Chapter 150: VOLK SAVE HORDE

Bong Me-Eon's eyes sharpened as she sensed the magical strength coming from the creature soaring through the sky.The sheer force of its presence sent chills down her spine.

This wasn't just another Ogre or Orc. No, this was something more dangerous.

Something far beyond the monsters below, which, at best, could only reach the initial stages of Class A strength.

This one, though, radiated an aura that signified it was at the very peak of Class A.

Her brows knitted together as her mind raced.

"Is that their leader?" she wondered.

The realization that this creature could possibly orchestrate the entire battle sent waves of concern through her.

She took a deep breath, and a surge of necromantic energy poured out from her, thick with the scent of death.

It cloaked her in a dark aura that flickered like black fire, making the air around her feel heavier, colder. Find your next read on M-V-L

"No chances," she muttered under her breath.

Suddenly, the ground near her feet cracked open, and from it emerged a series of coffins—long, black, and ancient.

Their surfaces were carved with jagged, eerie symbols that seemed to pulse with a life of their own, glowing faintly in the dim light.

The coffins themselves were immense, towering over her like sentinels of death.

They were covered in swirling mist that coiled and drifted, obscuring the ground around them, as if the air itself feared their presence. S~eaʀᴄh the NôᴠeFire.ηet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

The coffins' surfaces were covered in bony, skeletal hands etched into the wood, as if trapped souls were clawing their way out, frozen in a perpetual struggle.

Every few seconds, a faint groan would echo from within, as if the dead themselves whispered warnings of the darkness held inside.

The edges of the coffins were lined with thick iron chains, their rusted links rattling eerily, hinting at the untold horrors within.

"Come forth, my sentinels..."

Bong Me-Eon whispered, her voice cold and commanding.

The coffins stood there, ominous, their weight pressing down on the battlefield as if they could tear open the veil between life and death at any moment.

They stood like dark monoliths, prepared to unleash devastation upon her command.

…

Meanwhile, far above the battlefield, Volk hung suspended in mid-air, his massive, radioactive form glowing with an ominous green hue.

His breath came in heavy, growling huffs as he gazed down at the scene below.

The battlefield was shrouded in a sickly mist, the deathly spores wafting through the air from the cursed mushrooms that had decimated his Horde.

His Horde. Volk's glowing eyes narrowed.

"Volk's Horde… no cheer for Volk..." he muttered, his fists clenching at his sides.

He hated this.

He hated seeing them lying there, unmoving.

They should be roaring his name, praising him, charging forward at his command. Instead, they were silent, fallen.

The spore-filled mist stole their strength and left them helpless, no longer able to serve him, to revel in the violence they created together.

The thought burned inside him, stoking the flames of his fury.

"Volk HATE THIS!" he roared, his voice booming across the sky.

His rage coursed through his body, swelling his muscles even further, making his hulking frame tremble with raw energy.

He had to destroy the spores, eradicate the mist that had taken his Horde from him.

Then, an idea formed in Volk's mind, primal and simple, but powerful.

His lips curled into a wicked grin as he raised his massive arms above his head.

"Volk... clap."

He spread his arms wide, stretching them out as far as they could go.

Then, with a sharp, deliberate motion, he slammed them together in a powerful clap.

WHAM!

The force sent shockwaves rippling through the air, but it wasn't enough. Not yet.

"ARRRGHHH!"

Volk groaned, his deep, guttural voice filled with anger as he clapped his hands again.

WHAM!

The air quivered beneath the intensity of the strike.

The spores around him trembled but didn't dissipate. Volk's frustration grew as his roars became louder.

"ARRRGHH! ARRGHH!" he groaned again, clapping harder, the sound of his palms slamming together growing louder with each strike.

WHAM! WHAM!

The claps echoed across the battlefield, each one sending stronger ripples through the air, shaking the ground below.

Volk's muscles bulged grotesquely with each clap, veins popping as his radioactive energy surged through his body.

His sinews tightened, his massive biceps expanding with every ounce of power he poured into his next movement.

His body glowed brighter, his skin crackling with radiation, as the intensity built with each passing moment.

"ARRRGHHHHH!"

He let out an even louder roar, the force of his voice alone causing the ground below to quake.

His next clap shook the very sky itself.

WHAM! WHAM!

The claps were like thunder, reverberating across the battlefield with deafening power.

Each clap grew more intense, the air itself seeming to ripple in fear of the force behind Volk's fury.

Finally, with a final, earth-shattering WHAM, Volk clapped his hands together with all the strength he had gathered.

The impact sent a shockwave so powerful that the very clouds above parted, and the spore-filled mist below swirled violently, dissipating under the force of the blow.

As Volk's hands connected for that final clap, the muscles in his arms compressed with terrifying force, veins bulging like ropes as his entire body surged with energy.

KABAM!

The ground below erupted as Volk came crashing down, slamming both his massive palms into the earth with all his might.

The impact was cataclysmic, sending out a devastating shockwave that tore through the battlefield.

The air roared with a thunderous BOOM, and the cursed spores that had blanketed the battlefield were obliterated, scattered into nothingness.

The oppressive mist was no more.

Volk stood tall amidst the destruction, his chest heaving, his fists pressed deep into the earth, his radioactive aura still burning bright around him.

Below, the Ogres and Orcs stirred.

One by one, they began to wake, groaning as they struggled to their feet.

Their eyes flickered open, and slowly, they rose from the ground.

Some of them blinked, confused, but soon, their roars returned—quiet at first, but growing louder.

They were alive.

The Horde had survived.

Volk stood tall, his fists still buried in the ground as he looked around at his revived Horde. "Volk... save Horde," he muttered, a deep satisfaction creeping into his voice. His Horde was back. They could cheer for him again.

And cheer they did.

The Ogres and Orcs let out deafening roars, their voices filling the air, returning to life, to strength.

"VOLK! VOLK! VOLK! VOLK!"

"VOLK! VOLK! VOLK! VOLK!"

They were happy!

They didn't know what happened earlier, they were confused, but seeing the mushrooms, some few of them realized what it meant but most of them thought one thing.

Volk save them!