Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Long after he left the Survivor's Platform, Orion's gaze remained distant and grim.

The Cult of Four. Before Arthas had explained, Orion had assumed it was just an organization led by four demigods. Now he understood. The true patrons of this faction were likely four actual gods. Otherwise, brilliant and cunning individuals like the clown and the Witch would never have so easily betrayed the Champions Alliance and their commander.

To make matters worse, Arthas had confirmed that while the clown's rank might still be arch lord-peak, his true power was, without question, at the demigod level. He was absolutely certain of it.

"The path forward is no longer what I had envisioned," Orion murmured to himself. His original plan was simple: conquer the Forest of Nature, then expand outward. But learning that his enemy was the Cult of Four—the very faction the clown and the Witch had defected to—filled him with a profound sense of caution.

He stood in silence for a long time before letting out a slow, heavy breath.

"It all comes down to one thing: I'm still too weak."

That was the root of it. If he were a demigod, he could afford to largely ignore the Cult of Four. In fact, they would most likely leave him alone, content to let him carve out his own territory in the Silverwood Realm. But he was only an arch lord. To challenge a demigod-backed faction, he had to rely on the help of his brothers in the Champions Alliance. It was both his greatest strength and his greatest vulnerability.

With one last sigh, Orion let the silence of the castle settle around him again.

Silverwood Realm, The Stillness.

"We poured a massive amount of manpower and resources into building this camp—the castle, the walls, the homes. We cannot allow the war to be fought within these walls."

Orion's gaze swept across the faces of Aerin, Caesar, and Tangere, who were gathered in the conference hall. His strategic plan was now clear.

"My lord," Tangere began, "does that mean we are not fighting a defensive war?"

In formal settings, they all addressed Orion as 'my lord'. It was a necessary convention, crucial for forging a sense of unity and command structure in the fledgling camp. Of those present, only Tangere had the standing to truly question Orion's strategy; his Plague-thralls were the only force numerous enough to coordinate with Orion's own troops. Caesar's five thousand Shield Warriors were a drop in the ocean against the coming horde, and Orion had already mentally discounted Aerin's thousand or so Wood Elves from his frontline calculations.

"Correct. We are not fighting a defensive war, and we are not fighting a guerrilla war," Orion stated. "I need you to command your Plague-thralls to join me in a blitz."

He let the shocking proposal hang in the air.

"Before the enemy can react, we are going to punch through the Forest of Nature and take out the Black Tower in a single, decisive strike."

His initial plan had indeed been to defend. But after his debrief with Arthas, he'd received a critical piece of intelligence: the sixth floor of the Black Tower remained unlit. That meant there were no demigods stationed there. Without a demigod to worry about, Orion's options expanded dramatically. He would strike first, topple the tower before a demigod could descend, and seize all the resources the Cult of Four had plundered from the forest.

It was an insane idea. But when he had discussed it with Arthas, his brother had promised him support.

"Are... are you sure that's possible?" Tangere stammered, swallowing hard. The plan sounded suicidal. It was the most honest, unfiltered thought he'd had since arriving in this world.

"Come with me," Orion said simply. He turned and led them from the conference hall.

At the entrance, Orion raised his right hand. The plaza before the castle groaned and split apart, stone grinding against stone as a section of the ground sank away, revealing a grand staircase leading down into darkness. A dark, gaping maw of a cavern, exhaling a palpable aura of death, lay below.

ROAR!

A guttural cry echoed from the depths. Green spheres of ghostly witchfire ignited in the distance, floating closer. They were followed by the heavy, rhythmic tramp of armored feet.

From the oppressive darkness, a lone figure emerged. Clad in ancient armor, a Skeletal Knight, holding high the tattered war banner of the stoneheart horde, ascended the steps with grim solemnity. Behind him, five thousand more Skeletal Knights marched in perfect formations of ten, their weapons held ready. They were followed by four monstrous Blight Wyrms, which burst from the cavern and began to circle low over the castle, their piercing draconic shrieks growing louder with each pass.

And then came the infantry.

An endless river of skeletons began to pour out of the subterranean darkness. Silent, disciplined, and innumerable. An army so vast it defied description. The sight immediately drew the stunned attention of every Wood Elf and Shield Warrior in the camp. The rhythmic clatter of bony feet on the stone plaza was the only sound—a chilling, unified percussion that echoed through the settlement. It was the sound of death itself.

Orion stood silently, his face an emotionless mask, as the plaza filled with his legions. The number of undead swelled until counting them was an impossibility.

After what felt like an eternity, Clymene emerged from the cavern. Flanking her were a being shrouded entirely in mist and a towering Cyclopes lord. She walked to Orion's side.

"My lord," her deep voice rumbled, a sound that hit Aerin, Tangere, and Caesar like a physical blow, "the summoning of two million skeleton warriors is complete."

They felt as if they had misheard. Two. Million.

In addition to the resources Tangere had been constantly gathering, Orion had funneled an immense amount of materiel from the stoneheart horde for this campaign. His minimum objective was to secure the entire Forest of Nature, and this was only a fraction of his total investment. In his eyes, two million undead soldiers was hardly an overwhelming number compared to the endless demonic monsters. Time was the critical factor; he had to strike before a demigod arrived at the Black Tower. The previous skirmishes had been nothing more than a prelude.

"You have done well," Orion said.

"For the horde! For my lord!" Clymene declared, placing a fist over her heart in a military salute.

Her cry was taken up by every undead creature on the plaza capable of speech.

"FOR THE HORDE! FOR MY LORD!"

"FOR THE HORDE! FOR MY LORD!"

The chant rolled across the plaza, a deafening roar of absolute loyalty, punctuated by the guttural hisses and clattering jaws of the lower-ranked skeletons.