When Orion first placed the Slaughter Tyrant, the biological construct was already punching at an Alpha-level weight class.

But that was years ago.

Fueled by the exponential growth of the Stoneheart Horde and fed a steady diet of Faith Energy, the Slaughter Tyrant had evolved. It was now a bona fide Arch Lord.

It was one of the Horde's best-kept secrets.

Sure, it had limitations—it was tethered to Blackstone City and its power fluctuated with the reserve of Faith Energy—but as a defensive trump card, it was terrifying. If an enemy Arch Lord had stepped foot near the northern territories, the Slaughter Tyrant would have already been active, its kill-protocols engaged.

So, Dirtclaw was certain. Whatever fear Kronos was feeling, it wasn't coming from an external threat.

"I... I just thought I..." Kronos stammered, his face pale. "Never mind."

He swallowed the words. How could he say it?

Hey, Sir Dirtclaw, I think I just heard my dad roaring inside my spleen.

Yeah, right. Dirtclaw would think he was cracking under the pressure. Everyone would.

"Relax, kid. It's just pre-game jitters," Dirtclaw said, misinterpreting the hesitation.

"Don't be intimidated by the light show out there. Those xenos love their flashy magic, but most of it is just fireworks."

Dirtclaw gestured toward the horizon, where the Northern Coalition mages were unleashing a kaleidoscope of elemental spells—firestorms, ice spikes, lightning chains. To a veteran like Dirtclaw, it was all flash, no bang.

He scanned the battlefield one last time with his senses. Still clear.

"Go on, Your Highness," Dirtclaw said, his voice hardening into a command. "Lead your men. Slaughter every invader that dares to stand on our land."

"Yes, sir!"

Kronos gripped his trident, his knuckles white. He straightened his spine, pushing down the confusion, and let the warrior instinct take over.

He charged into the fray.

This was his stage. Every swing of his weapon, every kill, every tactical decision would be recorded by the Bloodline Warriors. They would carry stories of his deeds back to the Horde.

He was a Prince of the Giants. He refused to be outshined by his younger brother, Pallas. Everyone was watching. His mother. His father.

Pallas is probably dealing with the same crap down south, Kronos thought with a grim smirk as he cleaved through an enemy shield wall.

Champions Alliance. Blade's Edge Peak.

High atop the wind-swept peak, Caelus was practicing his sword swing.

Down, up. Down, up.

He had been repeating this single, monotonous motion for over a decade.

His Master, Commander Thresh, sat in a nearby tent, watching him with a lazy eye. The Commander's philosophy was simple: when Caelus could cut through anything with a simple chop—when the concept of "defense" became irrelevant—then, and only then, would his training be complete.

So, for ten years, Caelus chopped.

WAAAGH!

As Caelus began the downward arc of his blade, a Titan's roar detonated inside his body.

Unlike his brothers, Caelus didn't flinch. He didn't panic. He froze mid-swing, not in fear, but in recognition. He closed his eyes, listening to the resonance in his blood, savoring the familiar frequency.

"Master, did you hear that?"

Caelus turned to look at the Commander. Thresh was reclining on a pile of furs, a drinking horn halfway to his mouth. For the first time in years, the old warrior looked genuinely surprised.

"I heard it," the Commander grunted, taking a long swig.

"It sounded like... Dad," Caelus said, his voice quiet but certain.

"Yeah. That was him."

Thresh wiped his mouth, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "That was a resonance of the soul and bloodline. It's a precursor to a Bloodline Feedback. Your father has stepped into the realm of Demigods."

He paused, tapping a finger against the horn. "But his situation is... unique. The feedback loop hasn't fully closed yet."

Thresh's mind raced, piecing together the metaphysical puzzle.

He sacrificed his physical form to become a Seed. He survived the chaos of the Primordial Void. The soul resonance means the Seed has germinated—he's become a World Tree.

So why the delay?

Is his body not ready? Is he trying to forge a vessel outside the tree?

Thresh's intuition was razor-sharp. He was almost dead on. He just couldn't have predicted the sheer audacity of Orion trying to build a body from raw chaos in the Void itself.

"Master," Caelus said, sheathing his blade. "I want to go back."

"So go," Thresh shrugged, waving a dismissive hand. "Door's that way."

Thresh didn't believe in leashes. He had never forced Caelus to come to Blade's Edge Peak. The boy showed up every day because he wanted to. Passion was a better teacher than discipline.

"I will return to visit you soon, Master."

Caelus bowed deeply. He pulled a crystal bottle of wine from his storage ring and placed it respectfully on the table.

Thresh watched his disciple descend the mountain, his eyes lingering on the bottle.

"Orion gave him this?" Thresh muttered, picking it up. "Or is the kid a Survivor too?"

The wine was from the Survivor's Platform. Thresh was curious how Caelus had gotten his hands on it.

He was overthinking it.

The wine came from the Mysterious Shop, a forgotten building sitting next to the Silent Goblet tavern in the Horde's territory.

Orion had built it years ago. It generated three random items every month in exchange for crystals. Most of the time, it spat out junk. Orion had gotten bored with the gacha mechanics and handed the keys to Delilah.

When Caelus was born, Delilah had passed ownership of the shop to him as a gift.

The Horde leadership had a different approach with Caelus. They knew the Horde's wealth and power meant nothing to him. Trying to shackle him with leadership responsibilities would only slow him down.

They didn't want him to rule the Horde; they wanted him to outgrow it. They wanted him to become a Titan who could protect them from the heavens.

So, while Elara and Pallas were loved, Caelus was favored. He got whatever he wanted, no questions asked.

Emerald Dream Realm. Chaos Continent.

High above the clouds, a massive, translucent butterfly glided silently through the air.

It approached the shimmering barrier of Phoenix Butterfly Ridge. Instead of being repelled, it passed through the shield as if it weren't there.

"Who goes there?" a sentry shouted from below.

Then, the realization hit.

"It's the Young Master! The Young Master has returned!"

"Alert the Matriarch! He's back!"

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