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

Did they manage to seize Blademaster Grommash while he still breathed?

Or could his Destiny have taken a different turn?

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

It turned out to be Grommash.

"How thrilling," Orion whispered, a sly grin tugging at his lips.

He understood precisely the situation unfolding. Either he had slipped into a mirage or been drawn deep into Sylvana's recollections. Regardless, it held no importance. Be it a vision or the real world, his Demigod senses stayed sharp. Though this recollection might cap his abilities at the Legendary tier, his grasp on the principles of force let him unleash might well past ordinary boundaries.

After all, he excelled at overpowering foes stronger than himself.

Within the reenactment, half a day elapsed before 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's a shame. If I remained only at Alpha-level, I'd offer you a fair shot to duel me."

"I challenge you!"

Orion hesitated. That phrase varied. From his recollections, Grommash had shown defiance, sure, but the exact words—and the intense malice in them—had shifted.

Orion held back his response at first. He just grinned.

Right here, this Orc—who could form a Lord's Stone by pure determination—remained as unyielding as always.

Orion lifted his hand and drew a swift, slicing 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.

"Keep going," Orion commanded, his voice even. "We haven't hit five hundred."

His outlook had changed from when he first endured this scene. Previously, a spark of admiration might have stirred. Now, Grommash's resistance just irritated him.

Delilah, Onyx, and the rest shot looks at their leader. Noticing his seriousness, they picked up the dreadful task once more. It turned into a macabre contest of beheadings.

"Choose your words wisely next time you address me," Orion warned. He appeared composed, distant, and completely fearsome.

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

Blademaster Grommash's resolve stood firm, yet his tone lost its battle cry edge. It came as a rasp of clenched jaws and profound, abyssal loathing.

"I'll grant you an opportunity," Orion agreed with a nod. "But your duel must hold off until I've wiped out every Orc remaining."

Orion aimed to test if that steely determination could endure the worst. He faced his commanders.

"Prophet's command," he declared, invoking the name they recognized him by then. "Orc captives serve no purpose. Slay them every one. Give their flesh to the snow wolves and spiders."

Onyx and the group showed brief astonishment, but loyalty drove them instinctively. They set about carrying out the directive.

The horror that ensued resembled a nightmarish vision. Heads tumbled like boulders. Blood gathered, then streamed, creating a scarlet stream that wound toward Grommash's boots.

"Ahhhhhhh!"

Grommash shattered.

He lacked a heart of rock. All his deeds, each fight he'd waged, aimed to secure the Orcs' tomorrow. He battled for his Clan. Yet now, as his kin got slaughtered like animals, his unassailable faith crumbled inward.

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

That cry seemed not to emerge from a voice box. It echoed as if a Demon had seized him, born from crunching skeletal remains and a severed tongue.

Accompanied by a sickening, moist rip, Blademaster Grommash's form exploded. Chunks of skin and sinew burst forth in a horrific downpour.

Once the scarlet haze cleared, Grommash had vanished. Where he stood, suspended aloft, floated an armament.

A Bone Forged Sword.

The blade emitted a shrill, wailing cry and launched itself at Orion.

Orion made no attempt to evade. Rather, he charged ahead, intercepting the blade mid-flight and seizing its handle firmly.

Die!

As his flesh met the bone, an oppressive wave of slaughter intent wrapped around him. Grommash's essence howled from the emptiness inside.

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

"Not bad," Orion commended.

He disregarded the Blademaster's furious spirit. He brushed aside the lethal aura. With an effortless twist of his hand, he wielded the Bone-Forged Sword in a sweep.

A surge of scarlet blade-glow cleaved forth, ripping apart the ranks of awaiting captives.

BOOM!

Dozens of Orcs vanished in a flash.

"Turning your amassed slaughter aura against your own people... how entertaining," Orion chuckled ominously.

Thrum! Thrum! Thrum!

The pale Bone-Forged Sword quivered fiercely in Orion's hold. No longer did it pulse with might; it sobbed.

Orion lifted the edge once more. Yet another cut. Yet another tide of doom. Additional Orcs perished by the tool forged from their champion.

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

Through Orion's senses, the thunderous plea to Kill had faded into a feeble, pleading No.

The blade shuddered without control. The hostile crimson Transcendent Power, once assaulting Orion, withdrew, retreating into the weapon's core. The end of the ivory bone shifted to a somber, corroded crimson.

It resembled the hue of bloodstained weeping.

"Even reborn a thousandfold, you'd never rival me," Orion murmured gently to the blade.

He lingered in the midst of the slaughter, clutching the gore-smeared bone sword, gazing upon his troops' stunned expressions.

Yet prior to uttering a word, reality warped.

Orion sensed himself as a voyager yanked via a spacetime rift. Myriad visions streaked past—shades, noises, shards of eras melting into luminous trails.

Upon the realm steadying once more, Orion found himself atop a serene, lofty spot.

Sylvana positioned herself ahead of him. Her gaze held beauty, clarity, and total allure.

"The figures have changed," Sylvana uttered, her words laced with worry. "The Fate of the Beastfolk grows indistinct. The future eludes my sight."

This marked the initial statement Orion caught.

"Elder," came a response. Beside Sylvana waited the known Old Elder from the Fox Tribe. "The Beastfolk Race's path ebbs and flows. Sometimes, a prophecy falters. It's inevitable."

"Sylvana!" Orion summoned gently.

He avoided yelling. He grasped at once that neither Sylvana nor the Old Elder perceived him. In their view, he was absent.

Orion extended his arm, attempting to graze Sylvana's arm. His fingers slipped right through her as though he were vapor.

A peculiar feeling washed over him. Orion pondered whether he acted as a specter, or if they formed the phantoms.

"From the first prophecy," Sylvana went on, peering afar, "Grommash ought to have risen in this clash. Fate marked him as a top power on this land."

"I can't fathom my error."

Her sight turned to the battleground's location—the site Orion had departed—with deep reluctance etched on her face.

Soon after, prompted by the Old Elder, Sylvana climbed down the observation post. They escaped the Beastfolk's stronghold.

Orion observed her fading silhouette, deep in contemplation. Thus, Grommash's altered actions signaled a break from the path Sylvana had predicted.

Ere he delved deeper into it, the vision fractured like brittle crystal.

Back into the swirling mosaic of eras he got drawn.

On this occasion, he floated in emptiness for an extended stretch. Vision resurfaced at last, blurry, ethereal, and dim.

A realm cloaked in gloom it was.

A pair of azure specters clashed fiercely.

Initially, Orion observed with cool curiosity. But with passing moments, the specters' actions resonated with a sense of recognition buried in his instincts.

"That's... me?"

He beheld the azure forms collide, their ripples mute yet strikingly ruinous.

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