The God of Underworld-Chapter 106 - 6: The Giants

AN: I made a mistake, I thought there was like, 12 giants, but apparently there are a hundred of them.

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Deep beneath the earth where even sunlight dared not trespass, within a hollowed cavern whose walls trembled with dormant fury, the King of the Giants stood.

The cavern was enormous—miles wide and taller than the highest mountain peak—and yet the air inside felt tight, oppressive, weighed down by a thousand thundering heartbeats and the rage of giants.

Porphyrion, the dread king of the reborn giants, stood at the highest ledge overlooking his kin.

His skin was like storm-dark granite, runes glowing faintly across his body, pulsing with a chaotic rhythm.

His hair fell in black cords down his shoulders, and in his eyes lived only war.

Below him, over a hundred giants had gathered—towering monstrosities with armor of bone, stone, and volcanic iron.

Some bore horns like minotaurs, others bore wings folded against their backs, or arms like tree trunks.

Their presence cracked the very cavern with each motion.

This was not an army.

This was a force of nature.

But behind Porphyrion, in cruel contrast, a woman knelt in chains.

Metis—the Titaness of wisdom and Queen of Olympus—was bound in celestial metal that shimmered like moonlight dipped in oil.

Her hair, glistening as starlight, clung to her face. Her breath was shallow, but her eyes burned with defiance.

No cries escaped her lips.

No pleas.

Only silence—piercing and proud.

Porphyrion raised a hand, and the low murmuring among the giants ceased instantly.

He was about to speak, but was interrupted as one voice rang out.

A massive brute named Thamios, twice the height of the others and covered in armor fused from molten obsidian, stepped forward with fury in his every stride.

"Why did we not crush Olympus when we had the chance?!" he bellowed, his voice shaking stalactites from the ceiling. "You held their queen in your hands! Zeus crawled from rubble like a worm! Their halls lay broken! Why retreat?! Why plan like cowards when we could have feasted on their bones?!"

The other giants stirred—some nodding, others pounding fists on chests in agreement.

Porphyrion turned his head slowly, his expression unreadable.

Then he stepped forward.

The ground cracked beneath his steps.

"Because, Thamios," Porphyrion said, his voice deep and deliberate, "Olympus is not as simple as it seems—it is a sleeping beast. Wound it foolishly, and it rouses. Cut too shallow, and it strikes back stronger."

He looked down on the horde of giants, his gaze sweeping over them like a storm cloud passing over a city.

"Thos Olympians? They are not without strength, no matter how they indulged in depravity, they still ruled the cosmos. They also have allies. Spirits. Gods of the earth, sea, and sky. If I had stayed, I would have faced not just Zeus, but Poseidon, Athena, Ares, Artemis and even Themis as well. Perhaps even the primordial ones. I dared to go there because I know most of them are away."

A murmur of unease passed through the ranks.

Porphyrion raised his hand again.

"So you must remember, one does not strike a beast’s head when it still has claws. We must cut those off first."

He gestured behind him—toward Metis.

"With her in chains, Zeus is crippled. Not because of power—but because of heart. He is a fool, but a fool in love. He will not think clearly. He will not lead wisely."

He turned back to them, eyes narrowing.

"And now we must target Athena."

Gasps rose from some of the giants. Even among them, the wisdom and ruthlessness of Athena were feared.

Porphyrion continued.

"She is her mother’s mind incarnate. Clever, patient, and dangerously quick to adapt. She will seek to uncover our weaknesses, and if she does, she will move gods, mortals, and spirits to resist us. She must die before her mind awakens to our game."

Another voice called out, this one mocking and laughing.

A leaner giant with skin like black marble and eyes glowing red—Zamakros.

"Why do we scheme and plot like mortals? We are giants! War is our tongue! Destruction our prayer! Let them come. We’ll drown them in blood and ash."

Porphyrion turned sharply, and for the first time, his voice thundered.

"Because I want them to suffer."

Silence fell.

The sound of dripping water echoed eerily in the cavern.

Porphyrion took a slow step forward, and then another. Every movement exuded a quiet, terrible fury.

"I want them to feel fear before death. To hear the cries of their cities before their own bones are broken. I want them to despair—slowly, painfully—until their minds rot. I want them to experience what mother has experienced as they slowly destroy her land!"

He stopped before Zamakros, staring down at him.

"I do not simply destroy Olympus. I want them to experience pain and torment as they slowly die! Watch as their numbers dwindled to a handful! And fall into despair and hopelessness as they realize they cannot win!"

His voice dropped to a growl.

"We sow dissent. We awaken ancient enemies. We tear down their allies in the mortal world. We silence the voices of hope—Athena, Hermes, Apollo. And only then... only then do we burn the last ruins of their pantheon with our bare hands...that kind of thing, is the best form of revenge for our mother, right?"

A ripple of darkness pulsed from his body, and the very walls of the cave shook as if in agreement.

Metis stirred in her chains for the first time, her head lifting just enough to speak.

"You Giants are really cruel. You think destroying Olympus would make you the ruler of cosmos? Laughable. You will never be gods."

Porphyrion looked over his shoulder at her, not unkindly, but like one would to a relic of the past.

"No. We are not gods. And we don’t dream to be one."

He turned back to his army.

"We are Giants, the end of gods."

The giants roared in approval, their voices shaking the earth.

Porphyrion raised a hand and traced a symbol in the air—one that glowed crimson.

A floating map of Olympus and its surrounding domains appeared, projected in flame-light against the stone.

"Begin the hunt. Athena moves through mortal lands. She is our first blade to break. Then we strike the next. And the next. Until the skies are silent."

And so, in the shadows of the world, war brewed not just with weapons—but with vengeance and ancient hate.