Chaos reigned supreme, anarchy unleashed. Orcs, their initial astonishment giving way to a primal fury, surged out of the inferno-like malevolent spirits emerging from the flames.
''!!!"
Their guttural roars reverberated through the night, a primal defiance that pierced the very atmosphere. Yet, Noah remained unperturbed. He stood as the ultimate predator amidst the pandemonium, orchestrating this symphony of devastation, his eyes ablaze with the thrill of the hunt. To focus on the hunt he put off the system's notification.
''Better focus on hunting without distraction.''
A different kind of arrow, infused with an icy inferno, found its mark. This was not the customary blaze of fire; instead, a frosty blue flame erupted, engulfing an orc in a bone-chilling flash. The creature emitted a piercing shriek, cutting through the chaotic chorus of roars, before succumbing to a smoldering pile of ash and ice.
BOOM!
An expertly aimed arrow detonated at the heart of the orcish horde. The explosion unleashed a torrent of flames and debris, devouring several orcs whole. Their agonized screams abruptly ceased, replaced by the sickening sound of flesh meeting relentless fire. The air filled with anguished cries, both human and monstrous, forming a grim symphony to accompany the unfolding carnage.
The remaining orcs, trapped in a state of fearful fury, stumbled about in bewildered confusion. Some blindly charged towards their unseen assailant, their rage a desperate gamble for survival. Others huddled together, whimpering and searching for any means of escape. But there was no refuge, no sanctuary to be found. Noah, a specter lurking within the flickering shadows, continued his lethal dance.
Another arrow, another bone-chilling detonation. The symphony of destruction persisted, its tempo accelerating with each passing moment. The once proud orc village now stood as a blazing pyre, a testament to Noah's calculated prowess.
Within a matter of minutes, the scorched earth bore witness to the lifeless bodies of ten orcs, their anguished cries silenced by an eerie hush. It was then that their formidable leader, a towering brute adorned with crude tattoos and a jagged bone necklace, emerged from the blazing chaos.
Beside him stood a frail orc draped in tattered robes, clutching a twisted staff, his eyes emitting a sickly green glow. A shaman, possessing rudimentary mastery of the arcane arts.
Without hesitation, the shaman began his incantation, an incompréhensible chant that clawed at Noah's sanity.
''~~~~~'''
With each syllable, he summoned a cascade of glistening water spheres that arced through the air like miniature comets, descending upon the engulfed village. As the water collided with the flames, a hissing symphony ensued, shrouding the scene in a veil of suffocating steam, momentarily obscuring the unfolding carnage.
The words, "Who's next?" hung in the air, a haunting promise of impending doom.
Noah knew that this momentary silence wouldn't last. He needed to seize the opportunity. Swiftly, he uncorked a vial, consuming a vibrant blue Mana potion that shimmered with arcane energy. Instantly, his magical reserves were replenished, the faint ache behind his eyes fading away. Another vial followed, this time a Stamina potion, infusing him with renewed vigor and strength.
Emerging from the shadows, Noah appeared as a grim reaper reborn. Nemesis, once a gleaming bow, had undergone a transformation fueled by his will. Gone was the elegant bow, replaced by a sleek black pistol that materialized in his hand - a Desert Eagle .44 Magnum. The sunlight reflected off its polished surface, mirroring the flames that still danced amidst the burning village.
Through his [Master of Weapons] skill, the gun felt strangely familiar in his grip. It was a weapon he had never wielded before, yet his mind instinctively understood its function. This was the power of his skill, a terrifying adaptability that made him a master of any instrument of war.
With a flick of his wrist, a crackling ball of pure mana materialized at the barrel's tip. It pulsed with an otherworldly light, a stark contrast to a conventional bullet. This was no ordinary projectile - it was a magic bullet, infused with raw power and fueled by his reserves.
Setting his sights on a particularly large orc, still frozen in disbelief, Noah pulled the trigger. A thunderous BANG! resounded through the clearing, a jarring juxtaposition against the backdrop of the raging inferno.
The magic bullet, swifter than any orcish reflex, tore through the air, a streak of pure energy. It collided with the orc's head, producing a sickening crunch. There was no time for screams, no time for surprise. One moment, the orc stared blankly at Noah and the next, his head exploded into a mist of crimson, his lifeless body collapsing to the ground like a discarded ragdoll.
The remaining orcs, jolted out of their stupor by the deafening report and the gruesome demise of their comrade, erupted into a cacophony of shouts and panicked yells. Their initial fear quickly transformed into primal rage. With guttural roars that reverberated through the ravaged village, they charged forward, a relentless tide of fury converging upon the solitary figure in the clearing.
Yet Noah remained unfazed. A cold smile played on his lips, his golden eyes gleaming with predatory intensity. The hunt was far from over; it was just getting interesting. Armed with a gun in one hand and a repertoire of lethal skills at his disposal, these orcs, driven by blind rage, stood no chance against the Angel of Death.
Inhuman speed blurred the lines between man and wraith as Noah weaved a deadly dance. Each Magic Bullet found its mark, a crimson blossom erupting on an orc's body with each thunderous BANG!.
Their initial charge, fueled by rage and desperation, proved a fool's errand. Noah like a seasoned hunter in this grim game, darted and weaved, the grace of a dancer belying the lethality of his movements. Each shot was a death knell, the crack of the Desert Eagle a morbid counterpoint to the screams that filled the air.
It was a scene ripped straight from a nightmare, a grotesque ballet of death choreographed by the Angel of Death himself. Noah moved with a preternatural fluidity. His [Mana's Armor] activated only at the last possible moment, a faint shimmer around his form – a fleeting defense against the occasional lucky swipe or stray projectile.
The carnage unfolded with a horrifying efficiency. Orcs fell like wheat before a scythe, their lifeless bodies forming a gruesome tapestry on the scorched earth. One by one, they were extinguished, their battle cries replaced by a chilling silence broken only by the crackle of flames and Noah's ragged breaths.
Finally, the clearing fell still. All that remained were the smoldering embers of the orc village and the two figures facing off in the center – Noah and the hulking orc chieftain. The chieftain, a mountain of muscle and rage, was the sole survivor, his face contorted in a mask of fury and disbelief. His ragged breathing echoed in the unnatural quiet, a testament to the ordeal he'd just endured.