AN: I made a mistake, I thought there was like, 12 giants, but apparently there are a hundred of them.
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Deep beneath the earth where even sunlight dared not trespass, within a hollowed cavern whose walls trembled with dormant fury, the King of the Giants stood.
The cavern was enormous—miles wide and taller than the highest mountain peak—and yet the air inside felt tight, oppressive, weighed down by a thousand thundering heartbeats and the rage of giants.
Porphyrion, the dread king of the reborn giants, stood at the highest ledge overlooking his kin.
His skin was like storm-dark granite, runes glowing faintly across his body, pulsing with a chaotic rhythm.
His hair fell in black cords down his shoulders, and in his eyes lived only war.
Below him, over a hundred giants had gathered—towering monstrosities with armor of bone, stone, and volcanic iron.
Some bore horns like minotaurs, others bore wings folded against their backs, or arms like tree trunks.
