The expansion of the micro-world hit a critical threshold, and Orion realized it was time. If he didn't act now, he would become a disembodied cosmic entity—a shapeless god of creation, omnipotent but intangible.

He needed a vessel.

It was a paradoxical genesis.

Orion's body wasn't being formed inside the new world, nor was it birthed from the World Tree. Instead, his physical form was coalescing in the Primordial Void itself, outside the World Tree. He was wrapping his body around the new world, becoming its living shield and container.

This process was excruciating.

To forge a body in the Primordial Void was an act of supreme hubris. Under normal circumstances, this level of bodily reconstruction was reserved for entities at the Sixth Stage of Demigodhood—patrons as esteemed as Commander Thresh.

But Orion was an anomaly. He wasn't a Sixth Stage powerhouse. He wasn't even Fifth Stage. He was a Demigod neophyte attempting to build a god-tier chassis from scratch.

In the swirling chaos of the Void, a silhouette began to form around the World Tree. A phantom of immense proportions—four heads, eight arms. A Titan.

It was just an outline, a sketch in the ether. To make it real would require eons of energy.

Fortunately, time was on his side. The World Tree's roots had plunged deep into the fabric of chaos, siphoning pure, raw energy. Orion just had to wait for the tree to refine that chaos into the building blocks of his new existence. His new body would not be flesh and blood; it would be forged from chaos itself.

"Wait... this isn't just a Giant anymore."

As Orion mentally sculpted his form, a realization struck him. He had sacrificed his original flesh. He was no longer bound by the biological limits of a Giant.

He was building something new. He was taking the foundation of his Giant bloodline and evolving it. He wasn't just growing; he was ascending.

"I am Orion Stoneheart. I am the Hulk. The blood of my parents flows through me."

The declaration rang out in his mind, a confirmation of his soul and lineage.

"I am a Stoneheart Titan!"

The phantom form, still unstable, vibrated with the force of his will.

From this moment on, the "Asura Titan Form" was obsolete. In the Primordial Void, the phantom shifted, solidifying into something unique.

Orion had become the first Stoneheart Titan.

WAAAGH!

It was an epiphany. It was a roar that shattered the silence of the Void.

Titanion Realm. The Northern Bastion of Menethis.

Deep within the fortress, in a plush guest chamber, Pallas jolted awake. He sat bolt upright, sweat beading on his forehead.

He had heard it—a roar from the depths of chaos, echoing in the very marrow of his bones.

"Daddy!"

The word left his lips before he could stop it. He didn't know why, but he felt his father's presence. It was as if Orion was roaring from inside Pallas's own chest.

But when he tried to focus on the feeling, it vanished. The connection severed as quickly as it had appeared.

"Pallas, what's wrong?"

Space warped, and Elara appeared at the foot of his bed.

Few people knew that Elara, as a World-Spirit, didn't sleep. Her reserves of mental energy were limitless. For her, sleep wasn't rest; it was just putting herself in standby mode. She monitored everything, always.

"Sis... I think I had a nightmare," Pallas mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "But I can't remember it. It's... blurry."

He flopped back onto the pillows, pulling the blanket up. He ignored Elara's sudden appearance. He was used to his sister popping in and out of reality like a glitch in the matrix.

"A nightmare?"

Elara tilted her head. The concept was alien to her. Since gaining sentience, she had never dreamed.

Seeing that Pallas was physically unharmed, she shook her head and vanished, leaving the room as silently as she had entered.

The North. Blackstone City.

War had come to the Black Forest.

Under the cover of night, a siege was underway. Kronos stood on the battlements, looking down at the sea of enemies below. The invaders were relentless—well-armored, disciplined, and charging the gates with the ferocity of a tidal wave.

But to Kronos, they looked like lemmings jumping off a cliff.

He had heard stories of the Stoneheart Horde's power, but seeing it was different.

When he arrived at Blackstone City, he saw the Bloodline Warriors marching out of Moonshadow Valley. Thousands of them, clad in bone armor, their killing intent so thick it felt like a physical weight.

The sight was awe-inspiring. It was also confusing.

If the Stoneheart Horde was this powerful, why were the enemies even at the gates?

"Prince Kronos, you look puzzled."

The voice came from beside him. It was Dirtclaw, the legendary Gnoll hero. He was one of the esteemed patrons overseeing this theater of war. Since Kronos had arrived, Dirtclaw hadn't let the boy out of his sight.

"Sir Dirtclaw," Kronos asked, "if we're this strong... why did we let them get this close? Why didn't we crush them days ago?"

Kronos respected Dirtclaw immensely. Even growing up away from the Horde, he had been raised on bedtime stories of the Gnoll's exploits.

"The Horde's territory is vast," Dirtclaw explained, his tone serious and professorial. "Chasing rats through the forest is inefficient. It's better to let them gather in one place—a trap—and then exterminate them all at once. Efficient. Clean."

Dirtclaw sounded convincing. But it was a lie.

The truth was simple: this entire war was a test. A test for Kronos.

Cleaning up these invaders would have been trivial for a regular Horde army. A single patrol could have wiped them out. But the High Council and Lilith needed data. They needed to see Kronos in action.

They needed to assess his combat prowess, his leadership, his mental resilience, and most importantly, his loyalty. Did he fight like a mercenary, or did he fight like a Stoneheart?

They needed to know if he had the heart of a King.

"I see," Kronos nodded slowly. "That makes sense."

WAAAGH!

Suddenly, a sound erupted from within Kronos's own body. A soul-shaking roar that nearly brought him to his knees.

"This is..."

Kronos's eyes went wide. His expression shifted from confusion to shock, and then to a flicker of primal fear.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Dirtclaw stepped forward instantly, his hand hovering near his weapon. He scanned the perimeter.

Dirtclaw knew there were no Arch Lord level threats in the vicinity. He was certain of it.

Why? Because hidden deep within the city, fueled by a constant stream of Faith Energy, a Slaughter Tyrant—a biological superweapon—was silently watching over them. Nothing could get past it.

So what had spooked the Prince?

***

After more than a year, our Orion has finally ascended to Titan—just in time for Christmas. I hope this makes for a gift you'll enjoy. Wishing everyone a Merry Christmas Eve.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.