Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1463 Aerial Execution
Previously on Titan King: Ascension of the Giant...
Kaelen triggered the Serpent-Demon's Grasp, that relic granted to him by Orion, charging straight into the confrontation with the adversary.
Thwip!
Azhur flung his trident forward. The spear howled as it cut through the sky, ripping a void in its trail.
Kaelen's wings burst forth, thrusting him along an erratic, razor-sharp trajectory that caused the trident to clash against mere emptiness. Next, Kaelen turned sharply and plunged downward, dropping like a celestial predator in pursuit of its target.
Below, Azhur, the fearsome Insectoid commander, leaped off the back of a colossal beetle. While ascending, his armored shell twisted horrifically; jagged bone spikes burst from his limbs and back. Azhur broke them free in quick bursts, hurling them skyward. These bone spikes created a deadly formation, designed to tear the descending Kaelen to shreds.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Echoes of steel against bone resounded as the Serpent-Demon's Grasp—appearing as six ghostly dragon talons—batted away the incoming threats. Azhur's volley failed to breach the protective barrier crafted by Kaelen's relic.
Yet Azhur had more in store. The repelled bone spikes halted abruptly, looping back in sharp curves to target Kaelen's unguarded rear.
Kaelen never bothered to look over his shoulder.
Surrounded by the six dragon talons acting as intelligent guardians, he placed full faith in his protection and concentrated solely on Azhur.
Their collision was over in an instant.
Kaelen swooped low; Azhur jabbed his trident high in a frantic assault.
In a flash, the troops of the Second Legion positioned beyond Soaring Bird City watched as Kaelen grabbed Azhur and hauled him up into the lofty skies.
Blood then poured down like rain.
Azhur, ruler of the Myriapex Race, got ripped apart. Kaelen, combining his personal might with the devastating force of the dragon talons, tore the bug-like warrior to pieces.
Such a savage demise. The total supremacy shown by Kaelen stunned the Second Legion into silence.
Truth be told, Azhur was just a spontaneously advanced Insect King, hardly touching the edges of genuine Lord-level might. Kaelen's display was mostly for show.
For one, Kaelen lingered at the pinnacle of the Legend rank; with sufficient faith amassed and lands secured, he teetered on the brink of rising to Archlord. For another, the Serpent-Demon's Grasp ranked as a Legend artifact—a treasure usually claimed only from a defeated Archlord. Deploying it against Azhur was akin to smashing a flea with a massive hammer.
“Incredible power...”
“Gods above, what strength...”
The initial comment came from Thundar. Being a Legend too, he sensed the crushing, fearsome aura emanating from Kaelen's lineage.
The latter murmur was from the knight, Godfrey.
In Stoneheart, rogue Legend-rank fighters weren't rare, and Godfrey had observed their clashes. But those fights dragged on as grueling endurance tests. They never resolved battles with the horrifying speed Kaelen had just unleashed.
ROAR!
Azhur slain, Kaelen lingered in the heavens and unleashed a thunderous bellow, declaring his reign as the swarm's supreme hunter.
Hiss!
Hiss! Hiss!
Within Soaring Bird City, a thick quiet shattered into a swelling wave of hisses. Gradually, the insectoids added their voices to the din. This was the noise of yielding, a hideous cheer for their fresh overlord.
Kaelen bellowed again. At once, the hordes of millipedes and beetles pivoted, tunneling into the soil or scurrying into the darkness, disappearing as swiftly as they'd emerged.
“It... it's over? Just like that?”
Aldwyn gaped at the now-deserted avenues of Soaring Bird City. He scrubbed at his eyes, struggling to comprehend what unfolded. The Insect King who'd once driven him to panicked flight was gone? And the swarm—that infinite, horrifying surge that had frozen him in dread—was now... allied with them?
The shift was so ridiculous that without seeing it himself, he wouldn't have trusted it.
“Hail the Commander!”
Leading the Second Legion's front lines, Thundar, astride his dragon mount, lifted his massive blade skyward to honor the triumphant return.
“Hail the Commander!”
Trailing Thundar, the giants recovered from their daze and added their shouts.
“Hail the Commander!”
Ultimately, the whole Second Legion exploded in cheers, their cries booming like an ocean surge.
Power forever earns admiration.
Besides, the greater Kaelen's prowess as their Vice-Commander, the more triumphs and honors the Legion would claim beneath his flag. And above all, he'd subdued the swarm.
The keener intellects in their ranks grasped right away that this would mark the Second Legion's hallmark. Backed by an endless bug horde as their spearhead, their campaign of domination would unfold without hindrance.
World of Eldoria.
Within a makeshift strategy pavilion, Tangere, Caesar, and Scarecrow waited patiently.
They, together with their individual squads, fell under Elara's oversight. As the alliance army gathered completely, the Archlords now discussed the assault plan, forcing the trio of leaders to pass the hours idly.
“Branric, that form of yours... you're basically immortal, right?”
Caesar's intrigue was plain. He'd figured “Scarecrow” as a pseudonym, or maybe a designation for Branric's kind.
Yet meeting the entity face-to-face, Caesar understood the straightforward reality: Branric truly resembled a scarecrow.
At present, Branric seemed forged from pure gold. His kind resisted hexes, shrugged off harmful conditions, and had no bodily demands such as appetite or weariness.
“Heh... it's not as impressive as you imagine,” Branric replied, wagging his gilded helm.
In a way, he mirrored the unliving. But the Scarecrow species carried drawbacks Caesar hadn't pondered.
Typical races, on reaching Lord status, wielded higher energies for flight or incantations. Scarecrows couldn't. Any elevated force Branric tried to wield got sucked into his form to preserve its cohesion.
Put simply, the Scarecrow race was unable to weave even one spell.
Branric depended wholly on his sturdy build and brute strength. He functioned as a dedicated physical fighter out of necessity. Still, thanks to his extreme solidity, his velocity and striking power were nightmarish.
“The directives won't take much longer,” Tangere cut in, redirecting talk to strategy. “Let's go over how our forces mesh.”
“My group features Plague Zombies,” Tangere went on. “They're disposable and dauntless, though I require steady organic material to restore their ranks.”
“My Sword and Shield troops specialize in holding lines,” Caesar added. “Even if they excel at fierce close-quarters rushes.”
“And Branric's Scarecrow unit resists nearly all sorcery and afflictions, functioning as heavy-hitting melee breakers,” Tangere concluded.
These formed their arsenal. Orion had included them in this venture both to guide their growth and because he relied on them to bear serious loads in combat.
As part of the Champions Alliance, Tangere recognized the gravity. Numerous mighty groups joined this conflict. To uphold his dignity and their modest group's reputation, they couldn't become the frailest part.
“This is our setup for the fight,” Tangere suggested. “I'll manage mob suppression and terrain control. Caesar, you target cutting down foe formations. Branric, you're the anchor—guarding and swiftly aiding any under threat.”
“Sound good to all?”
It represented a solid split of duties drawing from their distinct skills. Tangere commanded the Death's Threshold realm, excelling in zone lockdown and dominance. Caesar's blade work was fatal, ideal for harvesting foes. Branric's unbreakable body made him the perfect ward versus surprises and killers.
“None from me,” Caesar agreed. “I defer to you, Tangere.”
“Agreed,” Branric assented. “We act at your signal.”