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 town's oppressive silence.

Shadows detached themselves from the darkness of the tree line. Dozens of figures, draped in black robes and moving with an eerie, unnatural stillness, drifted onto the streets of Nightfall. They flowed like smoke—intangible, silent, and carrying the scent of death.

Then, the sound arrived.

Snap. Hiss.

A single spark ignited a roar. Torches flew through the air as oil was poured. One building caught fire, then a second, and soon a dozen were ablaze. The wind surged, fueling the conflagration until the flames danced like a sentient, wicked spirit.

The quiet was shattered. Screams pierced the air, mingling with the crackle of burning timber.

The black-robed figures didn't shout or run; they conducted their work with chilling efficiency. Iron blades glinted in the firelight while daggers found their marks. There was no room for hesitation or negotiation. They moved like demons reaping a harvest of souls.

Blood coated the stone slabs of the streets, collecting in the gutters and flowing thick and dark, resembling oil.

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

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

As daybreak arrived, the first gray rays of light revealed the extent of the ruin. Aina climbed down from the trees and stepped into the smoldering wreckage. Ascending a pile of rubble—the remains of a shattered wall—she surveyed the slaughter.

"I declare the ritual complete," her voice echoed, cutting through the haze of smoke. "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 crawling up from the abyss. We feed on injustice. We spit on their righteousness. We embrace the dark."

Aina pulled back her hood to reveal her breathtaking, beautiful face. Holding a statuette of a Titan high toward the sky, she appeared like a dark saintess delivering a new gospel to the world.

"They sell us fantasies of hope," she shouted. "But we are the ones who strangle those fantasies in their cribs. We are the sins the world tried to flush away."

Even Orion, slumbering in his distant domain, likely never envisioned 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 will no longer be Nightfall. Death and terror will rule here. This will be a Paradise for the exiled, the heretics, and the damned."

Her eyes burned with a fanatical intensity.

"I christen this place: Grimm."

As she cried out the name, a new object manifested in her hand—a small, swirling orb of darkness. It was the [Eye of the Storm].

It had cost her every credit traded on the Ember Exchange and everything she had earned in the Tower Defense World, but the price was worth it.

She tossed the sphere into the air.

Immediately, the wind began to howl. The Eye expanded, birthing a colossal tornado that swallowed the newly named town of Grimm. Thick, black fog billowed from the storm's heart, cloaking the land for hundreds of miles in every direction.

"Do you hear it?" Aina screamed over the roar of the gale. "In the dark and the wind, a voice from Hell is roaring! It comes from the deep! It comes from fear itself!"

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

"We struggled in the dark! We saw no hope in our despair!"

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

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

"We will overturn this world in our own way! We will build our own order! Our own kingdom!"

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

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

Titanion Realm, Stoneheart City

Upon his throne, Orion's eyes snapped open.

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

He could sense them—thousands of consciousnesses wailing inside the sphere of energy. They were not entirely gone; their sheer terror preserved them in a state of semi-awareness.

Orion observed the energy for a moment. He did not crush them, nor did he consume them for a fleeting burst of power. Instead, he swept his hand toward the Stoneheart Temple within his Divine Kingdom.

"Be cleansed."

The souls were cast into the temple's sanctum. There, their memories and traumas would be stripped away. Washed clean, they would be reborn within his realm as his most loyal petitioners, providing him with the purest form of faith.

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

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

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

Is this what it feels like to be a God?

He curled his fingers, feeling the tether.

Not bad.

He closed his eyes once more. Aina had paid the price; now, he had to provide the reward. He needed to grant her something that would cement her authority, something that would transform that mob of criminals into an army of believers.

Eldoria World, Grimm (formerly Nightfall)

"We do not fear pain, for pain is the source of strength! We do not fear death, for death is only the beginning!"

"We..."

Aina was perspiring. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the Titan statue.

She was running out of things to say and found herself repeating her words.

The gathering of murderers, bandits, and dark mages surrounding her was becoming restless. They were predators, and she could see the shift in their gaze. If the 'God' did not respond soon, they wouldn't bow to her—they would tear her apart.

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

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

The voice did not descend from the heavens. It resonated inside their skulls, vibrating through their very bones. It was ancient, majestic, and terrifyingly heavy.

It was the voice of a higher power.

Aina nearly slumped over with relief. The murderous tension in the air vanished, replaced by absolute terror and awe.

But Orion was not finished.

A pulse of crimson energy erupted from the statue in Aina's hand. It swept over the crowd like a shockwave.

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

"Argh!"

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

Men doubled over as their spines elongated with sickening cracks. Muscles bulged, ripping through clothing. Skin hardened into a hide like rock. Some sprouted tusks, while others grew a third arm from their ribcages.

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

This was Corruption.

Orion was forcing his power into their veins through sheer strength. He was overcharging their biological systems with Titan energy. It provided them with immediate, terrifying power, but the cost was absolute and irreversible.

They were burning the candle at both ends with a flamethrower. They would be formidable monsters for a time, but eventually, their potential would be spent, and their souls and life force would return to Orion.

It was a cold-blooded tactic, a favorite method of the Curse Avatar from eras past.

But to the desperate mob in Grimm, feeling the surge of impossible strength coursing through their bodies... it felt like a blessing.