Chapter 37: The Titan’s Eyes

The agonizingly slow descent was suffocating, draped in an oppressive, heavy silence. Even as the sea around her reached a scalding boil, Rain couldn’t truly feel the agony of the heat—mostly because her paralyzed body was too numb to react to it.

With nothing to do as she drifted helplessly, her mind wandered to absurdly mundane thoughts. She missed her tub back home. She wanted nothing more than to soak in warm, clean water with a tall glass of fine wine, washing off the ash and blood of this cursed place. Worst of all, she was getting hungry.

She glanced down past her leaden boots. The chained Titan had stopped thrashing entirely. It stood motionless amidst the boiling currents, an ancient monument of corrupted stone and burning light, simply watching the void.

Minutes bled together until Rain drifted within a few paces of the behemoth. She floated right beside its towering, armored shoulder, slowly sinking toward the artificial seabed.

Then, a sudden warmth rushed through her nerve endings. The paralysis was finally breaking.

First her fingers twitched, then her wrists, until her hands were completely free. She could move again.

Finally.

Rain didn’t hesitate. Looking down toward the dark, sunken threshold below, she kicked her legs and began swimming downward. The Titan hadn’t made a sound or moved an inch, so she focused entirely on getting past it.

The atmosphere in the deep grew thick with dark, oppressive dread. Pale, translucent wraiths—the tormented, waterlogged spirits of thousands of contractors who had drowned in this sea over centuries—glided through the boiling murky currents around her. Their hollow, featureless faces drifted inches from her skin, whispering silent curses that vibrated against her skull as she cut through the water.

Ignoring the writhing souls, Rain kicked harder, swimming deeper past the Titan’s chest.

She deliberately kept her eyes fixed downward, refusing to look back at the giant.

She didn’t see the Titan’s massive, burning helmet slowly shift its angle, tracking her tiny, moving form.

Rain kept swimming—lower and lower into the abyssal haze.

Then, the ocean itself seemed to freeze.

An overwhelming, suffocating pressure slammed into her body from above—a crushing weight so immense it felt like a mountain had been dropped onto her spine. The water around her vibrated with raw, ancient malice.

Her heart seizing, Rain slowly turned her head and looked up.

Two miniature suns burned through the dark slits of the Titan’s fiery helmet. The monster had turned its massive head entirely, its blinding, wrathful eyes locked dead onto her.

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Meanwhile, gripping the hilt of his Storm Saint Blade, Orson locked his bloodshot eyes onto the shadow towering in his ruined living room. The air in the condo felt thick, suffocating, and reeking of ozone.

Before he could take a breath, a glowing system interface flickered into existence right before his vision:

ALERT:A murderous aura toward the host has been detected.

Target Identified:Crimson Awakened Human.

Orson stared at the floating text, a cold knot forming in his stomach.

An Awakened.

Orson was currently at the mid-stage of the Qi Gathering realm. Because of his dense cultivation foundation, the raw energy contained within his body actually matched that of a late-stage Qi Gathering practitioner. Still, he had foolishly assumed he could hold his own against a full-fledged Crimson Awakened in a head-on fight.

He was dead wrong.

Was this sheer speed an inherent trait of an Awakened combatant, or was the shadow’s Aspect specifically tailored for high-speed assassination? He didn’t know enough about the Awakened scaling to be sure, but one thing was painfully clear: he was completely outmatched.

The shadow’s hands moved in a brief, fluid motion.

With a flash of interface light, a pair of sleek, skin-tight gloves materialized over the shadow’s fingers. They looked deceptively simple—thin and pitch-black—until the shadow slammed its fists together.

SPARK!

A violent arc of blue electricity exploded from the impact, snapping like a whip through the quiet room. The shadow raised its head, its featureless mask locking directly onto Orson.

Orson’s eyes widened. He knew what was coming.

Desperate for an exit, Orson darted his eyes left and right. Just behind the adjacent wall lay the dining room.

Before he could shift his footwork, the shadow blurred forward, its lightning-infused fist driving straight toward Orson’s head. Orson pushed off the floor with everything he had, leaping to the side to dodge the deadly blow—or so he thought.

The high-speed jab was a feint.

Mid-leap, the shadow’s trajectory shifted instantly. A heavy, lightning-coated roundhouse kick whipped out of nowhere, slamming into Orson’s exposed ribs before he could even raise his sword to parry.

BOOM!

The force of the strike shattered the drywall behind him, blasting Orson straight through the wall and hurling him into the dining room.

He crashed violently against the polished wood of the dining table, shattering the legs and collapsing onto the floor amidst splintered wood and falling drywall dust.

Orson rolled onto his side, coughing violently as a mouthful of dark blood spilled onto the rug. His chest burned, his Qi spiraling out of control as the shadow casually stepped through the gaping hole in the wall, electric sparks dancing across its black gloves.