“GAAAAHHH!” .

Volk’s scream was one of both fury and agony, his mind on fire with the raw, blistering pain. But through the haze of suffering, his rage only grew.

He could feel something primal and dark welling up within him, a force that fed on his pain, that made his blood boil and his vision go red.

With a sudden burst of strength, he broke free, slamming a fist down onto the Lurker’s head with all his might.

CRASH!

The Lurker hit the ground hard, but even as it skidded back, Volk’s legs buckled.

He barely had time to catch his breath before the Icebound Colossus lumbered forward, its massive shadow falling over him.

A bone-chilling cold radiated from the creature, so intense that Volk’s skin turned pale, frost creeping up his limbs.

With a guttural growl, the Colossus swung a massive, icy fist, hitting Volk square in the chest.

THOOM!

The impact drove the air from his lungs, ice crystals forming around his chest as the shock of cold penetrated him to the core.

His muscles felt stiff, his bones aching from the frost. But even as his breath came out in short, pained gasps, the rage inside him burned hotter.

His skin glowed faintly, a deep, pulsing red that seemed to grow with every blow he took, his fury simmering into something tangible.

The Inferno Behemoth, seeing its moment, raised a molten fist and brought it crashing down.

Volk barely managed to roll aside, the ground erupting in flames as lava spilled across the battlefield.

The Behemoth let out a rumbling roar, lifting its fist again, preparing to bring it down on Volk with a final, crushing blow.

But Volk’s anger had reached a fever pitch. His entire body was glowing, veins pulsing as his strength surged.

He let out a bellowing roar, muscles bulging as he charged at the Behemoth.

He felt the intense heat, the skin on his arms blistering and charring as he punched through the molten barrier, ignoring the pain, his focus solely on the Death Monarch’s creatures.

With a force that defied reason, Volk’s fist connected with the Behemoth’s chest, shattering the molten shell and sending chunks of magma flying in all directions.

The Behemoth stumbled, its molten insides exposed, but even as it began to collapse, the venom, ice, and shock of the previous attacks lingered, weakening him from within.

The Death Monarch watched with fascination, his eyes gleaming with twisted admiration.

He watched the ogre rise from the destruction, his hulking form shifting, each breath drawing in more power, more fury.

He couldn’t help but be impressed.

Volk’s wounds, which had just moments ago marred his flesh, were knitting themselves back together with an eerie speed.

His muscles pulsed, veins bulging like iron cords as if pulling in the very essence of life around him, siphoning strength from the very air.

A sudden, raucous laugh tore from the Death Monarch’s throat, echoing across the battlefield like the crack of thunder.

“Yes! YES! Impress me, Ogre!” he roared, his voice dripping with elation. Find exclusive stories on empire

“You’re far more resilient than I ever dared to imagine! Each blow should have shattered you, each strike should have broken that pitiful flesh, yet here you stand—stronger than ever! Hah! The power of your fury—it’s… it’s breathtaking!”

His voice reverberated, rising to a fever pitch as he observed the transformation, a twisted hunger in his gaze.

His skeletal fingers twitched with the urge to summon more, to test every fiber of Volk’s strength.

“Look at you!” he bellowed, his tone filled with both mockery and admiration, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light.

“An ogre, a mere brute of flesh and bone, yet your spirit—yes, it grows with each strike! You absorb pain as though it were nectar, and turn it into a weapon! A weapon forged in the fires of wrath and honed on the blade of suffering! Hahaha! Oh, how delightful!”

With an almost reverent expression, he stepped forward, arms wide, as if welcoming Volk into his fold.

“Do you realize what you are, Ogre? Do you understand the potential you hold?”

He spoke each word with a theatrical flourish, his voice filled with a twisted reverence.

“Imagine you, leading my armies, a colossus at the forefront, each strike of your fists raining devastation upon all who stand in our way!

“Every kingdom, every fortress, every realm would crumble under your might! None could hope to stand against the combined force of your fury and my magic!”

He gestured expansively, his bony hands casting shadows that seemed to dance with dark energy.

“Picture it, Ogre or should I call you my Warchief VOOOLK—the lands burning, cities leveled to dust, entire civilizations bowing or breaking under the weight of our conquest! And you, my unstoppable juggernaut, my Titan of Wrath! The realms would tremble at the mere whisper of your name. ‘The Death Monarch and his Unbreakable Ogre!'”

His laughter rippled like a sickening lullaby, his mouth twisted in a crazed grin.

“But I wonder…” he mused, his voice dipping into a contemplative tone, the mania in his eyes sharpening.

“I wonder—what is your limit, beast? How far can you go before your flesh gives way, before your bones shatter?” .

His eyes glowed with an almost childlike curiosity.

“I want to see it! I must see it! I want to know what lies at the very peak of your power, to witness the apex of an ogre’s strength! Do you hear me? Show me! SHOW ME THE FURY THAT DRIVES YOU TO DEFY EVEN DEATH!”

His voice grew louder, each word rising like a crescendo, his excitement spilling over in waves of unrestrained delight.

“Imagine it, ogre—a power so vast, so absolute, that the heavens themselves would bow before us! I could give you kingdoms to crush, empires to trample!

“You, the wrathful storm that wipes clean the slate of this world, and I, the orchestrator of it all! We would be legends!”

He threw his arms wide, eyes blazing with frenzied anticipation. “A tale for eternity—a tale of blood and ruin, of chaos and conquest!”

“But it doesn’t end there, does it, Volk?” His voice dropped, almost a whisper, eyes narrowing as they bored into Volk’s own.

“You, with your boundless rage, your insatiable hunger for power—you could become the force of death itself! My armies, my creatures—they would bend to you.

“Every fallen warrior, every slain beast, would be reborn under your command. You, the Commander of the Undead! Imagine the power, the immortality that could be yours, Ogre!”

The Death Monarch leaned forward, hands clenched, his voice trembling with his own fevered excitement.

“Don’t you see? Under my guidance, you could rise above this world, a god of carnage, a beast that devours all who oppose you. But tell me, Volk,” he sneered, his tone both mocking and tempting, “is your rage truly boundless? Do you have what it takes to reach the pinnacle of strength? I have witnessed countless creatures break under the weight of their own power, seen champions crumble when faced with true darkness.”

He paused, his skeletal fingers curling as dark energy pulsed through them, his grin widening as he reveled in his twisted vision.

“You could be so much more. But only if you give in. Only if you surrender to the fury, to the bloodlust. Only then will you reach heights beyond mortal comprehension. You, leading an army of the dead, unstoppable, undying! An inferno of hatred and wrath that consumes everything in its path.”

He threw his head back and laughed, the sound an unholy symphony of madness and excitement.

“YES, OGRE! Prove to me that you are worthy of this power! Show me the wrath that has brought you back from the brink time and time again! Make me believe that you are the one who will bring ruin to the realms alongside me!”

As his laughter subsided, his gaze locked onto Volk, his grin both challenging and hungry. “What are you waiting for, brute? Show me everything!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep