Strongest Radioactive System

The very air seemed to vibrate with the force of the shout, and an instant later, the battlefield erupted into chaos.

Out of the swirling smoke, five streams of raw elemental energy shot toward the mages.

Each one was different, representing a primal force of nature.

A blazing pillar of fire roared forward, its heat searing even through the thick barrier.

A torrent of water followed, twisting and writhing like a serpent as it crashed against their defenses.

Jagged spikes of earth erupted from the ground, hurtling toward them with lethal precision.

A crackling bolt of lightning arced through the air, its blinding light momentarily illuminating the battlefield. And finally, a swirling vortex of wind howled toward them, its sharp edges cutting through the smoke like knives.

The attacks came with terrifying speed and precision, giving the mages no time to react.

"Shield!" Gerhardt screamed, his voice breaking under the strain.

The mages poured every ounce of their power into reinforcing their barrier.

The glowing dome of energy flared brilliantly as it absorbed the onslaught, but it was clear the strain was too much.

Cracks began to spread across its surface, each one accompanied by a sickening crack that echoed like a death knell.

The fire struck first, its searing heat causing the barrier to waver and dim. Discover exclusive content at empire

The water followed, smashing against the weakened dome and spreading fractures like spiderwebs.

The earth spikes shattered through the outer layers, embedding themselves in the magical field with a series of explosive impacts.

The lightning struck next, its raw energy coursing through the cracks and sending shockwaves through the mages.

And then came the wind.

The vortex collided with the barrier, its razor-sharp edges slicing through the remaining defenses with terrifying ease.

The barrier exploded outward in a shower of sparks and light, leaving the mages exposed and vulnerable.

The force of the destruction knocked the group off their feet.

Gerhardt hit the ground hard, his staff clattering away from him.

Pain shot through his body as he scrambled to his knees, his vision blurred and his ears ringing.

"We're exposed!" one of the mages cried, their voice filled with terror.

Another mage tried to conjure a new shield, but their spell fizzled out, their mana reserves completely drained.

Gerhardt's heart pounded in his chest as he forced himself to stand.

His eyes darted toward the smoke, and he knew—whatever had unleashed that attack wasn't finished.

"That Ogre is having fun…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

The ground trembled once more, and Gerhardt felt the air grow heavier, thick with an oppressive energy that made it hard to breathe.

From the smoke came a shadow, larger than anything they had faced thus far.

It moved with purpose, each step shaking the earth, and Gerhardt's blood ran cold.

"No…" he muttered, gripping his staff tightly.

The battlefield, now a wasteland of smoldering craters and shattered earth, lay heavy under the weight of silence.

Smoke still clung to the air, swirling and choking the dim sunlight as if the sky itself mourned the devastation.

Among the wreckage, Gerhardt and the five remaining mages struggled to rise.

Their bodies were battered, their magical reserves depleted, and their spirits hanging by a thread.

They had endured wave after wave of assault, only to now feel the oppressive weight of inevitability closing in on them.

Suddenly, the oppressive silence was broken.

From the smoke emerged a familiar figure—the Ogre. Its massive, hulking frame towered over the battlefield, each step it took reverberating like a drumbeat of doom.

Its grotesque, battle-scarred body seemed to glow faintly, its veins pulsing with unnatural energy. But it wasn't just the Ogre's physical presence that filled the air with dread—it was its expression.

It grinned.

Not a feral, mindless grin, but something calculated, something terrifyingly human.

The Ogre's voice boomed, low and guttural, dripping with menace.

"Lucky…" it growled, each syllable drawn out, mocking. Its glowing eyes scanned the broken mages, relishing their suffering. "Three minutes… are… up."

The words cut through the mages like a blade.

Gerhardt's head snapped up, his eyes wide with both horror and disbelief.

The younger mages shivered uncontrollably, clutching at their staffs like lifelines, their lips trembling as they muttered incoherent prayers.

The Ogre didn't wait for a reply. With a sickeningly casual gait, it turned and walked back into the thick smoke, its hulking silhouette disappearing into the haze.

For a brief moment, there was nothing but the sound of the mages' ragged breathing and the faint crackle of distant fires.

And then, BANG!n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

The smoke exploded outward in a violent gust, as if the very air itself had been punched by an unseen force.

The sheer intensity of the blast blew back everything—debris, ashes, and even the battered mages themselves.

The winds roared with the fury of a tempest, revealing the battlefield in stark, brutal clarity.

In the epicenter of the cleared smoke stood Volk.

His figure, no longer obscured, was unmistakable.

Gone was the towering radioactive form that had struck fear into their hearts.

He was back in his Orc form, his muscular physique gleaming with a sheen of sweat and blood. His glowing red eyes pierced through the battlefield like twin embers of a raging fire.

His aura was no less overwhelming, however; it was a condensed storm of power, as if all the devastation he had wrought had coalesced into this singular, terrifying presence.

Volk tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. Then, to the shock of everyone, he bowed.

It wasn't a mocking gesture or a half-hearted dip of the head—it was a genuine, respectful bow, his arm crossing over his chest with the precision of a soldier showing reverence to a worthy opponent.

"My apologies," Volk said, his voice polite, almost cordial, but underlined with a chilling undertone. "May I ask…" He straightened, his gaze locking onto Gerhardt and his surviving comrades. "Can we take your lives now?"

The mages stared, dumbstruck.

They were too stunned, too exhausted, to respond. Gerhardt opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out—only a hoarse gasp, as if the weight of the entire situation had crushed his ability to form coherent thoughts.

The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity.

Volk's crimson eyes glinted with dark amusement as he raised his hand, making a small, almost dismissive signal.

At once, the battlefield erupted into chaos.

From all directions, Ogres and Orcs surged forward. Their roars echoed like thunderclaps, their footsteps pounding the earth with relentless ferocity. The ground trembled beneath the sheer weight of the charging horde.

"No…" Gerhardt whispered, his voice cracking.

The first wave hit like a battering ram. An Ogre, wielding a massive club fashioned from a broken tree trunk, swung it with bone-crushing force.

The mages scrambled to conjure what little barriers they could, but their defenses were like glass against a sledgehammer.

Orcs swarmed in, their blades gleaming wickedly in the fractured sunlight, their war cries drowning out the desperate shouts of the mages.

Despite their injuries, Gerhardt and the others fought valiantly.

Fireballs, ice shards, and lightning bolts flew from their staffs, taking down swathes of the enemy. But for every Orc or Ogre that fell, two more took its place.

The sheer numbers, combined with the ferocity of the assault, were overwhelming.

Amidst the chaos, Volk stood still, watching the carnage unfold with a detached, almost clinical interest.

"They were strong," he mused to himself, his tone soft, almost regretful. "But strength is not enough."

As the mages' screams filled the air, Volk let out a slow, deep breath. His expression softened—not with pity, but with satisfaction.

This, he thought, was the natural order of things. And soon, there would be nothing left to oppose him.