A moment later, Orion vanished from the throne, leaving only the faint displacement of air in his wake.

When he reappeared, he held a sphere of shimmering, void-dark liquid in his palm. It defied gravity, swirling within itself like a contained storm.

This was the [Bloodline Awakening Pool], a tribal relic sacred to the Giants. For generations, it had been the catalyst for their power. But for the Stoneheart Horde—a chaotic amalgamation of succubi, obsidian golems, gnolls, and other heterogeneous species—it was becoming obsolete. It was a tool for a single race, useless to the diverse empire Orion was building.

It was time for an upgrade.

"Hold on tight," Orion rumbled.

He tapped his shoulder. Elara didn't hesitate; with practiced agility, she hopped up and braced herself against his collarbone, waiting for the ride.

Before she could even blink, a vortex tore open behind Orion. To Elara's senses, the world didn't just blur; it inverted. It felt as though she and Orion were being compressed, pulled through the eye of a needle into a vast inner universe.

They had entered the Divine Kingdom: the [Stratum of Asura].

When the spatial vertigo settled, they stood before a colossal structure that radiated ancient malice and majesty—the [Stoneheart Temple].

"Hail the Prime!"

"Glory to the Prime!"

The thunderous voices of the Stoneheart Titan guards shook the ground as they dropped to one knee, their armored forms creating a path of steel and reverence.

Orion nodded, acknowledging them, then gestured to the small girl on his shoulder.

"This is Elara," he announced, his voice echoing through the sanctum. "The First Daughter of the Stoneheart Horde."

It wasn't just an introduction; it was a command code. As he spoke, the ambient magical pressure of the Temple shifted, recognizing Elara not as an intruder, but as authorized kin.

Orion turned his head, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "Sweetheart, this is the Temple. Inside, you will face a [Mountain of Bones] and a [Sea of Blood]. If you can traverse them, you will have what you asked for."

He paused, the weight of the decision hanging in the air. "Do you still want to go?"

When Orion had first adopted Elara, it was a calculated move—a gamble to see if a World-Spirit could bring fortune to his territory. But over time, the calculation had dissolved into genuine affection. He loved this little spirit more than he did his own biological offspring like Pallas or Kronos. Pallas had duty; Elara had his heart.

Letting her inherit his bloodline was his way of sealing that bond permanently. If she succeeded, she wouldn't just be adopted; she would be a Titan in truth.

"Daddy, just wait right here," Elara chirped, her smile bright and fearless. "I'll be back before you know it."

She leaned in, planting a loud, sloppy kiss on his cheek. Then, with a flash of light, she teleported off his shoulder and appeared directly at the Temple's threshold. Without a second of hesitation, she stepped into the darkness.

Inside, the reality of the [Stoneheart Temple] revealed itself. It was a hellscape where the mountains were constructed of calcified skeletal remains and the oceans churned with viscous, boiling blood.

To gain the full combat form—the four heads and eight arms—one had to conquer both.

For Orion's direct descendants, this power came naturally. But for the rest of the Stoneheart Horde, this Temple was the only path to ascension. It was a brutal filter. If a gnoll or a golem wanted to become a Stoneheart Titan, they had to survive this. Success depended on will, physical durability, and bloodline compatibility. Failure meant death.

The transformation was divided into twelve stages. Each completed stage granted an additional arm or head.

Orion wasn't just indulging Elara; he was using her run as a benchmark. He needed to see how a non-giant entity processed the mutation. Elara was a World-Spirit, a being of pure elemental essence. In Orion's estimation, her genetic hierarchy was higher than most organic life, perhaps even rarer than elemental elementals.

His bloodline was forged in the Primordial Void, capable of birthing worlds. Elara's body should be the perfect vessel for it.

As Elara disappeared into the gloom, Orion looked at the sphere of dark liquid in his hand. He tossed the [Bloodline Awakening Pool] into the Temple entrance.

It was total annihilation.

The ancient relic didn't last three seconds. The Temple's overwhelming power deconstructed it instantly, turning the pool into mist, extracting its core essence and merging it into the [Sea of Blood].

Orion's ascension to Demigod status hadn't just given the Horde a protector; it had fundamentally altered their evolutionary path. The Temple would now optimize the bloodlines of his people, but only for the strong. The weak would be weeded out.

He wouldn't force anyone. But for the next few generations, the door was open. After that, becoming a Titan would require specific Battle Achievements. The free ride was ending.

As Orion contemplated the logistics of mass conversion, Elara stepped into the blood.

***

Long ago, in a dimension far removed from this one, there was a magical world known as Elementhia.

In the beginning, it was a paradise. The mana density was rich, the ecosystems vibrant. From the emerald forests to the crystalline oceans, the world was dotted with ancient ruins and vast subterranean veins of magical ore.

This abundance gave rise to five great focal points of power: [The Source of Life], [The Heart of Fire], [The Soul of Water], [The Force of Earth], and [The Wings of Hurricane].

Around these nodes, civilizations grew, evolving into the Five Great Schools of Magic.

The history of Elementhia became a history of these five factions. It was a saga of competition, ideological schisms, and blood feuds that spanned centuries. They fought over resources, over territory, and over the "correct" interpretation of mana.

By the late age of Elementhia, the endless slaughter between the Five Schools had drenched the world in death. The psychic weight of billions of unjust deaths began to pool and fester.

From this accumulation of resentment and decay, a sixth power emerged: [The Vessel of Souls].

It was the birth of Necromancy.

This new branch was the antithesis of the natural order. It stood in direct conflict with Life, Fire, Water, Earth, and Wind. Its methods were dark, bloody, and efficient.

However, the rise of Necromancy didn't unite the other five factions against a common enemy. Instead, it plunged Elementhia into absolute chaos.

As a newborn discipline, the [Vessel of Souls] was weak. It couldn't compete with the established schools in a fair fight. But the necromancers discovered a loophole. The vengeful spirits of Elementhia didn't just linger; they drifted toward the Abyss, toward Hell.

The necromancers developed a way to ride that current. They used souls as a currency, opening a line of communication with the Infernal Planes.

That was the turning point. It was also the beginning of the end.

Empowered by forbidden knowledge, the [Vessel of Souls] grew arrogant. In their maddest gambit, they constructed a massive formation, intending to summon and enslave a Lord of Hell to use as a weapon of war.

They succeeded in the summoning.

They failed in the enslaving.

The formation broke. The barrier shattered. And Elementhia drew the gaze of a Hell Lord.

Greed and destruction descended together.

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