Layer One, Abyssal World.

This was The Marrow Wastes. The sky hung low and oppressive. Ominous gray clouds drifted near the ground, concealing thousands of terrifying, floating eyeballs—the Deca-eyed Fiends.

Beneath the clouds, the battlefield was a meat grinder. Heavy axes cleaved skulls. Tridents punched through rotting armor. Blood sprayed across the barren earth, pooling into black craters filled with a vile mix of gore and corrosive acid.

Kronos unleashed his true Stoneheart Titan form: a towering monstrosity with four heads and eight arms. Wielding a trident in each hand, he bulldozed through the enemy lines. He deflected the sweeping longswords of the Corrupted Blademasters, desperately trying to carve an escape route for his people.

"Brother, blindly charging won’t work!" Rolan yelled. "We have to take out the Deca-eyed Fiends above us! If we don’t break their illusions and barriers, we’re never getting out of here!"

"Our casualties are too high. We can’t drag this out!" Kronos roared back.

Not far away, Rolan swung the Bloodthirsty Trident in sweeping arcs. He slaughtered every Corrupted Blademaster that stepped into his range. These demonic monsters lacked any true life signs, driven only by fragmented, violent souls.

Within Rolan’s immediate radius, nothing survived.

Rolan kept his eyes on the broader battlefield. He had to cover Kronos’s back while keeping the surviving giants alive. He was torn. He wanted to vault into the sky and slaughter the Deca-eyed Fiends himself, but leaving the ground meant abandoning Kronos to the swarm.

Worse, an Arch Lord-tier Deca-eyed Fiend was lurking somewhere in the chaos. With a threat like that on the board, Rolan didn’t dare break formation.

"Kill!"

Kronos didn’t wait for Rolan’s backup. He roared, summoning an Abyssal Wyrm. The massive beast materialized with a deafening screech, absorbing the blows from the Corrupted Blademasters. Kronos vaulted onto its back, and the wyrm launched them straight into the storm clouds.

"Shatter!"

Standing atop the wyrm, the Boots of the War-Tyrant on Kronos’s feet erupted with blinding light. Crimson beams of Asura energy blasted outward, instantly vaporizing the clouds and incinerating the swarm of Deca-eyed Fiends.

Kronos reached out, grabbing a handful of scorched eyeballs as loot, before plunging the Abyssal Wyrm back down into the dense ranks of Corrupted Blademasters.

After a dozen brutal bombing runs, the enemy formation broke. With Kronos spearheading the charge and Rolan guarding the rear, they escorted the remaining thousand Starveil giants out of the encirclement.

It took half a month of non-stop fleeing before they found an underground cave and a moment to breathe.

"I never thought the Abyssal World would be this brutal."

"The dead must resent me."

Deep in the cavern, Kronos finished the burial rites by a flickering campfire. His face was heavy with guilt.

"It was their choice," Rolan said, looking up from the bloody trident he was wiping clean with a beast pelt. His eyes were calm and forgiving. "This is the Abyssal World. It operates on its own brutal logic. No one blames you. If anything, the survivors only worship you more."

Kronos was the son of his mentor. He possessed the blood of the Giant King. He was the prince of the Stoneheart Horde. No matter what choices Kronos made, Rolan would back his play.

"I don’t know how Father ever survived down here," Kronos muttered, running a hand over the Boots of the War-Tyrant. The artifact offered immense offensive and evasive capabilities, pulling him from the brink of death multiple times. "We only made it this far because of the gear he left behind. If I didn’t have these, we’d be dead."

Rolan shot a glance at the boots, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes. He knew the Boots of the War-Tyrant were forged from the skin and bones of an Asura. Flaunting them openly was a guaranteed way to draw the psychotic wrath of the Asura Race.

"We aren’t your father," Rolan said gently, noticing the prince’s spiraling mood. "He was a peerless powerhouse. No one on Layer One could even slow him down. Plus, our situation is an anomaly. When was the last time you heard of an Arch Lord permanently garrisoning Layer One? We just got unlucky and crossed paths with a wandering heavyweight."

Rolan paused. "Besides, our expedition is different from his. We have a mission. We are here to find the Shadowabyss branch for the Horde. Prolonging our stay on Layer One is necessary."

Ever since they entered the Abyssal World, they had scoured the map for giant tribes. They hadn’t found the Shadowabyss giants yet, but they had stumbled upon a tribe of several thousand Starveil giants. After a brutal Lord-tier duel for supremacy, Kronos had successfully seized control, securing his first loyal faction in this hellscape.

"The tribe’s records say scouts spotted a Shadowabyss settlement a few centuries ago," Kronos said. "Who knows if it’s even true. Layer One is massive. Big brother Rolan... do you think we actually have Hope?"

Internally, Rolan shook his head. Objectively, their chances were zero. The Abyssal World was unforgiving, and the recorded Shadowabyss branch had numbered only a few hundred. Over the span of centuries, a single wandering predator could have wiped them out entirely.

But Rolan wasn’t going to crush the kid’s drive.

"If they aren’t on Layer One, we push to Layer Two," Rolan said firmly. "If they aren’t on Two, we breach Layer Three. The Abyssal World is endless. The abyssal giants have to be out there somewhere. As long as we keep moving, we’ll find the Shadowabyss branch and finish your father’s mission."

...

Rolan’s voice was steady, his gaze sharp enough to cut through the oppressive air of the cave. His absolute conviction bled into Kronos, anchoring the young prince.

"You’re right, brother," Kronos said, the light of confidence slowly reigniting in his eyes.

"Do you remember the abyssal coordinates the mentor gave us?" Rolan asked. "Even if we can’t find our primary target, we can always retreat to Vigil’s Rest on Layer Two to resupply. That is Stoneheart Horde territory."

With a faint smile, Rolan reminded the prince that they weren’t out of options. The Stoneheart Horde wasn’t completely rootless in the Abyss.

"Layer Two... Vigil’s Rest. Right. How could I forget?" Kronos’s eyes brightened. Suddenly, the path ahead didn’t look so pitch-black. "Thanks for the reminder, Rolan."

"Get some rest. We march at dawn," Rolan said. He lowered his head and went back to polishing the Bloodthirsty Trident, the legendary weapon passed down to him by Giant King Orion.

He swore a silent oath: he would never let the trident’s legacy be tarnished. He would keep the glory of the Bloodthirsty Trident alive in the dark.