The baby reacted instantly. One head clamped down on Godfrey’s finger, gnawing on it, while the other giggled uncontrollably.

"Look at him. He has two heads, just like that Lord in the Horde. That has to count for something. You expect me to just leave him out here in the wilds to die?" Godfrey finally looked up, meeting the eyes of his squad—his brothers and friends.

"I don’t care," Brundar said, shrugging. The giant leaned back against his massive club, clasping his hands behind his head to stare at the stars. "But let me warn you, my friend. He’s an Ogre. Can you even afford him? He’s gonna eat you out of house and home!"

"Adopting him is fine," Stoutgut said, practically dancing with excitement. "Worst case, we’ve got a giant Ogre nephew! I’m just curious how you’re going to raise him. You gonna train him to be an Ogre Knight? Hahaha... Now that’s a mental image!"

Bloodear chimed in, ever the pragmatist. "Commander, why not drop him off at the Dandelion Arcane Nursery? Who knows, maybe he’s got a knack for magic. At the very least, he can mooch free food and board at the academy while we’re out on contracts. Saves us a fortune."

Godfrey ignored the jokes. "We’ll figure out his schooling when we get back. Magic or no magic, he needs a name now."

With those words, the adoption became official. 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

"God-Ogre?"

"Stout-Ogre?"

"Blood-Ogre?"

Godfrey scowled at his men. Seriously?

"How about Urol?" Godfrey suggested. In the old tongues of the Stoneheart Horde, the name meant God of War—a symbol of raw power and unyielding glory. It was a strong name, meant to give the runt a fighting chance.

"Damn!"

"Brilliant, Commander!"

"Urol it is!"

The world of Minor Hell. The Ashenheart Domain.

The Ever-Burning Volcano flickered against the gloom. Spectral shadows danced in the freezing, howling winds outside the crater.

As Orion’s Death-Soul Fiend avatar descended, the Skeleton King, Arthas, swung his blade. He cleaved an intruding Arch Lord phantom in two, shattering its form and absorbing its pure death aura into the bones beneath his cloak.

With the influx of energy, the soulfire in Arthas’s eye sockets flared brighter.

"You’ve made progress, brother," Orion noted. It wasn’t a question. He could feel it. Arthas, isolated and obsessively cultivating in this prison, was steadily perfecting the first stage of his demigod ascension. Once complete, he could push straight into the second stage.

"A little every day," Arthas replied, sheathing his sword. "Nothing explosive. Just water wearing away stone. It’s tedious, but the constant, steady growth... it’s intoxicating."

He turned, leading Orion toward the core of the Ever-Burning Volcano, stopping only when they reached the cavern where their other brothers slumbered.

Leonidas was the first to wake. The familiar, comforting presence of Arthas and Orion made sleep impossible. "I just closed my eyes. What woke me this time?"

Next was Alexander. A phantom sword materialized, fusing with the blade at the Death-Soul Fiend’s hip. As a sword spirit, resting within the blood-red weapon halved the energy drain on his demigod projection and even nourished him slightly.

"You’re here," Alexander noted.

Finally, Deputy Commander Edward appeared. He stared hard at Orion. "I felt a massive shockwave from The Primordial Realm. Did something go wrong in the Titanion Realm?"

"Nothing major," Orion said casually. "The Archbishop of the Cult of Four is dragging their other three great worlds into the Titanion Realm. He’s merging them."

Silence. What Orion considered "nothing major" left the others speechless.

"Nothing major?" Leonidas snapped. "Three entire worlds merging? Do you have any idea how much Authority the Continent of the Pantheon is going to absorb? You’re just going to sit back and watch them snowball? Aren’t you worried they’ll kick off a War of the Gods right now?"

Leonidas’s World Dragon avatar was stationed on the Titan continent. He knew exactly what a bloated, unopposed Continent of the Pantheon would do to the balance of power.

"No," Orion shook his head. "A War of the Gods won’t happen until the first Divine Mantle is forged."

By "War of the Gods," Orion meant an all-out clash between peak demigods.

"They can fight over territory and resources on The Primordial Continent, and wage their petty wars across the borders," Orion explained, his heavy, resonant voice echoing with absolute, undeniable authority. "But no third-stage demigod will intervene. I won’t allow it. The other three won’t allow it. And the Commander certainly won’t allow it. The cake is barely baked. Whoever reaches for a slice now dies."

Leonidas barked a laugh. "Hah! Now that’s what I like to hear! Gives me the confidence to hold The Bastion Wall to the bitter end. Whoever steps up, dies!"

"Don’t celebrate just yet," Alexander’s icy voice echoed from the blood sword. "He said it’s temporary."

"Temporary still buys us time to grind!" Leonidas shot back, refusing to yield an inch.

"Quiet," Orion commanded, turning to Arthas. There was no distance between them anymore. Hearing Arthas use his name felt closer than any formal title. "I’m here for two things. The first concerns Clown and Witch. Once the Continent of the Pantheon fully merges with the Titanion Realm, I can vaguely track them. Not just their demigod auras. Their true bodies. Or at least, their core marks. If I can pinpoint that mark, we can erase them for good."

Silence fell over the cavern again.

For a long time, the traitors Clown and Witch had been a festering wound in their minds. They always talked about hunting them down, but they knew the bitter truth: the pair were too cunning to catch. Now, Orion was offering a real, tangible chance at execution. The revelation left them momentarily stunned.

"Find them," Alexander said. His tone wasn’t cold or laced with killing intent. It was perfectly flat, and absolutely resolute. "Kill them."

Leonidas suddenly chuckled, the sound bordering on manic. "Well, well... looks like their luck has finally run dry!"

Arthas stood in silence for a long time before speaking. "When you get the shot... kill them for me."

Edward’s response was sharp and cold. "No one outruns the executioner forever."