The night was heavy with tension as Kho’s army neared Genom. Beneath the vast canopy of stars, they made camp to rest, preparing for the battle to come. But the stillness of the night was shattered by chilling screams. Kho’s eyes snapped open. He immediately grabbed his claymore and ran toward the sound, his heart pounding.
As he reached the source, the scene before him ignited a fiery rage. Several giants, including Kesa, loomed over a group of human slaves. The humans’ lifeless bodies bore the marks of gruesome consumption. Kesa wiped his mouth and grinned as Kho approached.
“I told you,” Kho said, his voice cold and sharp. “I ordered no one to harm the human slaves. What is the meaning of this?”
Kesa sneered, his massive hand resting on his weapon. “You don’t order me, coward. You’re not my general. You’re just a half-breed, an inferior Demi Giant. Don’t pretend you’re anything more than that.”
Kho’s hand tightened around the hilt of his claymore, his anger threatening to explode. But before he could act, Yholm stepped forward, his calm yet authoritative presence silencing the crowd.
“If Kesa refuses to follow orders,” Yholm said, his deep voice cutting through the tension, “then he should be punished.”
Kesa laughed, his arrogance unabated. “Punished? By who? You, Yholm? Or that insect Kho?”
Yholm’s eyes burned like fire. “By all of us. You and the others here,” he gestured toward the giants surrounding Kesa, “are already considered weak. Cowards who fled battles before joining this campaign. If you continue to defy orders, you’ll confirm what everyone suspects.”
The weight of Yholm’s words silenced Kesa’s laughter. He glanced around at the growing crowd of angry Demi Giants. Their eyes were cold, calculating, and furious. Kesa could feel the shift in power. Outnumbered and facing warriors ready to kill, his bravado faltered.
In an attempt to defend himself, Kesa raised his hands. “They—those slaves—refused to obey me! I told them to make a fire with their magic, and they refused.”
At that moment, one of the human slaves, trembling and in tears, stammered, “We tried... but we cannot use magic anymore. We don’t know why.”
Kesa growled, stepping toward the slave. “Lies! You were mages, and now you refuse to obey me. Useless insects!”
Before Kesa could strike, Niga stepped forward, his spear glinting in the dim light. He placed a hand on Kho’s shoulder and whispered, “General, I don’t think they’re lying. Look at them—they’re terrified. Something’s changed.”
Kho studied the humans, his sharp gaze picking up the fear etched in their faces. He sighed heavily, his thoughts turning to Dule, the human who had been his mentor, his father figure, and his best friend. The sight of these enslaved humans filled him with sadness, but there was little he could do for them now.
Turning to Kesa, Kho’s voice was steady, but his words carried weight. “This is your last chance, Kesa. There will be no more warnings. No more excuses. Harm the humans again, and I will cut you down myself.”
Kesa hesitated, seeing the flicker of deadly resolve in Kho’s eyes. He muttered something under his breath before stepping back.
Kho turned and walked away, retreating to his tent. Behind him, Yholm and the Demi Giants exchanged disappointed glances.
Yholm muttered just loud enough for those nearby to hear, “Warnings will only take you so far, General. One day, you’ll need to act.”
Far from the turmoil of Kho’s camp and the destruction wrought by Raizzen, a storm of fire and fury brewed in the skies of the Draconic Empire. Marada, the insidious demon who thrived on corruption and decay, had overstepped his bounds. What worked so well on humans—twisting their pride and ambitions into nightmares—was powerless against the ancient pride of the dragons.
The draconic roars echoed across the empire, a sound that shook the very earth. The air itself seemed to vibrate with an undeniable truth: the dragons would not bow to anyone, least of all to a demon like Marada.
Drasko, the emperor of dragons, perched atop the highest peak of his realm, his gleaming white scales reflecting the moonlight like a beacon. His golden eyes burned with wrath as he surveyed his territory. A deep growl resonated in his throat, and with a booming voice, he declared, “No invader will defile my lands. No parasite will escape my judgment.”
Marada, despite his cunning, realized too late the gravity of his mistake. The dragons were not humans. Their pride, their power, and their ancient wisdom made them impervious to his manipulations. He had managed to slip into the Draconic Empire, corrupting a few minor creatures at its fringes. But now, he was exposed, his presence unmistakable to the dragons who soared through the skies, hunting him relentlessly.
Fleeing for his life, Marada left a trail of destruction in his wake as the dragons pursued him. His body bore injuries from their relentless attacks, his dark magic faltering under the onslaught of their draconic flames. Even when he thought he had found a momentary refuge—a dark cavern hidden deep in the mountains—his relief was short-lived.
Above him, the skies ignited with a blinding light. Drasko himself had arrived. With a guttural roar, the white dragon unleashed his ultimate weapon—a massive sphere of white fire, glowing with purity and divine power. The fireball descended like a falling star, incinerating the entire mountain range where Marada hid. The demon barely escaped, but the impact left him scarred and weakened beyond recognition.
Bruised and battered, Marada fled the Draconic Empire entirely, retreating to the dark recesses of Arche to lick his wounds. His defeat at the hands of Drasko marked the first turning point in the war. The dragons, who had thus far remained isolated and neutral, had now made their stance clear: they would not sit idle while the demons desecrated Arche.
Meanwhile, Raizzen, who had been preparing to return to Oosa to await their submission, paused his plans. News of the dragons’ involvement unsettled him. Raizzen was confident in his strength, but even he respected the might of the dragons, especially Drasko. For now, he decided to avoid confrontation with the dragons, preferring to bide his time. Instead of returning to Oosa himself, he sent a contingent of his demon soldiers to deliver his ultimatum: Submit to Raizzen, or face annihilation.
The giants, as barbaric as they were, now faced a grim decision. But deep in his lair, Raizzen contemplated the rise of the dragons and the implications for his own plans.
Within the battered halls of Oosa’s war camp, General Durr clutched the magical scroll, the Emperor's voice echoing in his mind like the booming wrath of the heavens.
“Durr, listen carefully. Roma has fallen, and Raizzen dares to send us an ultimatum—submission or annihilation. He mocks us!” Rogg’s voice seethed with anger but carried an unmistakable edge of concern. “Genom was never a vital post, but with Raizzen’s presence, it’s now a dangerous liability. Send Goan. He’s capable enough to deal with this.”
Durr’s grip tightened, the parchment crinkling under the weight of his frustration. His father’s orders were clear, but the unspoken subtext stabbed at his pride. The Emperor didn’t want him to go—didn’t want to risk losing his prized general to Raizzen.
“Father,” Durr said aloud, his voice firm, though the Emperor could not hear him. “You forget that I am not one to sit idle while my empire is threatened. Raizzen mocks us as if the Giants of Oosa would ever submit! I will not let this insult go unanswered.”
Goan, who had been standing nearby, stepped forward with a measured smirk. “A wise decision, Emperor Rogg,” Goan said, speaking to the Emperor’s unseen presence with feigned respect. “Sending me is the logical choice. Durr’s strength is best preserved for the real battles.”
Durr shot him a sharp glance, the kind that could silence lesser men. But Goan merely bowed his head, hiding the flicker of satisfaction that danced behind his eyes. He had long harbored ambitions far beyond his station, ambitions that would see both Rogg and Durr removed from power, leaving the throne of Oosa ripe for his taking.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
If Durr stayed behind, Goan could manipulate the chaos in Genom to worsen the situation, ensuring the demon Raizzen posed an even greater threat to the empire. And if the Emperor’s eldest son fell in the crossfire? All the better.
But Durr wasn’t so easily manipulated. He turned away from the scroll, his gaze fixed on Goan.
“I’m going to Genom,” Durr declared, his voice like the rumble of an avalanche.
Goan blinked, his carefully constructed façade faltering for a moment. “General, surely you don’t mean—”
“I mean exactly what I said,” Durr interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “I will not entrust such a critical matter to anyone else. You will accompany me, Goan, so I can be sure you follow through on the Emperor’s orders.”
Goan hesitated but quickly masked his annoyance with a thin smile. “As you wish, General. Your leadership will no doubt inspire the troops.”
Durr’s expression hardened further. He could see the ambition lurking in Goan’s eyes, the thinly veiled opportunism. But for now, he let it pass. The insult of Raizzen’s ultimatum burned too deeply for him to waste time on petty internal schemes.
“I will not stand idle while a demon presumes to demand our surrender,” Durr growled, his voice low but fierce. “I don’t care if Raizzen thinks he is unstoppable. The Giants of Oosa do not submit. We destroy.”
With that, Durr strode from the room, his resolve like iron. Goan followed, hiding his disappointment behind a mask of obedience. This was not the plan, but it didn’t matter. Plans could change.
As the two mounted their war beasts and rode toward Genom, the tension between them was palpable. Durr’s fury was a force of nature, a storm ready to unleash its wrath on the demon who dared to challenge his empire. And Goan, though outwardly loyal, was already plotting his next move, ensuring that the chaos of the battlefield would serve his ultimate ambition.
The war against Raizzen was only just beginning, but for the Giants of Oosa, it was also a war for their pride, their survival, and their very identity.
Kho and his weary army finally arrived at Genom, only to be met with a sight that set their nerves on edge. Giants of Oosa, far more numerous than expected, were fortifying the region in preparation for a colossal battle. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and the air seemed to hum with the grim anticipation of war.
Kho approached a group of seasoned Giants who were gathered around a crude war map etched into the dirt. One of them, a towering figure with a battle-worn face, turned toward him with a grim expression.
“Raizzen is coming,” the Giant said without preamble. “We don’t know when, but his soldiers are already moving. He’s planning to invade Genom, and it won’t be long now.”
Kho froze, his blood running cold. Raizzen. The name carried a weight that few could bear, a terror that gripped even the proudest warriors. For a moment, he felt the enormity of the task before him. But as his human servant Dule often reminded him, panic was the first step to failure.
Taking a deep breath, Kho nodded and moved toward the main camp, his mind racing. The memory of Dule’s calm, wise voice guided him. “Battles are not just won with strength, Kho,” Dule had once said. “The smartest plan often beats the strongest foe.”
In the camp, Kho’s gaze fell on the weapons carried by his trusted comrades—Niga’s deadly spear and Niger’s heavy hammer. An idea sparked in his mind. He immediately summoned Kai, Yholm, Niga, and Niger to his side.
When they arrived, Kho laid out his plan, speaking with a clarity and authority that left no room for doubt. His strategy relied on their unique strengths and coordination, a concept unfamiliar to the often chaotic tactics of the Giants. The four warriors listened closely, their expressions shifting from skepticism to grudging respect.
But Kesa was absent. His defiance had already been a thorn in Kho’s side, and now, with tensions running high, the absence felt like a deliberate challenge. Kho left the group to find him, his jaw set in frustration.
It didn’t take long. Kho found Kesa in a shadowy corner of the camp, surrounded by a few other Giants, his fists bloodied. The targets of his anger were Demi-Giants, beaten and huddled on the ground.
Kesa’s face twisted with rage and bitterness as he struck another Demi-Giant. “This is all you’re good for,” he snarled, kicking the trembling figure. “Weaklings. Just like your coward of a general.”
Kho stopped in his tracks, the sight igniting a fire of fury within him. This wasn’t the first time Kesa had crossed the line, but now it was clear: Kesa’s pride would never allow him to follow orders. Worse, his actions were poisoning the fragile unity of the army.
Without a word, Kho unsheathed his claymore and stormed forward. His sudden movement caught Kesa off guard. The other Giants turned to watch, their faces flickering between confusion and shock.
“Kesa!” Kho’s voice rang out like thunder, his rage barely contained. “I gave you one warning. One. And you think you can defy me and harm my soldiers?”
Kesa turned, his lip curling in disdain. “You think I’ll bow to you? A Demi-Giant pretending to lead? You’re an insect beneath me!”
Kho didn’t respond. Instead, with a burst of speed that defied his stature, he closed the distance between them. The Giants barely had time to react as Kho swung his claymore in a single, fluid motion. The blade cut through the air with a terrible, metallic hiss.
The next moment, Kesa’s head fell to the ground, his eyes wide with disbelief. Blood poured from his neck, staining the dirt in thick, steaming rivulets. His body swayed for a heartbeat before collapsing with a resounding thud.
For a moment, silence engulfed the camp. The Giants stared, frozen, as the reality of what had just happened sunk in. A Demi-Giant had killed a Giant—a feat that defied the unspoken laws of their hierarchy.
Kho stood over Kesa’s lifeless body, his claymore dripping with blood. His chest heaved with the effort of controlling his fury. “This is what happens,” Kho said, his voice low and even, “when you refuse to follow your general.”
The stunned silence was shattered by the distant sound of screams. The earth trembled beneath their feet as the unmistakable howls of demons echoed through the night. The enemy was here.
Kho turned to his soldiers, his voice rising above the chaos. “Demons are coming! To your positions! Now!”
The camp erupted into motion, the fear of Raizzen’s forces momentarily eclipsing the shock of Kesa’s execution. Kho’s mind was already racing, his earlier plan coming together in fragments as he prepared his troops to face an enemy like no other.
This wasn’t just a fight for Genom. It was a fight for survival—and Kho knew he would need every ounce of strength and strategy to win.
The screams echoed through the night, but these were not screams of fear—they were the battle cries of Giant warriors. Fueled by centuries of tradition and unyielding pride, the Giants charged headlong toward the enemy. Their deafening roars shook the ground, a raw display of power that had always struck terror into their foes. But this time, Kho watched them go with a steely resolve, choosing not to join their reckless advance.
Kho's mind was fixed on his plan—a plan born of strategy, not brute force. His Demi-Giant army stood firm, their ranks organized into pairs. Each pair was part of a greater formation: the first line served as a defensive wall, shields raised high and weapons ready to block and parry any assault. Behind them, the second line waited like coiled springs, ready to strike at any foe that broke through.
The Giants, seeing the Demi-Giants holding their ground, shouted insults as they thundered past. “Cowards!” one bellowed. “Too afraid to fight!” Others laughed mockingly as they ran to meet the oncoming horde. But Kho remained steadfast, his focus unshaken by their taunts.
“Hold the line!” he commanded, his voice sharp and unwavering. “Wait for them to come to us!”
His soldiers obeyed, their faces a mix of determination and nervous energy. For many, this was their first test under Kho's leadership. But Kho's confidence and the discipline instilled by Yholm and Niga kept them steady.
The creatures arrived in waves. The first were demonic wolves, their eyes glowing with malevolence, fangs dripping with dark ichor. Behind them came undead humans, their twisted forms stumbling forward with relentless purpose. Among them slithered strange blobs of pulsating flesh, their forms shifting and bubbling as they advanced.
The Giants clashed with the horde first, their weapons cutting through the wolves and undead with ease. But their lack of coordination soon became apparent. The blobs overwhelmed individual warriors, latching onto them and dissolving armor and flesh alike. Screams of agony punctuated the night as some Giants fell, their pride unable to shield them from the chaotic onslaught.
Meanwhile, Kho’s line stood firm. The defensive front met the charging wolves, their shields holding strong against the snapping jaws. When the wolves recoiled, the second line struck with precision, spears and swords plunging into vulnerable flesh. The undead were no match for the organized strikes, their brittle bones shattered under coordinated blows. Even the blobs, horrifying as they were, were dealt with methodically—burned by prepared torches or pierced by concentrated attacks.
The difference was stark. While the Giants fought with raw ferocity, Kho’s Demi-Giants fought with discipline and unity. The results were undeniable: casualties in Kho’s ranks were minimal, and the battlefield was soon littered with the broken bodies of their enemies.
As the last of the creatures fell, Kho scanned the horizon. The terrible battle they had been warned of was nowhere to be found. Raizzen, the demon commander, was not among the attackers. Instead, this was merely a probing force—a motley assortment of weak monsters, sent to test their defenses.
Kho frowned, his claymore resting on his shoulder. “This was it?” he thought. The anticipated clash with Raizzen’s forces had been little more than a skirmish.
The sun began to rise, its golden rays illuminating the blood-soaked battlefield. The Giants who had survived their reckless charge returned to the camp, some wounded, others begrudgingly silent as they eyed Kho’s intact army. For once, they had no insults to hurl. Kho’s strategy had proven its worth, and even the proudest among them could not deny the results.
Kho allowed himself a moment of relief, though his heart remained heavy. The demons were beaten for now, but the war was far from over. The reprieve brought by the morning light felt fragile, like the calm before a storm.
Standing amidst his soldiers, Kho took a deep breath. This was just the beginning.