Final Dungeon Boss Altar

The silence that followed Volk's words was heavy with unspoken tension.

The Bloodfang leader, a seasoned warrior with countless battles etched into his memory, locked eyes with Volk.

He could sense the raw power emanating from the unknown Dreadmaw orc, a pressure he couldn't comprehend.

There was something more, something ancient and terrible that lurked beneath Volk's calm exterior.

Yet, to the surprise of his own warriors, the Bloodfang leader did not respond with the expected fury or challenge. Instead, he remained silent, his gaze piercing but contemplative.

Volk, noting the lack of response, allowed a small, knowing smile to touch his lips.

"It would be unsatisfactory to beat you all here and now," Volk said, his voice low but carrying the weight of his conviction. "You've just fought a battle, and I would gain little from defeating tired warriors."

Without waiting for a reply, Volk turned on his heel and began to walk away, and his steps were measured and unhurried.

As he moved, he added over his shoulder, "If you really want to find me, once all of you are healed, I am Volk Mog'ger, the heir of Kazrogal. Come to my Dreadmaw clan, and I will accept all your challenges."

Those words were like a gauntlet thrown down at the Bloodfang orcs, a promise of future reckoning that left the Bloodfang warriors in a stunned silence.

Because of this, they could only watch as Volk and his orcs disappeared into the shadows, with their forms gradually blending into the darkness of the catacombs.

As the last of the Dreadmaw orcs vanished from sight, one of the Bloodfang warriors stepped forward, with furrowed brow in confusion and frustration. "Leader, why didn't you accept his challenge? We're the Bloodfang! We don't back down from anyone!"

The Bloodfang leader, still gazing in the direction Volk had gone, let out a slow breath.

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully before he turned to face his warrior. "We need to heal first," he said, his tone calm and measured. "We've just fought a fierce battle, and our strength is not at its peak."

"But leader—" the warrior began, but the leader held up a hand to silence him.

"Volk was right," the Bloodfang leader continued, his voice tinged with a grudging respect.

"He could see that defeating us now would bring him no satisfaction. The desire to battle wasn't in his eyes. There was something more, something... different. He would have felt it was an unsatisfactory victory, even if he won."

The warrior frowned, still struggling to understand. "But we could have—"

"No," the leader cut him off, his voice firm. "Remember this, all of you. Remember his name: Volk Mog'ger, the Beast Nemesis. We will remember him, and when the time comes, we will face him. But not now."

The Bloodfang leader's gaze swept over his warriors, the fierce determination in his eyes unmistakable.

"For now, heal your wounds and prepare for the next battle. We'll need our full strength to face whatever lies ahead."

As his warriors dispersed to tend to their injuries, the Bloodfang leader stood alone for a moment longer, his thoughts still lingering on the Dreadmaw leader Volk.

The name "Mog'ger" echoed in his mind, resonating with a sense of foreboding and challenge. He knew there was something in him why, even as a stage three Mag'Durotan, he was their leader.

However, he also knew that this encounter was only the beginning, and that they wood cross their paths once gone.

However, the Bloodfangs were no strangers to peril, and they would be ready when the time came.

…

Meanwhile, deep within the labyrinthine tunnels of the catacombs, Volk led his orcs forward with a steady pace.

The darkness pressed in around them, but Volk's eyes remained fixed on the path ahead, with his thoughts now far from the recent encounter.

The orcs behind him were in awe.

They knew the Bloodfangs—fierce, unyielding, and among the most formidable of all the orc tribes.

To see their leader back down, even momentarily, was nothing short of astonishing.

It was clear to them now that Volk was a force to be reckoned with, a leader whose mere presence could turn the tide of a battle.

Grashk, acting as if he was one of Volk's most trusted lieutenants, walked beside him, with his mind thinking of the implications of what had just transpired.

The respect he felt for Volk had grown even deeper, but there was also a sense of curiosity gnawing at him.

"Tell me, Grashk," Volk's voice broke through the silence, his tone thoughtful. "Are there any serious threats protecting the special crystal you spoke of?"

Grashk nodded, his expression grave. "Yes, leader. The crystal is said to be guarded by the dungeon boss—a creature of immense power, compared to these scared dungeon monsters in your presence. But maybe, leader, the dungeon boss would also be scared of you, graha!"

Volk's eyes flickered with interest. "I see."

There was a brief pause as Volk considered this information.

He could feel the tension in his muscles easing slightly, he asked this because of desperation, desperate to test something—to push the limits of his abilities and see just what his new form, the Radioactive form, was truly capable of.

He wanted to know the difference between his Radioactive form and the Grum-gar orc form.

Anotherinh thing…

The Nuclear Devastation Slaps, a technique he wanted to understand.

So, he was getting itchy, he desired for battle and needed to test all of these against the strongest opponents he could find.

But now, with the promise of a confrontation with the dungeon boss looming on the horizon, Volk felt a sense of clarity settling over him.

The answers he sought were within reach, and he knew that once he had them, he would be unstoppable.

Even the elders of his tribe, who had long held the reins of power, would not be able to stand against him.

The journey through the catacombs continued, the oppressive darkness surrounding them like a shroud.

The tunnels twisted and turned, the air growing colder and thicker with every step.

As they traveled deeper, the orcs encountered strange and fearsome creatures—humanoid dogs with fierce, glowing eyes, their bodies were twisted and warped by the dark magic that permeated the catacombs.

These beasts were fierce, their growls low and menacing as they emerged from the shadows, but as soon as they caught sight of Volk and his orcs, something would change.

The hostility in their eyes would, replaced by a flicker of fear.

The humanoid dogs would immediately hackles as they backed away, it was as if their instinct for survival were overriding their aggression.

Volk barely spared them a glance, with an unbroken focus as he led his orcs forward.

Finally, after what felt like hours of traversing the winding tunnels, they reached the end of the path.

The tunnel opened up into a massive cavern, its walls lined with jagged rocks and glowing crystals that cast an eerie, pale light across the space.

The air was thick with an oppressive feeling, a sense of foreboding that made the orcs pause at the entrance.

Volk stepped forward and took sight of the cave.

The cavern was vast, its ceiling lost in the darkness above, and at its center stood a massive structure—an ancient altar, carved from black stone and surrounded by swirling mists of dark energy.

The oppressive feeling in the air grew stronger as they approached, the very ground beneath their feet seeming to hum with power.

Volk could feel it—an ancient, malevolent presence that radiated from the altar, a presence that promised both great danger and great reward.

"This is it," Volk murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "The end of the tunnel."

The orcs behind him remained silent, but all their eyes were fixed on the altar.

They could feel it too—the presence that awaited them, the dungeon boss that guarded the crystal they sought was near.

Volk's heart pounded in his chest, not with fear, but with anticipation.

This was the moment he had been waiting for—the chance to test his abilities.

He could feel the power surging within him, the radioactive energy that pulsed through his veins, ready to be unleashed.

With a final, determined breath, Volk stepped forward, with his eyes locking on the altar.