Titan King: Ascensio Chapter 1100: Deconstruction of Self

Chapter 1100: Deconstruction of Self

This wasn’t a one-sided beatdown; it was a trade.

The mont Orion threw his punch, the mirrored avatar threw its own. But this ti, both of them used only the power drawn from their giant bloodline.

Within the mindscape, giants roared, the powerful sound waves blasting out to shake the foundations of the strange dinsion. Soon, the auras of the Mark of the Titan and Battle Craving began to radiate from both Orion and his avatar. With every blow they landed, the intensity of their battle lust climbed.

“So this is the power of my bloodline?”

An unknown amount of ti passed before the fight stopped and the mindscape fell silent once more. Orion stared at the avatar, still in its Titan Form, and posed his second question.

No one answered. He was asking himself, interrogating his own soul.

It was a process of brutal self-assessnt. Through combat, Orion was using his physical self, his mirrored avatars, and a third-person perspective to understand, to dissect, who he truly was. From the purity of his bloodline to its innate senses and skills, to the subconscious reactions it triggered in him—Orion was re-examining his race, his heritage, his entire approach to combat. His values, his beliefs, his very behavior were all laid bare on the operating table.

To put it simply, he was trying to find himself by identifying his every strength and every weakness.

“Your turn.”

He had gained so clarity, but a sea of questions remained. He turned his gaze to the first avatar.

Tridents appeared in both their hands. This ti, there were no roars, no thunderous charge. There was only the sharp ring of steel on steel as the tridents parried and thrust, over and over.

He was deconstructing himself, piece by piece. First, he stripped away everything granted to him by his giant bloodline. Next, he stripped away everything granted by the Survivor’s Platform.

When he first Awoke in this world, the most fundantal skill he had mastered on his own, without any outside help, was the trident in his hands. It was a part of him that no one, not even a god, could take away. It was etched into his very bones and soul—an instinct for survival honed through exploration, learning, and adaptation in a new world.

“The trident…?”

At so point, both he and the avatar had stopped fighting. They stood motionless, staring down at the weapons in their hands.

“Then what is this?”

A sharp crackle filled the air as an arc of electricity danced across Orion’s palm, coalescing into a sphere of ball lightning.

“And these?”

At the sa ti, across from him, his two avatars summoned their own powers. One held a swirling vortex of blood-red energy, the other a vortex of pure Abyssal energy.

These were the transcendent powers he had manifested after becoming a lord, the three he felt most comfortable wielding. He had other, weaker abilities—mostly minor perks from constructing special buildings—but he rarely used them. He had even channeled most of that miscellaneous transcendent power back into his Tribe’s structures to enhance their performance.

Orion’s gaze shifted back and forth between the lightning in his hand and the vortexes of blood and shadow held by his avatars.

This was it. The complete, unfiltered truth of who he was.

Is all of this mine? Is all of this what I need?

He interrogated his own heart, subconsciously searching for his true calling, his innate talent. He needed to see himself clearly, to define his purpose.

“Again!”

The ball lightning vanished. The vortexes of blood and Abyssal energy dissipated.

Orion gripped his trident. One avatar activated its Titan Form. The other wreathed itself in lightning, its body cloaked in swirling blood-red and Abyssal energies.

Without a single command, Orion and his two avatars clashed like mortal enemies. The mindscape exploded with the crash of thunder, the roar of a giant, and the whistling shriek of a trident slicing through the air. A three-way war against himself erupted, a chaotic battle with no clear end in sight.

***

In the Mirrored Sanctum, the Witch’s brow was deeply furrowed.

The Deathly Soul-Reaper’s relentless, unceasing assault was starting to feel wrong. Orion was fighting like a man possessed. Her verbal taunts had no effect. Her kiting strategy was useless. The Deathly Soul-Reaper remained utterly silent, maintaining a perfectly consistent, machine-like combat rhythm.

What the hell is going on? she wondered. Isn’t this guy supposed to be a giant? Aren’t giants supposed to be all brawn and no brains? Hot-headed, with a hair-trigger temper?

She genuinely didn’t get it. Even as Awakened Survivors, they were all influenced by their bloodlines to so degree. But she couldn’t see a trace of a giant’s stereotypical rage or stupidity in Orion.

Or is he putting on an act? Trying to wear

down in a battle of attrition? Even so, how can he maintain this perfect tempo for so long?

She racked her brain, running through a dozen possibilities, but couldn’t settle on any of them.

No. I have to break his rhythm.

She didn’t know what ga Orion was playing, what sche he was cooking up. But her intuition scread at her that disrupting him, right now, was the only smart move.

The Witch abandoned her kiting. She dropped the psionic taunts. Dragging her scythe behind her, she charged, putting all of her speed and power into a head-on collision with Orion’s Deathly Soul-Reaper.

It barely did anything.

The Reaper was sent flying, but it simply teleported right back to her side and resud its assault, trading blow for blow in a brutal exchange.

The Witch didn’t back down. Two identical Deathly Soul-Reapers, with the sa bodies, gear, and skills, were now locked in a deadly tangle, scythes and ethereal blades clashing as they tried to tear each other apart.

At first, the Witch was full of doubt, hesitant, holding sothing in reserve. But as the pace of the battle escalated, as the force behind their blows increased and the damage they both sustained deepened, a flicker of understanding ignited in her mind.

Her eyes grew wider, a cunning light returning to them.

I see!

Orion, you’re fighting a demigod! And you have the audacity to pull back most of your focus? Who the hell do you think you’re looking down on?!

The realization was followed by a surge of pure rage. She finally understood what felt so wrong. The amount of consciousness Orion had actually invested in this Deathly Soul-Reaper was minuscule. That’s why its attack pattern never changed—not because it wouldn’t, but because it couldn’t. This robotic tempo was the absolute limit of the fraction of his mind controlling it.

Her earlier strategy of kiting and stalling had played right into his hands.

Now, she saw his weakness clearly. She had to accelerate the fight, push the pace, and overwhelm the tiny slice of his consciousness until it shattered.