.

Back into time's swirling mosaic he tumbled.

Longer this round, he floated in nothingness. Vision resurfaced at last, revealing a foggy, surreal, shadowed vista.

Shadows cloaked this realm.

Two azure specters battled fiercely.

Detached curiosity held Orion at first. Yet as moments dragged, the specters' motions resonated with ingrained familiarity in his reflexes.

"That's... me?"

The azure forms collided, their impacts mute yet strikingly ruinous to behold.

"This..." Orion squinted. "This is the Giant-King Duel?"