In the caves beneath fate's roots, where time thickened and space rippled, Gaia and Hades had 'united' again and again, entwining Earth and Death, womb and void.
Their union was not carnal, but cosmic—rivers boiling, mountains groaning, stars dimming each time they came together.
And from that dark and divine union came the Giants.
One by one, they rose like monoliths from Gaia's womb—each one mightier than the last.
Bronze-skinned colossi whose breath scorched valleys.
Six-armed berserkers who could hurl islands across oceans.
Serpent-legged warriors whose screams could crack celestial gates.
Gaia named them proudly—Alkyoneus, Porphyrion, Enceladus, and others—children stronger than the Titans, bred to overthrow the gods who had defiled her world.
But Hades was not satisfied.
He watched the Giants wrestle mountains and shake the sky with their roars—but with his eyes, he saw flaws.
