Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1496 Meat Grinder

Broodmother Myxara relied solely on her silence as her final line of defense.

Where Dirtclaw favored raw, explosive violence, Gustalon operated with chilling precision. He was detached and methodical, behaving less like a warrior and more like a surgeon wielding a gale as his blade.

Abruptly, the raging hurricane that had been assaulting the hive ceased. All movement in the air halted.

To Myxara, this sudden stillness signaled a retreat. Perhaps he has reached his limit, she thought, clinging to a fading glimmer of hope. Maybe Eryndor has successfully broken through outside, forcing them to call off the siege.

Yet, the Wormholes Realm did not remain quiet for long. The wind didn't return as a crushing wall; instead, it materialized as thousands of lethal needles.

Pressurized, needle-thin streams of air shot up from the floor of the cavern. Rather than colliding with the protective insect-vortex Myxara had organized, they infused themselves within it, blending into the very flow she had created.

Myxara watched through her compound eyes, her vision sharpening in horror as the tactical plan dawned on her.

She let out a piercing shriek, attempting to retract her commands and break the formation.

Her efforts were in vain.

Gustalon had taken command of the wind currents within the tunnel. By hijacking the momentum of the swarm, he weaponized their own formation against them. In a heartbeat, he accelerated the air current far beyond the flight speed of the insects, forcing the air to solidify into a storm of spinning, counter-rotating blades.

Caught off guard, the swarm lost its stability as gravity lost its grip. They were dragged helplessly into the hyper-accelerated slipstream.

This was no longer a battle; it had transformed into an industrial shredder.

The air took on a crimson hue. Myxara looked on as her children were pulverized, their severed limbs and crushed carapaces raining down like hail. The defensive cyclone had become a meat grinder, and Gustalon had just flipped the switch.

In the span of a single breath, nearly the entire swarm was liquidated.

SCREEEEEE!

The sound that erupted from Myxara was devoid of rage; it was a screech of pure, undiluted terror.

Her cry echoed through the tunnel exits, a desperate summons for her mate, the Insect King Eryndor, who was struggling for survival outside.

However, as the sound left her, the blood-stained hurricane collapsed inward. The wind blades, now dripping with the ichor of her kin, bore down upon Myxara.

I told you, Gustalon’s voice resonated through the carnage, calm and uncaring. Submit and live. You chose to take the difficult path.

High above, in the open sky.

For Eryndor and Dirtclaw, this clash was a trial of strength. They were testing the boundaries of their newly attained power, launching strikes that fractured the air itself as they measured their own limits against one another.

Just as Eryndor shattered a restrictive barrier fashioned by Dirtclaw, the sound of Myxara’s final scream drifted up from the depths of the earth.

Eryndor’s expression drained of color. He pivoted, abandoning the duel to dive back toward the Wormholes Realm.

Going somewhere? Dirtclaw didn't block his path with force; instead, he casually materialized in the air directly in front of Eryndor, a cruel grin splitting his face.

If you are rushing back for a rescue, do not bother. It is far too late.

Dirtclaw rolled his shoulders, feigning a relaxed stretch. My brother Gustalon... he is an elemental, after all. When it comes to pest control, no one on this continent is faster. Well, with the exception of My Lord Orion.

Dirtclaw’s tone was goading, carrying the arrogance of a bully who knew exactly how to provoke his target. His expression made his intent clear: he hadn't engaged in this battle just to win; he had fought to keep Eryndor occupied while his wife perished.

If you return now, you will not find a queen. You will find nothing but mulch, Dirtclaw mused, tapping his chin. Actually, likely just soup. Minced meat is hard to define as meat anymore, right?

He was playing with fire, and Eryndor was a bed of dry tinder soaked in oil.

Myxara... Myxara...

Exhaling a mouthful of golden vitality blood, Eryndor tilted his head back and let out a howl at the heavens.

Regret flooded his mind. If he had only guarded the entrance... if he hadn't allowed his ego to draw him into the open...

His grief was short-lived. As Eryndor lowered his head, the sorrow vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp madness.

You... It was you... ALL OF THIS WAS YOU!

His hatred was absolute. Eryndor no longer just sought to kill Dirtclaw; he wanted to dismantle him. He wanted to strip the skin from the Gnoll’s frame and devour him agonizingly, piece by piece, to silence the screaming in his own mind.

Me? Yes, it was me, Dirtclaw replied with a shrug, performing a mocking dance in the air. He radiated the sadistic confidence of a true apex predator, taunting the Archlord. You cannot catch me, you cannot kill me, and you will never have your revenge.

Eryndor finally snapped. His sanity shattered.

I WILL CONSUME YOU!

The body of the Insect King began to convulse and expand. Abandoning the efficient, humanoid shape of the Archlord, he reverted to a primal state, amplified by the dark power of his recent ascension. He traded away his intellect for raw, monstrous dominance.

A gargantuan insectoid beast, exceeding a thousand feet in length, erupted into the sky. Its maw, wider than a city gate, was lined with rows of serrated spikes that gnashed together like a trash compactor. Its head, a cluster of compound eyes, surveyed the world in every direction.

Thousands of legs, sharp as spears and armored in obsidian chitin, pulsed along its torso. Dragon-like bone spikes protruded along its spine, reflecting a cold, metallic sheen.

It was a nightmare incarnate.

Yet, standing before this monster, Dirtclaw did not falter.

There was a time when he had been nothing more than fodder, a grunt looking up at such beasts from the mud and hoping not to be crushed.

Things had changed. He possessed the strength now. He belonged in this rank.

A wave of adrenaline surged through Dirtclaw’s veins. This is epic, he thought. This is where legends are forged.

He could sense the vast reservoir of faith energy swirling within the beast. Eryndor had fused his physical form with his Body of Faith; destroying this monster meant finishing the Archlord for good. It would be the ultimate offering to My Lord.

Come then! Dirtclaw roared, his voice rattling the passing clouds. It has been a long time since I tore someone apart with my bare hands!

In the past, Dirtclaw’s zenith was the form of the Hell-Drake Hound—a creature of fire and fang.

But he had moved beyond that. He needed to test this new vessel.

Dirtclaw’s frame began to swell, mimicking the giantification magic he had witnessed. Within seconds, he matched the titan insect in scale.

He did not transform into a hound. He remained Dirtclaw. He remained a Gnoll. But as he grew, massive, blade-like talons erupted from his fingers. He appeared less like a dog and more like a god of war clad in iron and fur.

ROAR!

Dirtclaw launched himself like a thunderbolt, slamming directly into the monstrosity.

The ensuing struggle was a display of brutal, close-quarters destruction.

Dirtclaw’s blade-claws blurred, carving deep furrows into the chitin. The giant insect’s mandibles clamped down, its thousand legs stabbing like pistons while its stinger struck with venomous precision.

There were no spells or tricks here. Only blood, heat, and the violent clash of two living mountains.

When they finally broke apart, Dirtclaw retreated, breathing heavily.

The blades extending from his knuckles glowed red-hot from the heat of the friction, their edges chipped and jagged.

He frowned. Despite the ferocity of his assault, the titan insect remained standing.

Dirtclaw had severed the beast's torso multiple times and sheared off dozens of limbs, but the flesh refused to yield. The severed segments writhed and snapped back to the main body, knitting themselves together in a matter of seconds.

As the limbs reattached, the beast absorbed them, appearing even more dense, enraged, and potent than before.