The fire of conquest had dimmed, if only momentarily.
In the blackened depths of the Giants' Dominion, far below the surface of the mortal world, Porphyrion, King of Giants, leaned back against the jagged stone of his twisted throne.
The chamber pulsed with ambient energy—residual power from the battle that had nearly ended the age of gods.
His breath was slow but heavy from relief.
All around him, the other giants hissed and growled, some pacing like rabid wolves, others gripping shattered weapons still wet with divine ichor.
The stench of their frustration was thick in the air.
"We had them!" Ephialtes roared, slamming his fist into the wall. The stone cracked but did not break.
"They were collapsing!" snarled Alcyoneus, golden blood still smeared across his chest from his battle with Poseidon. "Olympus was a breath away from crumbling. Why did you call us back?"
Mimas, his arms crossed and armor fractured, narrowed his glowing eyes. "It was cowardice."
