Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1400 Sacrificial ritual

Eldoria. The Realm of Grimm.

Many poets claim that personal growth resembles starlight, requiring one to withstand the chilling emptiness of space before gleaming brightly at the break of a fresh tomorrow.

Aina dismissed such notions as utter nonsense.

For her, true advancement had nothing to do with mere perseverance; it centered on nurturing the Blood Curse Tree that towered in front of her. Rather than awaiting celestial signs, she nourished the earth daily with newly spilled blood, urging the gnarled roots to absorb it greedily.

And on this day, beneath the faint glow of dawn, the tree had finally produced its first blossom.

Aina grinned. This felt like a promising sign.

"Your Holiness," a gentle voice interrupted her thoughts. "Everything is ready. The parade is waiting for you and the Idol."

Aina drew in a long breath, relishing the iron-tinged, sugary aroma of the blood-red bloom one final time before stepping back. Two attendants lingered behind her, their heads lowered, alerting her to the planned events.

"It appears the four Divine Envoys of Hellscream are growing restless."

Aina pivoted, her expression blending holy serenity with chilling menace.

The so-called "Celebration" served merely as a courteous term for slaughter. It represented a vast, systematic offering of lives.

Due to the enchanted tempest that enveloped their lands, tales of Grimm had swept through the continent like a rampant illness. The area had become a taboo territory, drawing in the hopeless and the bold alike. Bands of mercenaries, fame-hungry explorers, and even frontline units from the pompous Holy Orders had all converged here.

Yet the gale showed no favoritism. Everyone met the same grim end.

The parade guided her to the Sacrificial Plaza, the latest feature in Grimm's shadowy structures, standing proudly beside the Windmill Keep, the Slaughterhouse, and Crow's Cabin as a key element of their haven.

Clad in a graceful white robe, her demeanor calm and composed, Aina embodied the perfect image of a Saintess. She made her way down the stone stairs, capturing the attention of countless Hellscream followers.

At the plaza's bottom—a huge, bowl-like hollow—rested the "visitors."

"See all these sweet little lambs," Aina murmured fondly.

She leaned forward, her hand gently outlining the chin of a warrior woman positioned close to the rim. The fighter possessed cropped hair, sun-kissed complexion, and refined traits. She appeared utterly at rest.

"Resting so peacefully," Aina murmured. "The mighty Stoneheart God will cherish you."

Then, laughter escaped her lips.

It wasn't the refined giggle of high society. Instead, it came as a sharp, frenzied howl fitting for a sorceress from the darkest abysses. The sound rang out harshly, laced with malice, and completely wild.

"Prior to starting," Aina declared, her words carrying effortlessly, "we shall honor the Slumber Plague. It stands as the barrier protecting Grimm!"

She performed an elaborate bow toward the empty sky.

Along the plaza's edge, Grimm's inhabitants echoed her action—some inclining their heads, others removing their caps. This served as an expression of gratitude toward Tangere, the potion master.

The Slumber Plague marked his crowning achievement. Invaders crossing the Eye of the Storm caught it right away. Following a three-day wait, victims plunged into unconsciousness. Attempting to rouse them by force? Their forms would melt away.

It formed the ideal snare. Aina cherished it deeply.

"Brothers and sisters," Aina called out, striding to the main platform. "We stand in a holy instant. Today, we present our offering to the Stoneheart God."

She positioned the Orion figurine upon the black stone table and pressed her palms together.

"The Stoneheart fuels our might. It steadies our souls."

"His command knows no bounds. In the face of offerings, blessings follow."

"May we embrace his command with awe and extend his rule across every inch of this realm. To all who crave strength: beseech him. Give your gift, and your wishes will come true."

Aina's eyes scanned the surrounding circle of the plaza. Numerous individuals there counted as fresh members—wretched people who had aligned with Hellscream yet held back full loyalty. This ceremony would forge the unbreakable link tying them to the cause indefinitely.

Her view dropped to the heaps of thousands of forms piled like firewood at the funnel's core.

"Kharos. Raveth. Ashkar. Eryx." Aina's tone grew authoritative. "Come forward."

Four shapes stepped out from the throng, their cheeks glowing with zealous eagerness. They advanced down the stairs to stand beside her.

"Through the Stoneheart's decree," Aina stated boldly, "Hellscream demands four supports. The four Divine Envoys."

"Kharos! The Phantom of the East!"

"Raveth! The Shadow of the West!"

"Ashkar! The Scourge of the South!"

"Eryx! The Iron of the North!"

With every title invoked, the matching fighter moved to their assigned direction encircling the altar.

"Join me in prayer," Aina ordered. "Give your total devotion. Allow the exalted Stoneheart to behold us and bestow his favor!"

As the vast assembly of devotees lowered their heads together, Aina activated the offering ceremony.

HUMMMMMM.

A profound hum shook the ground. Scarlet illumination burst from the symbols etched across the plaza's surface, forming a gigantic, rotating pattern focused on the altar.

The impact on those asleep struck without delay.

It felt like unseen fingers had seized them. Flows of life force—shining and ghostly—started streaming from their eyes, nostrils, and lips. Their frames shrank swiftly, flesh clinging to skeletons, tissues dissolving, until they collapsed into powder.

Even their essences were yanked howling from their shells, drawn toward some hidden realm.

"No... stop! You monsters! This is a sacrifice of the living!"

"Mercy! No! I give up!"

"Flee! We need to escape now!"

Cries of torment rose from the mound.

Not all had succumbed completely to the plague's hold. Certain ones, shielded by relics or raw determination, had pretended to slumber, biding time for flight. The rite now shattered their safeguards.

Their tortured shrieks bounced around the plaza's barriers.

None among Hellscream stirred. No one showed concern.

The followers fixated solely on the potential gains. They stared at the altar eagerly, hoping the powerful being beyond would approve the exchange.

Ten thousand souls.

Fifteen minutes passed before the yells ceased and the final remains became dust.

A hush enveloped Grimm.

Next, the enchanted array faded. Every gaze locked onto the Orion statue.

PULSE.

A surge of thick, red radiance detonated from the icon. It caused no harm; rather, it flowed over the Hellscream devotees like a soothing current, seeping through their flesh and filling them with potent, exhilarating energy.