Chapter 35: Receiving a beating
The tension in the air was thick enough for them to taste.
As the circle of orcs surrounding Volk and Lhum'Baggar began to chant, their voices rising in a crescendo of anticipation, Volk could feel his heart pounding in his chest, each beat reverberating through his entire body.
Fight! Fight! Fight!
The two agree in combat, they could only comply.
The stakes were high, and every orc present knew it. This was more than just a fight—it was a battle of pride, strength, and survival.
Lhum'Baggar's eyes were cold, calculating. He slowly unclenched his fists, the muscles in his arms bulging as he took a deep breath. "To make this fair," he began, his voice dripping with condescension, "I'll lower my Brute Mending Force to the level of a three Mag'Durotan. After all, you're just a Labor Orc. No need to make this unfair, right?"
Volk felt a spark of anger flare within him, but he kept his expression neutral, only allowing a small, fearless grin to curl his lips. "Yeah, a Labor Orc who thrashed your little brother," he shot back, his tone mocking. "And now big brother's here to rescue him. How touching."
Lhum'Baggar's expression remained stony, unfazed by Volk's taunt.
Instead, he merely nodded, his muscles flexing and tightening as he focused his energy, clearly preparing himself for the fight.
The transformation was subtle but powerful; his already imposing physique seemed to become smaller, for their eyes however, it seemed to grow even more formidable as the Brute Mending Force took hold.
"Alright," Lhum'Baggar exhaled, his voice calm but deadly serious. "Let's fight."
Volk rolled his shoulders, stretching his arms out to prepare himself.
The adrenaline coursing through his veins sharpened his focus, the weight of the upcoming fight pushing everything else to the back of his mind. "Let's go," he responded, his voice steady and resolute.
The surrounding orcs, now fully invested in the battle that was about to unfold, began to pound their chests in a rhythmic beat, the sound growing louder and more intense with each passing second.
"Fight! Fight! Fight!" they chanted, their voices echoing through the cavernous chamber, filling it with an almost tangible energy.
And then, without any further warning, the battle began.
Lhum'Baggar moved first, closing the distance between them with a speed that belied his massive size. His fist shot out, a blur of motion aimed directly at Volk's head.
Swoosh!
Volk barely managed to dodge, feeling the air rush past his face as Lhum'Baggar's fist narrowly missed its target. But the next punch came faster, and before Volk could react, it slammed into his ribs with the force of a battering ram, sending him staggering back, the breath knocked out of him.
Kabag!
The pain was immediate and intense, but Volk gritted his teeth, refusing to show any sign of weakness. He quickly regained his footing, shifting his stance as Lhum'Baggar came at him again, this time with a flurry of blows that seemed impossible to block or dodge.
Volk did his best, using every trick he had learned, every unorthodox technique he had developed, but it was clear that Lhum'Baggar's strength and speed were on a different level.
Blow after blow rained down on Volk—punches, kicks, brutal strikes that sent shockwaves of pain through his body. He could feel his muscles straining, his bones creaking under the relentless assault.
Every time he tried to counterattack, Lhum'Baggar was already there, blocking or dodging with a fluidity that made him seem almost untouchable.
Volk was fighting to survive, every move he made driven by pure instinct. He was bleeding from his mouth, his nose, his body covered in bruises and cuts, but he refused to give up. He could see the looks of concern and fear on the faces of the orcs watching, but he knew he couldn't afford to think about them. All that mattered was the fight.
And yet, as the pain grew more intense, as his vision started to blur from the relentless pounding, Volk's mind began to drift. He found himself transported back to his past life, back to a time when he was weak, helpless, and trapped in a body that had betrayed him from the moment he was born.
He was back in his childhood home, lying in a bed that had become his prison. His body had been small, frail, with limbs that barely functioned.
Volk remembered the frustration, the anger, the deep, gnawing sense of inadequacy as he watched others do things he could only dream of—running, jumping, fighting. Things that had been impossible for him.
He had spent his days watching others live the life he could never have, his only solace found in books, games, and the internet.
He had become a student of combat, devouring every bit of information he could find about martial arts, tactics, anything that could make him feel like he was a part of that world, even if only in his mind. He had trained his mind, sharpening it, preparing himself for a life he would never get to live.
But despite the limitations of his body, Volk had never given up. He had refused to let weakness define him, refused to accept that this was all there was for him.
He had fought, in his own way, against the unfairness of it all. And now, in this new body, in this new world, he had been given a second chance. A chance to be strong, to fight, to live the life he had always dreamed of.
And Volk wasn't about to let that chance slip away.
Volk's mind snapped back to the present as Lhum'Baggar landed a particularly vicious blow to his side, making him gasp in pain. But even as he stumbled, his vision blurring, Volk's determination only grew stronger. He wasn't just fighting Lhum'Baggar—he was fighting the memories of his past life, fighting the weakness that had haunted him for so long.
With a grunt of effort, Volk dodged the next punch, using the momentum to deliver a quick, unexpected strike to Lhum'Baggar's knee.
Swoosh!
The bigger orc grunted in surprise, stumbling slightly, giving Volk the opening he needed. He followed up with a series of rapid, precise blows, targeting weak points, using techniques that were foreign to the orcs watching.
But Lhum'Baggar was far from beaten. He recovered quickly, his eyes narrowing as he realized Volk wasn't going down as easily as he had expected.
With a roar of frustration, he lunged at Volk, catching him with a powerful backhand that sent him crashing to the ground. Pain exploded in Volk's head, his vision going dark for a moment as he struggled to stay conscious.
He could feel the ground beneath him, cold and unforgiving, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Every part of his body screamed in pain, begging him to give up, to surrender. But Volk knew he couldn't. He had come too far, fought too hard to let it end here.
He forced himself to his feet, swaying slightly as he faced Lhum'Baggar.
The other orc was breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his face, but his eyes were still filled with that cold, burning hatred. Volk could see it now—this wasn't just about revenge.
Lhum'Baggar wanted to prove something, to himself, to the others. He wanted to show that he was stronger, better, that he was the true warrior.
But Volk wasn't going to let him have that satisfaction.
With a renewed sense of determination, Volk charged at Lhum'Baggar, using every ounce of strength he had left. He fought with everything he had, using unorthodox moves, quick strikes, anything that might give him an edge.
The pain was overwhelming, but he pushed through it, focusing on the fight, on the next move, the next strike.
And then, just as he was starting to feel like he couldn't go on, a strange sensation washed over him. It was as if time had slowed, the world around him fading away.
He could feel something within him, a deep, powerful energy that he had never felt before. It was raw, untamed, but it was there, waiting to be unleashed.
And then, a notification appeared before his eyes, clear and bright in the darkness of the battle:
| Ding!
| Activate Radioactive Form? |
For a moment, Volk hesitated, his mind racing as he weighed his options. He knew that activating the form could change everything, could give him the edge he needed to win. But at what cost?
The power was dangerous, uncontrollable. He wasn't sure if he was ready to handle it.
But as he looked at Lhum'Baggar, at the determination in his eyes, the desire to crush him, Volk knew that he didn't have a choice. He had to win. He had to survive.
Even then, with a deep breath, Volk made his decision.
No!
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HULK IN MAGICAL WOOOORLD
Chapter 36: Sacrifice to win
Yes!
Yes!
Yes!
'Yes' should be the most logical answer he should answer.
But for Volk, it's not.
All it would take was one word, one simple thought to activate the Radioactive form that hummed within him, begging to be unleashed. But Volk knew what that would mean.
In the Orcs, the rules of combat were sacred, and to use the Radioactive form—a form so closely akin to the Grum-gar or Ogre form—would be considered a loss, a surrender, a forfeiture of his honor.
"No," he muttered under his breath, dismissing the notification.
As tempting as it was, Volk had no intention of winning through a form of power that would tarnish the victory. He wanted to defeat Lhum'Baggar on even ground, to prove to himself and to everyone watching that he, a Labor Orc could stand toe-to-toe with a warrior and emerge victorious.
The orcs surrounding them quieted slightly as Lhum'Baggar spoke, his voice laced with mocking disdain. "Is that all you've got, Kaz'rogal?" he sneered, referring to the title bestowed upon the year's most promising Labor Orc.
His words were accompanied by a deft display of skill as he twirled his massive war ax between his hands, the weapon seeming to dance as it moved fluidly from left to right, the sharp edge catching the dim light.
Volk's eyes narrowed, but he remained silent, watching Lhum'Baggar closely.
The other orcs began to murmur amongst themselves, their voices tinged with awe and fear.
"Did you see that? He's gotten even better with that ax since the last time."
"Yeah, I heard he's been training nonstop, day and night. No one's been able to match him."
"Look at the way he handles it—like it's just an extension of his arm. How can Volk possibly stand up to that?"
"He's already bleeding and bruised. I don't think he can take much more."
Volk could hear every word, each comment fueling the fire inside him. He knew Lhum'Baggar was trying to get into his head, trying to rattle him with his skill and taunts. But Volk had been through worse. He had faced challenges far beyond the physical realm, battles of the mind and spirit that had forged him into the fighter he was today.
Lhum'Baggar's taunts continued, his voice dripping with arrogance as he moved closer, his ax now pointed directly at Volk. "So, this is the mighty Volk, huh? The one who got lucky against my brother? Luk'Tar must have been exhausted after hunting those skinless beasts. That's the only way you could have beaten him."
Volk's grin was tense, a mask hiding the turmoil within.
The truth was, he had taken a beating from Lhum'Baggar not because he lacked strength or skill, but because he had been focused—too focused—on the ax.
Lhum'Baggar's mastery of the weapon had left Volk on the defensive, his mind racing to understand the patterns, the rhythm of the strikes. But now, Volk could feel it—he was starting to see through it, starting to recognize the timing, the tells that Lhum'Baggar unconsciously revealed.
Just then, another notification flashed across Volk's vision:
| Ding!
| Mission: Defeat the Weapon Handler Lhum'Baggar.
| Reward: Basic Mastery of Ax Handling.
Failure: Radioactive Time use will be reduced. |
Volk's eyes widened slightly at the reward.
The system had finally recognized the challenge he faced, and it was offering him something that could tip the scales in his favor.
Basic Mastery of Ax Handling would be invaluable, a key to understanding Lhum'Baggar's movements and countering them effectively. But failure would mean a reduction in his Radioactive Time, a resource he couldn't afford to lose.
His thoughts were interrupted by Lhum'Baggar's voice, dripping with sarcasm and challenge. "Why don't you try that little trick you pulled on Gozorm'al? I'd like to see if it works on someone like me."
Volk's mind raced back to the battle with Gozorm'al, a brutish opponent who had fallen for a simple ruse—a handful of dirt thrown into his eyes, followed by a quick, decisive strike.
Lhum'Baggar's words were meant to mock, to suggest that such a tactic would never work on him.
But that was his mistake.
Volk's grin widened slightly, a plan beginning to form in his mind. "If that's what you want, Lhum'Baggar," he said, his voice low and steady, "then let's do this."
Without wasting another moment, Volk lunged forward, feigning an attack with his right hand.
As expected, Lhum'Baggar's ax was there to meet it, the blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. But Volk was already a step ahead. He twisted his body, letting the ax graze his left hand, slicing through his fingers.
The pain was sharp, searing, but Volk didn't let it slow him down. Instead, he used the momentum to flick his hand, sending a spray of blood directly into Lhum'Baggar's eyes.
Lhum'Baggar roared in surprise, instinctively raising his hands to wipe the blood from his face, his vision momentarily obscured. It was all the opening Volk needed.
Without hesitation, Volk swung his right arm, bringing down the club with thorns that he had been gripping tightly.
The weapon crashed into Lhum'Baggar's side with a resounding thud, the force of the blow reverberating through the cavern.
The surrounding orcs erupted in shouts, their voices a mix of shock and excitement as they watched the unexpected turn of events.
Lhum'Baggar staggered, his hand still clutching his ax, but his movements were unsteady, his balance disrupted by the sudden, blinding attack.
Volk didn't stop. He pressed the advantage, his movements fueled by adrenaline and the deep, burning desire to prove himself. He swung the club again, this time aiming for Lhum'Baggar's legs, forcing the larger orc to stumble back.
Each strike was calculated, precise, aimed at keeping Lhum'Baggar off balance, preventing him from regaining his composure.
But Lhum'Baggar wasn't done yet. He snarled, his teeth bared in a feral grin as he finally managed to clear his vision. His eyes blazed with fury, his pride wounded by the unexpected assault. "You'll pay for that," he growled, swinging his ax wildly, trying to regain control of the fight.
Volk narrowly dodged the first swing, the blade whistling past his ear. He could feel the wind from the ax's movement, a reminder of just how close he had come to being decapitated. But Volk wasn't about to back down. He knew he couldn't match Lhum'Baggar's brute strength, but he didn't need to. He just needed to outthink him.
As Lhum'Baggar swung again, Volk ducked low, rolling to the side and coming up behind him. He brought the club down hard on the back of Lhum'Baggar's knee, forcing the larger orc to drop to one leg.
Lhum'Baggar roared in frustration, but Volk didn't let up.
Roar!
He moved quickly, using his smaller size and speed to his advantage, striking at vulnerable points, chipping away at Lhum'Baggar's defenses.
The battle was fierce, each strike met with a counter, each blow pushing both orcs closer to their limits.
Sweat and blood mixed on the ground, the air thick with the scent of iron and the sound of grunts, growls, and the clash of weapons.
But Volk could feel it—Lhum'Baggar was slowing down due to the hit on the temple and the ear upon the first contact.
The repeated blows to his legs, the blood in his eyes, the relentless assault was taking its toll. He was powerful, yes, but Volk was cunning, and in this fight, cunning was winning out.
Finally, with a roar of determination, Volk swung his club with all his might, aiming for Lhum'Baggar's side once more.
Kabag!
The impact was solid, the force driving the wind out of Lhum'Baggar's lungs and sending him crashing to the ground. His ax clattered away from his grasp, now was out of reach.
Volk stood over him, breathing heavily, with his body screaming in pain, but his eyes filled with resolve.
Lhum'Baggar looked up at him, his expression a mixture of shock, anger, and something else—respect.
With a final, defiant growl, Lhum'Baggar made to stand, but Volk was faster.
Bang!
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