Deep beneath the bones of the earth, where light dared not wander and ancient heat pulsed through obsidian stone, Porphyrion—the towering King of the Giants—stood before his brethren.
They gathered by the hundred, monstrous and divine, their bodies forged from chaos and war.
Each one radiated a presence that made the ground tremble.
They stood shoulder to shoulder in a great obsidian amphitheater carved from the very underbelly of the world—a place older than Olympus, untouched by time, seething with dark energy.
Porphyrion, crowned with a helm of black flame and wielding a colossal spear of broken starlight, raised his hand to silence them.
The clamor of their hunger, their roars, their anticipation of violence stilled into breathless focus.
