The Death Monarch’s laughter echoed like a twisted symphony across the blood-soaked field as he raised his hand, dark magic swirling around his bony fingers.

Volk, breathing hard, his muscles taut with rage and defiance, fixed his gaze on the undead sorcerer.

The aura of death surrounding the Death Monarch’s fist pulsed like a living thing, and Volk could feel the oppressive weight of the magic bearing down on him, chilling him to the bone.

“Ah, Ogre!” the Death Monarch sneered, his voice booming across the battlefield.

“Look at you, clawing and scraping with brute force alone. Do you honestly think you can challenge me?”

He waved his hand, sending a wave of dark energy crashing into Volk.

The force hit like a storm, each tendril of magic searing his skin as it wrapped around him, threatening to drag him to his knees.

Volk staggered but refused to yield.

“VOLK… WILL… WIN!” he bellowed, his fists clenching as he forced himself forward, step by agonizing step, against the suffocating wave of magic.

The Death Monarch chuckled, amused, as he watched Volk struggle.

“Oh, how charming. Your spirit is admirable, but do you honestly think sheer strength alone is enough?

“You may be physically formidable, but your lack of magical ability leaves you hopelessly vulnerable.

“In magic, I am your superior. You are a mere worm fighting against a god.”

With a flick of his wrist, he launched another wave of black fire toward Volk, engulfing him in flames that seared his skin.

Volk’s roar tore through the smoke, defiant, even as his flesh burned.

He charged, bursting through the flames and aiming a punch at the Death Monarch’s head.

The undead sorcerer sidestepped with ease, his lips curling in a sneer.

“Is that all, brute? Surely, you can muster more than this. Or is your so-called strength already reaching its pitiful limit?”

His voice was laced with mockery, each word a taunt meant to break Volk’s spirit.

Volk’s growl deepened, his muscles rippling with a renewed surge of strength.

But every attempt to attack was met with a precise, ruthless counter.

The Death Monarch toyed with him, dodging and weaving, his laughter ringing out as he struck Volk with brutal blasts of magic that sent him reeling back, again and again.

“Are you truly this simple-minded, Ogre?” the Death Monarch mocked, circling Volk with an arrogant gleam in his eyes.

“Look at yourself. You may be reaching physical parity with me, yes. But that is nothing in the face of magic.

“I can toy with you all day, watching your strength peak and then finally break. Just admit it—this is your limit.”

But Volk’s response was a roar, a guttural, primal scream that resonated with raw, unrelenting rage.

He surged forward, throwing a punch that seemed to shake the air itself, and for a fleeting moment, the Death Monarch felt its force.

He caught the fist, his arm trembling under the weight of Volk’s strength, but then he sneered, twisting Volk’s arm and slamming a surge of dark energy into his chest, sending him crashing back.

“Is this not exhausting for you?” the Death Monarch mused, pacing as Volk struggled back to his feet.

“With every beatdown, I expect you to falter, to finally break. But no, you keep climbing, clawing back from the brink. Don’t tell me…”

He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Are you really… surpassing even your previous limits?”

Volk forced himself up, his breaths coming hard, his body battered, bleeding, yet unbroken.

Each time he rose, his muscles seemed to pulse with greater power, a strength that defied reason, growing with each hit, each moment of punishment.

He fixed his blazing eyes on the Death Monarch and spat blood to the side, a fierce grin breaking across his bloodied face.

The Death Monarch’s grin faded, replaced by a look of growing concern.

“Enough!” he barked, lashing out with a cascade of dark energy, bolts of black lightning crackling through the air toward Volk.

They struck with merciless force, blasting him back, yet still, Volk rose, his body absorbing the damage, his power climbing higher, fiercer, his aura thickening like a storm.

“What…?”

The Death Monarch’s voice wavered, disbelief flickering in his eyes as he watched the Ogre stand tall once more, his chest heaving with steady breaths, his face marked with the unbreakable will that even death couldn’t dampen.

“How… how are you still growing stronger?”

Volk let out a low, rumbling laugh, his voice thick with fury and triumph.

“VOLK… IS… ENDLESS!” he roared, his body seeming to radiate with a strength beyond comprehension.

With every step, his power surged, his fists crackling with an energy that defied logic, each movement imbued with the primal rage of a beast that could not be subdued.

The Death Monarch took a step back, his smug grin vanishing completely as he realized the impossible truth—his magic, his unassailable advantage, was beginning to feel… ineffective.

Each spell, each wave of energy, every bone-crushing punch seemed to make Volk only stronger, each blow feeding his rage, his power.

For the first time, a hint of doubt shadowed the Death Monarch’s face.

He raised his fists, hesitating as he watched the Ogre’s relentless approach, his form larger, his steps heavier, each breath a declaration of his refusal to yield.

“This… this is impossible…” he whispered, his voice tinged with genuine awe and, perhaps, the faintest hint of fear.

The Death Monarch’s eyes narrowed, a glint of cunning flickering through his gaze as he raised his arms, dark tendrils of necromantic energy coiling like snakes around his skeletal fingers.

He chanted in a low, guttural voice, his words a twisted invocation to the very essence of death itself.

“With the chains of the forsaken, I bind your spirit!” he intoned, his voice echoing across the battlefield, reverberating with a sinister resonance.

A storm of shadowed chains erupted from the ground, each link forged from the screams of countless souls, and they hurtled toward Volk, aiming to ensnare him in an ironclad grip.

The chains wrapped around Volk’s wrists, his ankles, his neck, tightening with a relentless force that would crush the spirit of any lesser being.

But Volk only grinned, his eyes blazing with defiance as he flexed his arms and shoulders, each muscle rippling with newfound power.

“GRRAAAAAH!”

Volk roared, his voice a thunderous boom that shook the chains themselves.

With a fierce tug, he snapped the bindings around his wrists as if they were little more than threads, the dark energy dissipating into wisps of shadow.

He clenched his fists, glaring at the Death Monarch with unbridled fury.

“IS THIS… YOUR BEST?!”

The Death Monarch snarled, his eyes widening with disbelief.

Without hesitation, he raised his arms again, summoning another wave of magic.

“Sleep, beast!” he commanded, his voice rising with desperate intensity. “By the eternal night, let your mind be shackled, your will drowned in slumber!”

An eerie, inky mist filled the air, seeping into Volk’s lungs, his skin, his very mind, in an attempt to lull him into an endless, dreamless sleep.

But Volk merely took a deep breath, his chest swelling as he inhaled the spell’s essence—then let out a thunderous laugh, expelling the dark mist in a burst of raw power.

“VOLK DOES NOT SLEEP!” he bellowed, his voice echoing across the battlefield. His laughter was a defiant proclamation, shaking the very air with its ferocity.

The Death Monarch’s composure faltered, a flash of frustration shadowing his face.

But he was not defeated yet.

He raised his hands once more, desperation tightening his voice as he called upon one of his deadliest spells.

“Shadow of the Undying, crush his soul! Rend his strength, weaken his spirit!”

The ground trembled as a colossal shadowy figure rose, a monstrous, ghastly apparition, its form shifting and undulating, every limb pulsating with a malevolent energy that sought to drain the very life from Volk.

It loomed over him, its ghostly hands reaching out to consume his power, its eyes glowing with an unholy light.

Volk snarled as he felt the shadow’s touch on his skin, its cold fingers digging into him, trying to sap his strength.

But instead of falling to his knees, Volk took a step forward, his muscles bulging as he fought against the draining effect, his veins pulsing with sheer determination.

“YOU THINK… THIS WILL STOP ME, VOLK?!”

His voice rose to a primal bellow as he shrugged off the shadow’s grip, his strength undiminished.

With a violent swing of his arm, he struck the apparition, shattering it into shards of dark mist that vanished into the air.

He stood tall, his gaze fixed on the Death Monarch with a gaze that was pure, unyielding fury. “NOTHING… CAN BREAK… VOLK!”

The Death Monarch’s face twisted with desperation as he conjured yet another spell, his voice shrill as he shouted.

“Fall, beast! I command you! By the essence of oblivion, let your heart be weighed down, let your limbs turn to lead!”

A crushing force slammed down on Volk, like an invisible mountain bearing down on him, aiming to pin him to the ground, to turn his very blood to sludge.

But Volk only laughed, a terrible, bone-rattling sound, as he straightened under the spell’s weight, every fiber of his being surging with relentless energy.

“IS THIS ALL YOU HAVE?”

His voice was louder, more menacing with each word, each defiance sending shivers through the undead forces still watching in awe.

“YOU THINK YOU CAN MAKE ME… WEAK?!”

With a furious roar, Volk ripped free from the invisible bonds, his body radiating with a newfound intensity that shook the battlefield.

His gaze locked onto the Death Monarch, a look of pure, unstoppable rage in his eyes, and he took a slow, deliberate step forward.

The Death Monarch stumbled back, his mouth open in disbelief, his confidence crumbling as Volk brushed off each spell as if it were nothing more than dust in the wind.

Panic flashed in his eyes as he conjured one last desperate spell, his voice trembling.

“Oblivion’s Embrace!” he cried, summoning a whirlwind of necrotic energy that spiraled toward Volk, its dark tendrils seeking to consume him whole.

But Volk simply raised his fist and swung, his raw, overwhelming strength scattering the necrotic energy like smoke.

He stepped closer to the Death Monarch, who was now helpless, every ounce of arrogance drained from his face, replaced by horror and disbelief.

“THIS IS WHERE IT ENDS!”

Volk thundered, his voice carrying across the battlefield.

The Death Monarch took a step back, devastated, his once-unshakable confidence now shattered, as he realized there was nothing—nothing he could do to stop this unstoppable force before him.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep