Chương 34: Lhum'Baggar
The tunnel seemed to stretch on forever, the air growing colder with each step Volk and Grok'Thar took.
The walls closed in, narrowing to a point where they had to walk single file.
The strange tugging sensation within Volk's chest persisted, guiding him forward with an intensity that made him quicken his pace. Grok'Thar kept close behind, his eyes darting around, ever watchful for any sign of danger.
The silence was heavy, broken only by their footsteps echoing through the narrow passage.
Just as Volk felt the tension reaching its peak, the tunnel suddenly widened, opening into a larger chamber.
The space was dimly lit by the faint, eerie glow of bioluminescent fungi clinging to the walls, casting long shadows across the uneven floor. And there, in the center of the chamber, stood a group of orcs—eight of them, each adorned with the unmistakable bone maws of creatures they had slain, trophies of their prowess in battle.
The orcs were tall, broad-shouldered, and intimidating, their muscles rippling beneath the layers of armor and furs they wore.
Their faces were painted with the war symbols of the Dreadmaw Clan, their eyes gleaming with the fierce determination that marked them as true warriors.
They turned as one when Volk and Grok'Thar entered, their gazes sharp and appraising.
Grok'Thar immediately recognized them as fellow clan members and relaxed slightly, though he kept a hand near his weapon, just in case. "Looks like we're not alone in here after all," he muttered to Volk, who nodded in agreement.
One of the orcs, a towering figure with the largest bone maw draped across his shoulders, stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he studied Volk and Grok'Thar. "More from the Dreadmaw Clan," he rumbled, his voice deep and resonant, echoing off the cavern walls. "Who are you?"
Grok'Thar stepped forward, offering a respectful nod. "I am Grok'Thar, Bone Cleaner of the Dreadmaw Clan. This is Volk, the years Kaz'rogal, also of our clan. We seek the crystals within these catacombs."
The orc leader grunted, his gaze shifting to Volk. "Volk, huh? The name has reached our ears already. The one who defeated Luk'Tar, is that right?"
Volk tensed slightly at the mention of Luk'Tar, but he nodded, holding the orc leader's gaze. "Yes. I defeated him."
A low murmur ran through the group of orcs, and one of them—a shorter, stockier orc with a fierce expression—spoke up. "We've been looking for a leader among us," he said, his tone measured. "And we've chosen Lhum'Baggar. He's the strongest among us."
At the mention of Lhum'Baggar, Volk's eyes narrowed.
The name stirred something deep within him—a vague sense of unease. And then, from behind the group, a figure emerged.
Lhum'Baggar was a tall orc, even taller than Volk, with thick, corded muscles and a presence that radiated authority. But there was something off about him—his eyes were closed, and his hands were crossed over his chest, as if he was blind or disinterested.
Yet, despite his closed eyes, Volk could feel the animosity radiating from him. The air seemed to grow thicker, charged with an undercurrent of tension. The other orcs fell silent, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.
Lhum'Baggar tilted his head slightly, as if listening to something only he could hear. Then, in a low, almost casual tone, he spoke. "So, you're Volk."
Volk's grip tightened on his weapon, his heart beating faster. "Yes. I'm Volk."
Lhum'Baggar's lips curled into a faint, mocking smile, though his eyes remained closed. "Volk… current Kaz'rogal, correct?"
Volk felt a shiver run down his spine at the way Lhum'Baggar said his name, as if he was savoring it. "That's right."
For a long moment, Lhum'Baggar said nothing, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he opened his eyes. They were dark, piercing, and filled with a cold, simmering hatred. "My name is Lhum'Baggar… son of Lak'Ran Durghan."
The name hit Volk like a punch to the gut. He froze, his mind racing as he tried to process what he had just heard. Lak'Ran Durghan… the father of Luk'Tar. And that could only mean one thing…
Lhum'Baggar's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it—only malice. "Yes," he said softly. "I am the brother of Luk'Tar, the one you defeated. The one you shamed."
Volk swallowed hard, his throat dry. He could feel the weight of the other orcs' gazes on him, their eyes flicking between him and Lhum'Baggar, anticipating what would happen next. "You're the brother of the thief?" Volk said, his voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air. "You want to avenge Luk'Tar?"
Lhum'Baggar uncrossed his arms, his fingers flexing as if testing the weight of an invisible weapon. "Revenge is a strong word," he said, his tone deceptively calm. "But yes… I will make you pay for what you did to him."
Volk's heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to meet Lhum'Baggar's gaze without flinching. "Let's get on with it, then," he said, his voice hardening with resolve. He wasn't about to back down, not now.
But before either of them could make a move, the other orcs surged forward, placing themselves between Volk and Lhum'Baggar. "Enough!" one of them shouted, his voice authoritative. "This is not the time for settling old grudges. We're in the catacombs, on a mission. Fighting among ourselves will only lead to disaster."
Another orc, his face stern, stepped in front of Lhum'Baggar, blocking his path. "Forget the past, Lhum'Baggar. We're all here for the same reason. The crystals, remember? We need to work together if we're going to survive this place."
The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Lhum'Baggar's eyes flicked to the orc standing in his way, then back to Volk.
For a moment, it looked as though he might disregard the others and attack anyway, but then he hesitated.
"If you win, you become the leader," Lhum'Baggar said, his voice low and menacing. His gaze never left Volk, the challenge clear.
The other orcs exchanged uneasy glances.
They knew the risks of fighting in the catacombs, but they also knew that this conflict wasn't going to be resolved easily.
Finally, one of them sighed, stepping forward. "If you must fight, then do it. But keep it to a challenge. No Grum-gar forms. If one of you uses it, it's an automatic loss. We can't afford to waste our strength here."
Volk hesitated, his mind racing. He had never tested his Radioactive form against another orc, let alone one as dangerous as Lhum'Baggar. But he knew that if he backed down now, it would only embolden his opponent. And besides, Lhum'Baggar had already made it clear that he wasn't going to let this go.
"No problem," Volk said, his voice firm. "Let's get on with it."
Lhum'Baggar's lips curled into a predatory grin, his eyes glinting with anticipation. "As you wish, Volk," he said, his tone dripping with dark promise. "Let's see who the true warrior is."
The orcs around them stepped back, creating a wide circle in the center of the chamber.
The atmosphere was electric, charged with the anticipation of the impending clash.
Volk took a deep breath, steeling himself for the fight. He knew this wasn't just about proving his strength—it was about survival, about showing that he wasn't to be underestimated.
Lhum'Baggar's grin widened, his hands flexing at his sides. "Prepare yourself, Volk," he said, his voice a low growl. "I've been waiting for this moment."
Volk squared his shoulders, his eyes locked on Lhum'Baggar. "So have I," he replied, his voice steady. "Let's get on with it."
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Chương 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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