In the titan’s vast experience, kin who survived the second-stage possessed either god-given physical fortitude or priceless protective artifacts.
Yet, to witness someone like Orion, shielding himself with a demigod’s phantom will—this was an absolute first.
"By the hammer’s heart, I summon thy spirit!"
The titan’s gathering of power reached its zenith. The colossal warhammer swelled once more, crashing down with the weight of a collapsing sky.
At that exact moment, Orion’s Death-Soul tentacle avatar and the mysterious crystals floating in the void fused perfectly, dissolving into a pool of shimmering liquid.
Simultaneously, Orion’s demigod will melded entirely into the fluid, rendering body and soul indistinguishable.
The strike landed in absolute silence.
"A failure?"
Seeing the liquid remains of the Death-Soul vessel lie utterly still, the titan’s deep, resonant voice echoed through the void, tinged with disappointment.
Hardly had the words left his lips when the puddle began to violently churn.
A silhouette thrashed within the depths, rapidly solidifying.
In the blink of an eye, the Death-Soul tentacles burst forth from the mysterious fluid, viciously absorbing the remaining droplets.
Orion had not perished. He had successfully endured the two-thousandth strike.
Moments later, Orion’s form expanded into a hulking monstrosity. His massive lower body was a writhing mass of countless appendages.
In this state, Orion appeared incredibly dense and ponderous. Glancing solely at his lower half, he bore a striking resemblance to a Kraken.
"My kin, true essence is forged only through compression."
Seeing that Orion was unharmed, the titan hoisted his heavy hammer once more, his tone now laced with genuine admiration.
"I shall aid you with everything I have!"
BOOM!
The warhammer fell, striking Orion’s body with devastating precision.
With every deafening blow, Orion felt his form shrink by a fraction.
To be exact, his physical vessel was condensing.
The hammer was compressing his mass, exponentially driving up the density and durability of his flesh.
This entire phase of the second-stage was, at its core, a brutal cycle of refinement, fusion, and further refinement.
The ultimate goal was to forge a physique of monstrous, unparalleled resilience.
Suddenly, it dawned on Orion why the Death-Soul Race had birthed so many peerless powerhouses who reigned supreme over the Abyss.
Any entity that survived a trial like this would be practically unkillable.
Truthfully, the remaining thousand strikes were sheer agony.
However, they lacked the terrifying, looming threat of death—unlike the previous phase of the second-stage, there was no longer any risk of bursting at the seams.
The thunderous ring of the hammer echoed again and again. Because the demigod phantom will had fully integrated into his physical form, Orion’s absolute control and sensitivity over his body had reached an unimaginable pinnacle.
He could even anticipate the exact split-second the hammer would fall, proactively arching the weakest parts of his flesh to welcome the titan’s masterful forging.
This final phase proceeded with unbelievable smoothness.
When the titan finally ceased his pounding and the warhammer vanished into thin air, Orion actually felt a pang of longing. He sensed that his physical form still harbored a minute flaw, though he couldn’t immediately pinpoint where the imperfection lay.
"This is the most flawless body-forging I have ever witnessed!"
"What a pity..."
The nameless titan stared down at Orion. His eyes swam with a complex swirl of emotions—joy, regret, and a profound sense of powerlessness.
"My kin, you have passed the trial!"
Before Orion could even voice a single question, the titan cupped his colossal hands together, conjuring bubbles that thoroughly enveloped Orion.
Then, as if releasing a sky lantern, the titan let him drift upward.
It was a magical, surreal sight.
The bubbles ascended toward the boundless heavens. As he floated higher, Orion felt absolutely no discomfort or spatial turbulence.
Yet, when he looked down, the titan rapidly shrank to the size of a mere ant before vanishing entirely from sight.
Who was he?
Where exactly is this place?
What were those crystals made of?
A myriad of questions swirled in Orion’s mind, burning for answers.
In this trial, he had directly secured a method to amplify the power of his Death-Soul tentacles and had discovered the perfect materials for his evolution.
But it had all happened in such a fleeting rush. He had been given no time to unravel the mysteries.
...
Unknown Realm, Uncharted Waters.
An armed merchant galleon, bearing a lightning-wreathed lion figurehead, cleaved through the churning waves of the deep sea, its hull heavily laden with war supplies.
"Winds are picking up! Hurricane forming to the southeast!"
"Alert! Alert! The swells are rising! Sea monster approaching rapidly!"
"Sound the alarm! Level-one crisis!"
"Captain, prepare for battle!"
High above in the crow’s nest, a shirtless human navigator bellowed. A glowing tattoo of a hunting hound blazed across his chest, radiating a faint, arcane luminescence.
The navigator’s voice was impossibly deep. With every shouted warning, the tattoo pulsed, magically amplifying and projecting his voice across the entirety of the warship.
"All hands to your stations! Prepare for battle!"
"Grappling hooks, harpoons, cannons, depth charges, and the ramming prow—ready them all! Any beast that dares attack a vessel of Lionheart City will be sent to the watery depths!"
The commanding, metallic boom of the Captain’s voice rang out across the deck.
At his orders, the panicked sailors, crewmen, and soldiers instantly snapped back to their senses. Within moments, the gunners and sea-hunters had aimed their weaponry at the surrounding waters, zeroing in on the monster’s most likely attack vectors.
Their disciplined, measured response marked them as hardened veterans of the sea.
However, all their seasoned preparations were utterly meaningless against the hundred-foot-long tentacles that erupted from the frothing abyss.
The harpoons and cannons managed only a few symbolic volleys before they were crushed and dragged into the crushing depths by the sheer weight of the appendages.
"A Sovereign-class leviathan!"
"No—!"
It was the final, desperate cry of the galleon’s captain, lingering in the salty air as the massive ship was capsized.
The warship was overturned, its entire crew swallowed by the sea, and a fortune in military supplies dragged into the abyssal depths.
Only a single petrel, roosting high in the rigging, managed to take flight in the vessel’s final, doomed moments.
...
Far away, on the mainland.
Lionheart City was the sovereign domain of Governor Tyrus. As a scion of an ancient Divine Sigil bloodline, he had been bathed in glory from the moment he drew his first breath.
Furthermore, the potent legacy of his family’s Divine Sigil granted him terrifying personal strength.
He was currently an Arch Lord and a seated member of the Chieftain council, wielding immense political and martial authority.
Today, however, Governor Tyrus wore an incredibly dark expression. His mood was foul.
"Lord Governor, we have lost all contact with the Thunder Lion. The divine material, the Golden-Silk Tinder, hidden aboard is nowhere to be found."
"It is highly probable they were ambushed."
An official resembling an adjutant stepped up to Governor Tyrus, his face clouded with gloom.
The Golden-Silk Tinder was the critical catalyst required to upgrade their Sigils. Only with an evolved Mark would Tyrus have any chance of advancing his own power further.
"Was it the work of House Shadowdrake?"
"Or are the old fossils within our own clan intercepting my shipments?"
Governor Tyrus took a deep, shuddering breath, violently forcing himself to remain calm.