Titan King: Ascension of the Giant - Chapter 1200

Chapter 1200: The Unhallowed

“Lord Valacar, Mosela Citadel is… something else,” Orion said, his tone a mix of sincerity and admiration. “Its scale is staggering. Humbling. This is the most civilized place I’ve seen since I first set foot in the Abyss.”

This wasn’t just flattery. Seven parts truth, three parts envy, Orion thought. In his eyes, a fortress like Mosela Citadel, perfectly balancing offense and defense, was the only true way to anchor power in a place like this.

“Your praise makes the long years of effort feel worthwhile, Orion,” Valacar replied, a genuine warmth in his voice. “I wouldn’t call it ‘civilization,’ but there is order here. And I have given every race that lives within these walls a fighting chance.”

They sat across from each other in a grand dining hall within the palace. By revealing a sliver of his own philosophy, Valacar was closing the distance between them. Orion’s choice to arrive with only a small retinue was a clear statement of his intentions, and Valacar, ancient and shrewd, was no fool. The moment he’d received Orion’s confirmation, he had prepared to welcome him as an equal.

“A fighting chance?” Orion’s interest was piqued. This was the first time he’d ever heard the practice of keeping other races as slaves and cattle described as an act of mercy.

“You may not realize it, Lord Orion, but The Crimson Plain is not nearly as stable as it appears.”

Orion said nothing, instead raising his goblet in a silent toast, his expression one of rapt attention. Valacar took a sip of his own drink. It was clear from their earlier conversation that Orion was a powerful being from a world outside the Abyss. His ignorance of its deeper rules and esoteric secrets was to be expected. Orion hadn’t tried to hide it, either. If he hadn’t come from the outside, he wouldn’t be on a campaign of conquest, recruiting followers as he went.

“Tell me, Orion, have you ever heard of the Font of Malice?”

Orion shook his head.

“Or… the Unhallowed?”

Valacar offered another unfamiliar term. Again, Orion shook his head. The guest’s candid lack of knowledge made Valacar realize he would have to start from the very beginning.

“Then do you know how the Abyss itself came to be?”

“It’s a cosmic sewer, right?” Orion offered the most common theory. “A nexus for all the negative energy and dark emotions from countless other worlds.”

Valacar nodded, then shook his head. “Positive? Negative?” he asked, a knowing, world-weary smile on his face. Before Orion could answer, he continued, “Are the worlds outside the Abyss truly free of sin? No. They are full of it. In many ways, their evils are more insidious, more venomous, for how well they are hidden. Light casts a shadow. Does it not?”

Orion nodded, conceding the point. He raised his goblet and drained it in a single motion, a gesture of respect for Valacar’s insight.

Valacar’s smile deepened. The power and intellect of the man before him was a source of genuine pleasure, a feeling he had rarely experienced since becoming an archlord, and almost never after his ascension to demigod. In that state, his existence had been an endless cycle of slumber. He felt a strange kinship with Orion, the illusion of an old friend, a kindred spirit. They were equals in power, in station, and it seemed, in worldview. They could easily be friends. For now, at least.

“So you see, for those of us who dwell here, everything in the Abyss is the light,” Valacar said, his voice taking on a new intensity. “The blood moon in the firmament, the crimson mists in the air, the abyssal beasts of The Crimson Plain… every breath we take, every speck of soil, is our light. We, the denizens of this place, do not accept the narrative of ‘negative energy.’ It is a consensus.”

It was also a warning. Valacar was telling Orion that if he planned to make a home in the Abyss, he had to learn to love it. This was their home, not some dumping ground for cosmic sin. For a Demon, the Abyss was paradise.

“And if we, and our world, are the light,” Valacar’s voice dropped, circling back to his original point, “then the Unhallowed… they are the true darkness.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.

“The sky is about to fall on The Crimson Plain, Orion. If you intend to remain here on the Fifth Layer of the Abyss, I suggest you establish your own fortress, and quickly.”

A chill, a primal sense of danger, washed over Orion. It was pure instinct, but at his level of power, instinct was rarely wrong.

“And if you intend to continue your conquest upward,” Valacar added, his tone now impossibly casual, “then your time is running short.”

He refilled Orion’s empty goblet as he spoke. “This blood wine is brewed from the essences of over a hundred abyssal species. It has a rather poetic name: Fathomless.”

Whether by design or not, Valacar had cut off the critical topic to introduce the vintage they were drinking.

A slow smile crept across Orion’s lips. He understood the game. Valacar was using this esoteric lecture to probe him, to ask about his origins, his race, without asking directly. It was clear the vampire demigod wasn’t one to give away information for free. He had shared much, and now he expected something of equal value in return.

“Fathomless… ” Orion mused, swirling the dark liquid. “It’s a fine vintage,” he said, before downing the entire goblet. “But the recipe… you used the wrong vintage of one particular ingredient.”

Then, to Valacar’s astonishment, Orion pursed his lips and expelled a single, shimmering thread of blood-red energy onto the stone table.

For a being of Orion’s power, on the verge of becoming a demigod of the giant tribe, isolating the potent essence from the wine was a simple matter.

Orion stated, his voice flat. “It overwhelms the palate. It doesn’t belong in a blend this smooth.”

Valacar smiled. A brilliant man, this Orion. He had understood the question perfectly.

“Thank you for the advice, Orion. I will be sure to have the ingredient replaced.”

Orion gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t some bleeding heart. The Shadowabyss giants in Mosela Citadel did not represent all of their kind, let alone all giant tribes. Some branches of giant-kin ruled as kings in the Abyss; others had fallen into slavery. Some had been cast out of the Abyss entirely.

And Orion had no doubt that his own ancestors, from the Stoneheart clan, were among the exiled.