The Hollow Titan roared again, and the earth itself seemed to recoil. The cracks in its stone hide glowed brighter, veins of ancient energy pulsing like molten rivers. Soldiers fell to their knees as the air grew heavy—thick, suffocating, as though the world itself knew what was coming.
The Titan was no ordinary beast. It was a remnant of the Primordial Colossals, creatures born in the first shaping of the world when chaos and creation still warred. Each Titan was said to hold a fragment of that chaos, a power too vast for mortals to grasp.
Where other monsters had tiers of strength, the Titan's abilities were something else entirely—world-breaking by nature.
The Titan's Power:
Stone Sovereignty – Its body was not flesh but living earth. Blades bent, fire scattered, and only raw elemental force could pierce its hide.
Gravitic Roar – With a cry, it could collapse the ground for miles, pulling armies into fissures like dust into a storm.
Hollow Light – Energy beams from its core that erased whatever they touched, reducing it to ash.
Cataclysm Surge (Ultimate) – A last-resort attack, channeling every fragment of its ancient power.
The Titan's body became a vessel for hollow light, releasing a blast so vast it could flatten mountains, dry rivers, and scar a continent. It was said in old myths that a single Titan's Cataclysm Surge had once erased an entire empire, leaving nothing but glass where a nation once stood.
The Titan's chest split open, stone plates grinding apart to reveal a blazing core. A hollow sun pulsed within, expanding, cracking the sky with its light. The armies stopped fighting. The Halberdiers froze mid-charge, their discipline breaking. The Skyfire Legion's chants died in their throats. Even the drakes above screeched and fled, their riders screaming in terror.
Eryndor's heart hammered. He could feel it—the raw intent of annihilation. The Titan wasn't aiming at him. It wasn't aiming at the armies. It was aiming at everything.
The ground quaked as the core expanded. A ring of hollow light spread outward, erasing stone, grass, even air. The glow swallowed the horizon.
If it unleashed that power fully, a quarter of the continent would vanish.
Eryndor staggered forward. His body was already breaking—his veins burned with lightning, his skin torn from channeling too much power. But his eyes locked on the Titan, unblinking, unyielding.
He couldn't run.
He couldn't hide.
And if he fell, so would everything else.
He dropped to his knees, palms slamming into the earth. Sparks exploded outward, his storm surging with a force that nearly tore him apart. His teeth ground together, his voice a low growl as he forced every shred of lightning he had into one last act.
"Then I'll meet your sun with my storm."
The Titan unleashed its Cataclysm Surge.
Light erupted from its chest in a beam so vast it devoured the sky. The plains vanished. Stone shattered, forests ignited, rivers boiled. The armies screamed as the wave of annihilation surged outward.
But in front of it—Eryndor stood.
His storm erupted upward, not as strikes, not as bursts, but as a dome. Tempest Guard, magnified to its absolute limit, became a barrier of lightning that bent the Titan's light away, splitting it, scattering it into the air like shattered glass.
The collision shook the world. Thunder and hollow light clashed in an endless scream, the sky splitting apart in jagged cracks of black and white. Soldiers were hurled backward, entire mountains quaked, the sea beyond the plains rippled with waves that crashed against distant shores.
Eryndor's body burned. His veins glowed with lightning, blood turning to sparks. His scream tore his throat raw, but he did not break.
And then—silence.
The light faded. The Titan staggered, its chest cracked open, core sputtering. Smoke poured from its frame, its movements sluggish, weakened.
Eryndor collapsed to one knee, steam rising from his body. His arms were scorched, his vision blurred, but he was alive. He had survived the Cataclysm Surge.
Barely.
The armies stared in stunned silence. For a long moment, no one moved. Then the generals began shouting again—orders to regroup, to press the attack while the Titan faltered.
But none of their voices carried like Eryndor's presence had.