Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

I can handle a two-front war with my current resources. A veteran player like Arthas must be fighting on multiple fronts across the realms.

A trade request pinged. A massive cache of resources appeared in his inventory. "Give these to your broodmother," Arthas's message read. "This is going to be a meat grinder. Tell her not to conserve anything. The timeline is tight. We need to bulldoze them in one clean push."

Orion accepted without hesitation. Churning out endless waves of cannon fodder like small scorpions required a burn rate the stoneheart horde couldn't possibly sustain on its own.

"Understood," Orion sent back. The conversation ended there. Some things had to be discussed on-site, face-to-face.

.....

Three days later, Orion's Deathly Soul-Reaper avatar, flanked by Soraya and Dirtclaw, teleported into the bleak expanse of the Godforsaken Land.

Godforsaken Land, the Death Spiral Zone.

A ripple of void energy dissipated, leaving the Deathly Soul-Reaper, Soraya, and Dirtclaw standing in the middle of a desolate deadlands. Waiting for them was another party.

"Bro?" Orion called out.

"Here," a hollow voice replied.

Orion's gaze fell upon the figure at the head of the undead host. It was a lich of immense power, easily at the arch lord peak. A crown of jagged obsidian, embedded with a single, pulsing sapphire, rested on its skull. A swirling vortex of crimson energy spun in its hollowed-out chest cavity. Orion had to admit, the whole vibe—the cryptic aura, the overpowered gear—was pure Arthas.

He knew it was him for sure when he saw the figures standing behind the lich: not just the familiar forms of Vexis and Rumbold, but the four powerhouse lords Bone White, Bone Red, Bone Green, and Bone Blue.

"Follow me," Arthas said, his tone all business. Leaving his subordinates behind, he gestured for Orion to join him as he glided towards a nearby tower of black stone.

The moment they stepped inside, Arthas began the briefing. "This entire region is the domain of the Gnasher Race. They worship a dark demigod."

He didn't mince words. "You don't worry about the demigod. That's my problem. Your job is to take the undead armies, your cannon fodder, and the skeletal dragons and steamroll the entire Death Spiral Zone."

Arthas led Orion to a magical sand table that displayed a perfect, miniature representation of the Godforsaken Land. It was an irregularly shaped continent with a massive, bottomless-looking pit at its core. Countless paths radiated outwards from the pit in a spiral pattern.

"These paths are tunnels excavated by the Gnasher Race," Arthas explained. "We push along these routes until we reach the heart of their lair. The areas between the paths are impassable mountain ridges. We have no choice but to attack them on their own ground."

He tapped one of the paths near the outer edge, indicating their current position.

"The second we enter one of these tunnels, they'll know we're here. From that point on, it's a fight to the death. The entire network of paths is what I call the Death Spiral Zone." He paused, letting the grim name sink in. "And one more thing. While fighting within the Spiral, the Gnasher Race receives some kind of environmental buff. Their overall strength increases by ten to thirty percent."

After a moment of staring at the map, Arthas led Orion into a side chamber. Inside, laid out on stone slabs, were three corpses.

"Our first intel, captured from scouting probes. Gnasher Race specimens, ranked from highest status and power on the left, to lowest on the right."

They both fell silent, studying the enemy they were about to face.

"Ant-men?" Orion finally asked, the word sounding inadequate.

"Something like that," Arthas conceded.

The bodies were humanoid, but that's where the similarities ended. They possessed triangular, insectoid heads dominated by enormous, multi-faceted eyes. Their mouths were a horrifying set of razor-sharp mandibles that gave them their name. In addition to two long, human-like legs, a second pair of powerful arms sprouted from their ribs.

"Their physical strength is off the charts," Arthas continued. "Even their lowest-tier fodder can shear through bone and steel with ease." To demonstrate, he tossed a thick femur onto the corpse on the right. The moment it touched the creature's mandibles, it snapped in two with a sharp crack.

"The other two variants have demonstrated the ability to burrow and spit corrosive venom. My guess is that different castes possess different magic-like abilities."

Orion's brow furrowed. No wonder Arthas said the casualties would be immense. Forget Soraya's small scorpions; even Arthas's hardened skeleton warriors would be torn to shreds against these things. The sheer brutal efficiency of those mandibles was terrifying.

"Expect other enemy types among their elites. Don't get complacent," Arthas warned. His intel was incomplete. Once the fighting started, he wouldn't be able to bail Orion out.

"As you can see, we have no graveyard or necropolis to draw from here," Arthas stated. "My avatar will remain in this tower and maintain the summoning formation, providing a constant stream of reinforcements. You can have your broodmother set up her Nest right beside me. I'll watch over her."

Orion nodded, agreeing with the plan.

"Take Bones with you," Arthas said, pulling a ring from his finger and holding it out. "He should help you take some of the pressure off."

The ring was shaped like a sleeping dragon, its body coiled around itself. As Orion reached for it, a tremendous roar echoed not in the room, but directly inside his mind. He understood instantly. The ring was Arthas's skeletal dragon mount.

Arthas moved to sit on a throne carved of bone at the center of the room. "Remember," he said, his voice resonating with chilling authority. "The best way to deal with a deeply entrenched faction like this is to meet force with greater force. We will annihilate them with overwhelming power and numbers."

He looked at Orion.

"Let's begin."

Before Orion could even offer a word of assent, Arthas had already given the order to advance.

"Right," Orion said, his back straightening. He turned, his face a mask of grim resolve, and strode out of the undead tower.

Silverwood Realm, the Forest of Nature.

Shrieks and battle cries echoed through the trees. A mixed squadron of Plague-thralls, Shield Warriors, and Wood Elves was closing in on a pack of demonic monsters that had been hunting a group of refugees.

In a dense thicket, Caesar and two Alpha-level Shield Warriors had formed a triangle, trapping a massive, Alpha-peak Cyclopes between them. Caesar was the tip of the spear, his sword flashing as he pressed the attack. The two warriors absorbed the beast's wild swings on their heavy shields, using perfectly timed shield-bashes to keep its attention locked.

High above, perched on the branch of a colossal tree, Xylia held her bow taut, an arrow aimed at the Cyclopes's single, raging eye, ready to provide support at a moment's notice.

This running battle had started when they found the fifty or so Wood Elves, cornered and doomed. Half of them were children. Xylia had no idea how they had survived this long or made it this far, but she knew with absolute certainty that she would die before she let them fall now.

As that conviction hardened in her heart, she heard a roar from below. Caesar, seeing his opening, charged.

"Blade Tyrant's Art: Sonic Cross!"