Strongest Radioactive System

Volk turned, the bloodlust in his gaze fading momentarily as his eyes fell upon his horde—a battalion of snarling orcs and brutish ogres, each one battle-scarred and fiercely loyal.

The orcs stood tall, their green skin marred by the brutal marks of countless fights, muscles taut beneath rough armor.

In their eyes, a fierce, unquenchable flame burned, a collective fire that flickered and danced as they took in the sight of the towering undead behemoth in front of their warchief.

Volk's heart thundered with pride.

He thrust a massive fist into the air and bellowed, his voice rolling like thunder across the battlefield, "VOLK SMASH WITH HORDE!"

The orcs and ogres raised their weapons high, snarling and roaring, a wave of primal fury surging through them.

"HORDE IS WITH WARCHIEF!" they shouted, voices merging into one relentless war cry that shook the very earth.

Then, Volk's voice boomed once more, "LOK'TAR OGAAAAAAAARRR!!!"

At his rallying cry, the entire horde responded, their voices thundering across the field.

"LOK'TAR OGAAAAAAAARRR!!!"

Their weapons raised skyward, spears and swords glinting in the dim, deathly light, they readied themselves, muscles coiled, eyes blazing with savage determination.

The war drums of the orcish horde pounded, and the ground trembled beneath their feet as they advanced, each step syncing with the furious beat.

The undead monstrosity loomed before them, a mountain of rotting flesh and twisted sinew, with deathly energy pulsing from every tear and rip in its decayed body. And yet, the sight only seemed to fuel the orcs and ogres further, their screams of rage and loyalty piercing the air like arrows, sharpening their purpose to a razor's edge.

…

Meanwhile, within the hulking zombie creature, Bong Me-Eon and the middle-aged woman's faces were twisted with horror and a rising dread.

From their viewpoint inside the creature's dark, putrid interior, they could see the massing of Volk's horde below, their eyes locked on the massive undead they inhabited.

The situation had gone from grim to dire in an instant. They exchanged glances, minds racing.

The middle-aged woman clutched Bong Me-Eon's arm, her voice tense and quiet.

"This isn't just about their Warchief now," she muttered, glancing toward the horde. "It's about his entire tribe. Orcs and ogres…all of them bound to him, fighting for him."

Bong Me-Eon's face twisted with a mix of anger and worry.

"They're here to help him destroy us, not to mention whatever else they'll raze after this. He's dangerous enough alone, but with an entire army—"

The middle-aged woman nodded grimly.

"Yes, with his whole horde by his side, we can't just… We'll have to consider him a threat beyond the beast he's fighting. They're rallying behind him, and that means every one of them will be a problem if he comes out of this alive."

Bong Me-Eon took a shaky breath, her hand brushing against the cold, decaying walls surrounding them.

"I always thought he was just another brute, another monster in a world full of them. But this—this is different. If he survives…he'll have a tribe willing to tear down everything in their path to honor him."

The middle-aged woman's eyes narrowed as she looked at the roaring horde outside.

"We need to stop him here, end this, or we'll be dealing with more than just a horde of mindless beasts. We'll be facing a unified army of ruthless warriors—and Warchief at the helm."

But before they could decide their next move, the walls around them shuddered violently.

The undead creature jerked as something tore through its rotting limbs.

Both women clung to the slick, sickly flesh, struggling to maintain their footing.

Bong Me-Eon glanced up, horror deepening. "They're attacking," she whispered, the realization dawning on her. "We're out of time."

As the flesh around them began to tear, they exchanged a determined look, preparing themselves for the onslaught to come.

Outside, the horde surged forward, their eyes locked on the monstrous undead that hid their allies within, ready to tear it down, piece by piece.

Below, the battlefield was chaos itself.

The massive undead creature, towering like a twisted giant, stood as a nightmarish colossus amidst Volk's horde.

The rotting flesh of the creature dripped and hung like overgrown moss, decayed and peeling, emitting a noxious stench that filled the battlefield.

The creature moved in monstrous, lumbering strides, each step shaking the earth, its hollow eyes fixed on the swarm of orcs and ogres who charged toward it like wolves and bears thirsting for blood.

The orcs, wild-eyed and howling with fury, hurled themselves at the beast, their cries cutting through the battlefield like the shrieks of raptors.

"GRAAAAAAH!"

"FOR THE HORDE!"

"DESTROY IT!"

Their voices melded into a deafening roar, each one a war cry that drove them forward with feral determination.

Ogres, the largest and most muscular of Volk's horde, bellowed with guttural growls, barreling into the undead monstrosity's legs like battering rams.

They swung crude clubs and thick spears, their weapons colliding with bone and rotting flesh with sickening cracks and wet thuds.

However, the zombie fought back with an equally horrifying intensity.

Its enormous, decayed hands swept through the horde, each swing a maelstrom of death that sent orcs and ogres flying, crushed or mangled under the weight of its rotting fists.

A lone orc leapt onto the zombie's ankle, climbing with a snarl as he dug his blade into the decayed flesh.

With a furious twist, he hacked away at the sinew, carving deep into the rotting muscle until a sickening squelch echoed out, followed by the creature's groan—a deep, haunting wail that seemed to shake the very air.

Yet before he could make another move, a powerful backhand from the beast sent him hurtling through the air, his body landing with a bone-snapping crunch far from the others.

Despite the devastating blows they took, the horde fought on, reckless and relentless, howling their war cries into the haze of decay.

The ogres, roaring like primal beasts, rushed in groups, slamming their entire bodies against the creature's legs.

One particularly massive ogre, his eyes wild with bloodlust, charged the creature's knee with a giant stone hammer.

KABAAAM!

The impact sent tremors up the zombie's towering frame, causing it to momentarily stumble.

However, before the ogre could raise his hammer again, a jagged death beam erupted from the zombie's gaping mouth, piercing through the ogre's chest and reducing him to nothing but ashes.

Volk watched from a distance, his own heart pounding as he took in the sight of his warriors fighting like he had never seen before.

Every death was answered by more furious charges, each fallen orc or ogre seeming only to fuel the rage of the others.

For the first time, they fought without reservation, with no fear of magic, no reluctance in the face of dark forces.

His memories took him back to battles against Dark Elves and Warlocks, where the horde had always hesitated, their bloodline fear of magic breaking their spirits like enslavery and their creation just as much as the enemy's spells broke their bones.

Volk had always wondered if they would fight like this because his horde held a deep-seated fear, one buried in their very history: fear of the dark arts that had created them, that bound them to a fate they despised.

To die in humiliation.

But now…this fight was different.

They hurled themselves into the fray as if death was nothing.

The creature they faced wasn't connected to their old fears; it was neither a warlock nor a dark elf.

For once, they were free of that ancient fear, their primal spirits unleashed, wild and savage. And in that moment, Volk understood.

His horde fought with a fury unbridled because they faced no echoes of their past.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, his blood burning with excitement. He closed his eyes, feeling the thrill of battle surge through him.

His warriors—his tribe—were giving their all.

The undead beast was crumbling under their onslaught, but still it fought back with a mindless rage, swinging and blasting death beams that disintegrated any in its path.

Finally, Volk opened his eyes, the fire in his gaze fierce and blazing.

With a mighty leap, he bounded forward, his massive frame crashing through the battlefield as he charged into the fray. He roared, a sound so thunderous that it echoed over the horde and the zombie alike.

"VOLK WOULD NOW JOIN!" His voice boomed, shaking his warriors to their core. "SMASH THE SYSTEM USEEEEEEEER!"