The Dreadmaw Clan marched through the rugged terrain, each step heavy and deliberate, their massive forms causing the ground beneath them to tremble ever so slightly.

It was as though the very earth feared their presence, shifting and cracking beneath their weight.

At the front of the procession was Volk, now back in his normal Orc form, though still larger and more imposing than the average Orc.

Around his neck hung an ornament—one of the skulls of the three-headed dog, Dozer—fashioned into a crude necklace.

The skull, bleached white with deep cracks from the battle, dangled from a thick, leather cord, a grisly reminder of his victory over the Warlock Zenveil and his monstrous beast.

In his hands, Volk carried a massive crystal, its size so great that it required both arms to manage.

The crystal glowed faintly with an eerie, pulsating light, shiiiiing! casting long shadows on the ground as they moved.

Every time Volk adjusted his grip, the ground beneath him trembled, and the other Orcs would glance nervously at the ground, unsure if the earth itself might give way under the weight of their march.

Grashk, walking slightly behind Volk, was the first to break the silence.

“Volk,” he said, his voice rough but respectful. “That Warlock… he said some things back there. About our kind. Do you think it was true? What he said about us Orcs their creation?”

Volk grunted in response, his eyes fixed ahead, but after a moment, he slowed his pace and turned his head slightly.

“Grashk,” he began, his voice a low growl, “is that true? Plus, do we really get weaker without a… mate?”

Grashk scratched his head, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.

“Well… I don’t know for sure. But what Zenveil said, it’s not the first time I’ve heard it. It’s said that when an Orc loses his companion, he can get weaker if he doesn’t have a lady. And if he doesn’t find one soon, he’ll start to wither. They say he’ll get thinner and weaker, until he becomes nothing more than a shadow of himself.

Twice weaker than a goblin, even.”

Volk’s brow furrowed in confusion. The thought of any Orc, especially one as powerful as himself, being reduced to something weaker than a goblin felt absurd. “So, it’s true then?” he asked, trying to wrap his head around it.

Grashk nodded slowly. “Aye, but it doesn’t happen to all Orcs. Some are… like Grak’thor back in the clan, he doesn’t get thinner.”

At the mention of the butcher, Volk’s mind flashed to the hulking figure of Grak’thor. Despite the hardships their clan faced, Grak’thor had never shown signs of weakness or decline.

“Grak’thor isn’t getting weaker though,” Volk said, his brow knitting further. “Why is that?”

Grashk gave a knowing grin.

“Grak’thor was born in a clan that didn’t thrive in the middle of the hazardous forest before he came to us Dreadmaw Clan. His kind didn’t face the same dangers we do. They didn’t have to fight for survival against the hazardous magic particles as much, and their land was without those harmful particles, so they didn’t get to get thin and weak without a lady.

However, they still get weaker like us, they are just not getting thinner…”

He shrugged. “It’s different. That’s why he still look strong. And… the Elven Witches.”

Volk’s gaze narrowed. “The Elven Witches?” he repeated, his tone demanding clarification.

“Aye, they help us out more than you think,” Grashk explained, his voice a little quieter now, as if sharing a secret.

“They need us just as much as we need them. If they stay out in the hazardous magic too long, they’ll die. So we have to find these magic catacombs, like the one we just raided, and bring back the crystals. That way, they can purify the land around the clan. If they don’t, the whole place will become unlivable for both Orcs and Elves alike.”

Volk’s mind churned with the new information. He clenched his fists and muttered under his breath, “So we’re like… their lifeline. Like an electric bulb that burns out if we don’t find more power. No wonder they push us into these catacombs. But we also need them.”

As the group continued, Volk’s thoughts became more entangled.

The puzzle pieces of their existence, the precarious balance between Orcs and Elves, the strange powers of their enemies—everything weighed heavily on his mind.

Then, as if to cut through the tension, a familiar sound chimed in his head.

| Ding!

Volk blinked in surprise, momentarily shaken from his thoughts.

| New mission completed.

| Defeat and show dominance against Grum-gar Dozer in its fourth Grum-gar evolution.

| Rewards: Team Grum-gar evolution. |

Volk’s steps slowed as he processed the words. “Huh?” he mumbled. “What is this…?” And then it hit him.

The mission.

The mission he had barely paid attention to earlier. “Oooh,” he muttered, almost laughing at himself.

Grashk and the others noticed Volk slowing down, and their pace faltered as well.

Finally, after several more steps, Volk came to a full stop.

“Wait,” Volk commanded, his deep voice carrying authority.

The entire group halted at once, turning their attention to Volk, waiting for his next move.

There was a tension in the air, and the other Orcs, sensing the weight of the moment, remained silent.

Volk’s eyes scanned the group, his gaze hard and serious. “If we go back like this, with Grum-gar forms spent up, will we be vulnerable?” he asked, his voice low but pointed.

Grok’Thar, standing at the back, furrowed his brow. “No, we won’t. The rules of the Orcs protect us from that kind of attack,” he said confidently. But then, his eyes widened as if a sudden thought struck him. “Unless…” His voice faltered.

Volk turned sharply to face him, his expression demanding an answer. “Unless what?”

Grok’Thar swallowed, his face paling slightly. “Unless it’s the Bloodfang Clan.”

The mention of the Bloodfang Clan sent a ripple of unease through the group.

Volk’s expression hardened as he absorbed the gravity of Grok’Thar’s words.

The Bloodfang Clan was the group of Orcs he disregarded earlier because he wanted to know his Grum-gar form if it’s really different from the Radioactive form of his system.

Volk nodded, his mind thinking rapidly.

He knew it was his fault.

If they faced the Bloodfang Clan without Grum-gar forms, they could be ambushed, and despite their victory against Zenveil, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

He clenched his fists, feeling the weight of responsibility settle heavily on his shoulders.

Then, suddenly, Volk took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly as he gathered his thoughts.

He looked around at the faces of the Orcs who had followed him into battle, who had placed their trust in his leadership.

“I want to try something,” Volk said, his voice steady and full of intent.

The others stared at him, confused but intrigued. Grashk tilted his head, curiosity evident on his face. “What is it, Volk?”

Volk didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped forward, placing the massive crystal down on the ground in front of them.

Its faint glow pulsed gently, casting strange shadows across the walls of the cave.

“I think…” Volk began, his voice slow and measured. “I think you all can turn into a third phase mutation.”

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