The cave echoed with the sound of dripping water amidst the bone armored Orcs who were frozen in fear.

The dim light from the phosphorescent moss barely illuminated the jagged rocks lining the cavern’s walls.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the pungent odor of the three-headed beast, Dozer.

Its low growl reverberated through the space, a deep rumble that seemed to shake the very ground beneath their feet.

As Zenveil kept talking, Volk’s figure appeared near his face in a blur.

He moved with a swift, almost inOrcish grace, with his form sidestepped through the shadows as though they were part of him.

However, the faint clink of his armor was drowned out by the beast’s guttural snarls. And before he could launch an attack, Warlock Zenveil, perched atop the massive creature, flicked his wrist dismissively.

Volk felt a force slam into him.

Kabang!

His body crashed against the rough stone of the cave wall, sending a shower of dust and debris into the air.

But Volk was ready. With a grunt, he planted his feet against the wall, absorbing the impact.

He slid down, landing in a crouch, eyes narrowing as he glared at Zenveil.

The Warlock’s smile was mocking, with his maniacal gaze dripping with arrogance as he said, “Predictable.”

Volk muttered under his breath, “I am not done!” shaking off the pain. He was thinking of using his Radioactive form, ‘is it time?’ he thought.

Zenveil’s smirk widened as if he could hear Volk’s thoughts. “Still the same tricks, hazardous Orc?” he sneered. “You can try that as many times as you want until I make you realize it’s useless before me.”

Volk’s jaw tightened, but before he could retort, a shadow loomed behind Zenveil. The air seemed to grow heavier, the ground trembling with the weight of something massive.

Emerging from the darkness was a hulking figure, green and grotesque, but not towering over even the monstrous size of Dozer who was in Warlock’s control.

Volk’s breath hitched as he stared at the creature.

It was an Ogre, a being of brute strength and ferocity. But there was something familiar about its face, though it was twisted into a more monstrous version of itself, he was somewhat very familiar.

Zenveil smirked on the top of the three headed Dozer, “Interesting, another one who couldn’t make it? Didn’t your ancestors and instincts tell you to not use your form against me?”

“ME, GRASHK,” the Ogre boomed, his voice like a landslide crashing down a mountain. The words were simple, the sentences clipped, but the power behind them was undeniable.

“SWING WEAPON TO WARLOOOOOCK!”

Grashk, in his Grum-gar Ogre form, swung his massive club with a force that whistled through the air.

Whoosh!

The weapon connected with Dozer’s side, the impact resonating through the cavern.

The three-headed dog-beast snarled, its heads snapping toward Grashk, jaws dripping with saliva. But Grashk was undeterred, his strength seemingly inexhaustible as he pressed the attack, each swing of his weapon sending shockwaves through the ground.

Thud!

Crack!

Volk watched, still seated where he had landed, his mind reeling.

Grashk… He was different now, transformed into this hulking behemoth, yet there was no mistaking the Orc warrior beneath the monstrous exterior. But before Volk could rise to join the fray, Zenveil’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

“Hazardous Orc,” Zenveil called out, his tone eerily calm despite the battle raging around him. His eyes locked onto Volk with a piercing intensity. “You’re their leader, aren’t you? Do you even know why your kind fears us Warlocks?”

Volk’s expression hardened, but he remained silent, his gaze locked on Zenveil’s smug face. The Warlock’s lips curled into a smile, cold and cruel.

“It’s because we have power over you,” Zenveil continued, his voice laced with condescension. “We can turn your precious Grum-gar warriors back into the weaklings they truly are.”

Before Volk could respond, Zenveil raised his hand, and with a swift, almost lazy motion, directed Dozer toward Grashk.

The beast lunged, its three heads snapping with terrifying speed and precision.

Snap!

Snap!

Snap!

The jaws clamped down on Grashk’s limbs, and with a violent shake, the massive Ogre was slammed against the cave walls.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

The sound of Grashk’s body hitting the stone was like thunder, the force enough to send cracks spider webbing across the surface.

Volk could only watch as Grashk’s form was battered against the floor and walls, making the ground tremble with each brutal impact.

Dust and rocks rained down from above, the noise deafening in the enclosed space. And then, with a final, powerful throw, Dozer hurled Grashk into the air.

Hacha!

Zenveil’s eyes gleamed with dark energy as he reached out with his humanoid hand, touching Grashk’s battered form mid-air.

The air around them shimmered with an unnatural energy, a sickly green light emanating from Zenveil’s touch.

Slowly, to Volk’s horror, Grashk began to change.

The massive, grotesque form of the Grum-gar Ogre began to shrink, the bulging muscles receding, the monstrous features softening.

It was as though the strength was being drained from him, his power siphoned away by Zenveil’s cursed magic.

Grashk’s roars turned into agonized groans as his body twisted and contorted, shrinking down until he was once again the Orc Volk recognized.

His skin lost its greenish hue, his body shrinking and shriveling, until he was nothing more than a broken figure, weak and vulnerable.

Grashk’s eyes, once full of rage and power, now held only pain and fear as he was thrown to the ground with a sickening thud!

The other Orcs gasped, their disbelief palpable as they watched their formidable warrior reduced to his original, weakened form.

They could hardly believe what they had seen, the sight of their comrade—a warrior who had been a symbol of their strength—now laying crumpled on the cold stone.

Zenveil’s gaze flicked back to Volk, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “And that,” he said, his voice dripping with superiority, “is why Orcs fear Warlocks. Because we can take away what makes you strong. Anytime we want.”

The words were like a heavy sledgehammer dropped to their head, a final, crushing blow to the Orcs’ morale.

Soon, silence descended on the cave, broken only by the shallow, labored breaths of Grashk as he lay motionless on the ground.

The other Orcs looked to Volk, their eyes filled with desperation and uncertainty.

For a moment, Volk remained still, his body tense, his fists clenched at his sides.

His eyes were seeing things, grappling with the horror of what he had just witnessed. But then, something inside him snapped into place—a fierce, unyielding resolve.

He pushed himself up from the ground, every muscle in his body screaming in protest, but he ignored the pain. His eyes locked onto Zenveil, blazing with a fire that could not be extinguished.

“HE’S LYING!”

Volk roared, with his voice echoing through the cavern, cutting through the fear that had taken hold of his comrades.

The sheer force of his words seemed to shake them from their stupor.

“MAG’DUROTANS!!!”

He shouted out loud!

“HE NEEDED TO BEAT GRASHK FIRST TO MAKE HIM TURN BACK TO NORMAL! AS LONG AS WE BEAT HIM UP AND DON’T GET INJURED TOO MUCH, I BELIEVE WE CAN BEAT HIM!”

The other Orcs stirred at his words, the light of hope rekindling in their eyes.

Volk’s presence, his unwavering confidence, and the familiar strong look in his eyes was like a beacon in the darkness.

It gave them something to hold onto, something to fight for.

The Warlock might have power, but Volk had something they believed—he could see through the hazardous magic particles!

“DREADMAW CLAN! BEAT THIS THREE HEADED DOG UP AGAIN! IT’S TIME TO PAINT OUR HANDS WITH WARLOCK’S BLOOD!”

Zenveil’s smile faltered, just for a moment, as he saw the renewed fire in the Orcs’ eyes. But it was enough.

Volk took a step forward, and then another, his gaze never leaving Zenveil’s.

He was ready to fight, to lead his people, no matter the odds. Because this time, it’s time to turn into his Radioactive form!

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep