Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1466 God of the Grave

"Maelric, drill it into your skull. You bask in the sunlight. Your task is to cleanse the impurity."

"I dwell in the darkness. My role is to record the shadows, not warn you of them."

A chilling snort came from the Commander lurking in the gloom. In each diocese, the Holy Order ran on a balanced duality: the Priesthood and the Inquisition. This setup kept them in check, preventing any one Bishop from dominating the believers or snatching the followers.

"The Inquisition isn't your cleanup crew."

The tone was icy, lacking any compassion. This wasn't a dodge; it stated plain jurisdictional truth. Besides, the Commander had always despised Maelric. Seeing the Cardinal botch his duties gave him a perverse amusement.

"Naturally, after you issue your judgment and submit the correct paperwork, we'll adhere to protocol. We'll dispatch the impure and the unbelievers with total fairness."

"Maelric, under the law's limits, we're merely a dagger in your grip."

"When has the slaughterer ever heeded advice from his tool?"

"Hahaha..."

Chuckles rang out from the dim nook as Cardinal Maelric slumped into his seat, utterly beaten.

A slaughterer's dagger. That was the simile Maelric once hurled to belittle the Inquisition. Now, the Commander had flipped it against him, wielding Maelric's own hubris to excuse his own inaction.

"Alert the High Priests from the other four Major Dioceses," Maelric murmured following a prolonged quiet. "Activate the Hall of Echoes procedure. I'll assemble the Council to rouse the Goddess and request a prophecy."

In wartime, the Inquisition had to enable messaging throughout the domain.

"As you command."

The darkness faded away, emptying the chamber. Still, the burden on Maelric's soul intensified.

"The guardians couldn't curb their avarice," he grumbled, fingers shaking. "They butchered the sheep on the sly, gorged themselves, and assured the owner the herd was secure."

"The herd is secure... heh... heh..."

"Curse this impurity... I'll wipe it clean!"

Maelric's torso rose and fell rapidly, his pulse pounding fiercely. He'd chosen his path, yet the bedrock of his existence had fractured.

"Oh, Goddess... does a shadow truly exist that the Radiance can't dispel?"

For the initial time, Maelric questioned the unyielding essence of his belief. He'd forever trusted that the Holy Radiance revealed truth, splendor, and virtue. Yet now, he perceived that amid the dazzling glow, beasts were devouring meat and gulping blood.

As the overseer of this diocese, Maelric sensed deep disorientation.

The Divine Kingdom, Stoneheart Temple.

The road to elevation proved merciless.

Against the three core lineages of the Giant Race—Stoneheart, Ironbone, and Starveil—the remaining races in the horde endured a grueling odyssey. The Obsidian Golems, the Gnolls, the Buffalofolk... for them, traversing the Stoneheart Temple meant soul-wrenching torment.

The Titan heritage birthed the giants; it privileged its kin. Aligning with Orion's line came easily to a giant, but for a beast-kin, it defied natural order.

Nevertheless, amid the torment, some hauled their shattered forms onward.

Dirtclaw, the Hell-Drake Hound, led this ordeal.

Upon entering the Stoneheart Temple initially, progress had been straightforward. Orion governed the realm's rules, preventing rejection of outsider races. Dirtclaw had advanced proudly.

But venturing further into the Sea of Blood, the inherent force of the Stoneheart Titan started infiltrating his being, striving to overhaul his core makeup.

Suffering dominated his existence.

Exhaustion gripped Dirtclaw. His awareness wavered like a fading flame.

He'd begun in Gnoll shape. When agony overwhelmed him, he transformed into Hell-Drake Hound mode for brief respite. But relief proved fleeting.

With divine blood densifying, Dirtclaw's psyche started splintering. At times, he saw himself as a hellish hound; others, a grand dragon. His form, bound by his unsteady resolve, altered wildly.

Fur yielded to scales, muzzle to maw, then reversed. Each change ripped tissues and realigned skeleton, amplifying torment twofold per cycle.

"His psyche is dissolving. Has he hit his ceiling?"

From the lofty heights of the Divine Kingdom, Orion observed.

As Stoneheart Horde's architect, he valued his followers greatly. He scrutinized the trials beneath with keen attention, especially Dirtclaw's.

Elevating from ordinary Gnoll to this stage was a wonder. Orion hoped Dirtclaw would claim further from this ordeal, expanding his strength reserves. Capturing Demigod essence would make him a vital pillar in Orion's army.

Orion had long preferred the "Mad Dog."

"Dirtclaw. Another peak looms before you. Surmount it, and you claim the chance to vie for Demigod sovereignty."

As Dirtclaw's awareness dipped toward the void of slumber, Orion's words boomed in his inner world, tolling like a divine chime.

"I... am I dreaming?"

"I heard the Master..."

"I... where's this place?"

"Right. Stoneheart Temple. I sought strength here."

Dirtclaw jolted alert, his shattered thoughts rallying to the sound.

"Another peak... I must surmount it... achieve Demigod!"

"Another peak... surmount it... Demigod!"

"..."

Focus surged back, fueling a fierce, unyielding fixation. He repeated the words endlessly, a chant shielding against the hurt.

A Demigod. An idea beyond his wildest imaginings.

Yet Orion had offered the prospect directly. How could he yield? How could he squander a rarity of millennia?

"I will surmount it... I will surmount it!"

Dirtclaw pressed on. He dashed ahead, pace quickening with frantic steps.

Yet overhead, Orion's face changed from support to astonishment.

In Orion's sight, racing forth wasn't Dirtclaw's frame. It was his essence—his spirit.

The instant his soul ignited, Dirtclaw's corporeal shell crumpled, plunging into the Sea of Blood's depths. The body melted away at once, its substance consumed by the crimson waves.

Orion had witnessed nothing like it.

He swiftly projected his godly awareness, fusing with his Kingdom's weave to probe the event.

"Divine Calling?"

"The God of the Grave?"

"Holy hell."

Astonishment seized Orion. His Divine Kingdom had spawned a god.

"No, not a full standalone deity," Orion amended as insights poured in.

"A Divine Attendant. A subordinate god with a niche domain drawn from the Abyss's broad idea. He's crafting a Divine Portfolio around 'Burial' and 'Death'."

"Essentially, Dirtclaw integrates into my Pantheon."

Orion swiftly decoded the process. Dirtclaw's determination had synced flawlessly with an open niche in the Divine Kingdom. Since Orion had framed the laws to embrace these foreign breeds, the Kingdom now fostered Dirtclaw, lifting him from mere mortal devotee to a key element of Orion's godhood.

"The God of the Grave..."

"Well, that caught me off guard."