Chapter 151: HORDE THUNDER CLAP

From atop the building, Bong Me-Eon watched the battlefield unfold like a twisted play, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile."Ah, so that's what you did," she mused quietly.

"You used sheer force to blow the spores away."

Her tone was amused, but underneath seemed to have a calculated edge to it.

She was impressed with Orc's raw, brute strength, but she wasn't about to let him undo her work so easily.

Her hand slowly rose into the air, fingers tracing the space above her as she whispered an incantation.

The air around her grew cold again, the dark aura seeping from her once more as if the very essence of death was manifesting from her fingertips.

The sky seemed to dim slightly as her magic coiled, waiting for her command.

"EPHEMERAL DEATH SPORE," she declared, her voice slicing through the air like a crack of thunder.

The words themselves seemed to carry an eerie weight, as if the very sound of them held death within.

The shockwave of her incantation rippled outward from her, a visible disturbance that spread across the battlefield in a series of ominous, dark waves.

The shockwave surged forward like a spectral wind, sweeping through the city streets.

It moved fast, but there was an odd, almost graceful fluidity to it.

The wave twisted and turned, following the contours of the battlefield, snaking around ruined buildings and debris like a silent reaper, unnoticed by those too busy fighting.

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As the shockwave touched the mushrooms scattered across the city, they began to tremble.

It started with the closest one.

It shook violently as though something was crawling inside it, trying to break free.

Then, the shockwave passed to another, and another, the effect cascading through the streets.

Each mushroom quivered at the touch of the spell, the tremors growing stronger and more erratic as the wave continued its journey.

The scene was terrifying to behold.

From any vantage point, you could see the wave moving through the streets like an unstoppable force of nature, touching mushroom after mushroom.

Each one shuddered violently, their spores swelling, their stems twitching like something alive.

The dark, deathly aura that clung to them intensified, becoming more visible to the naked eye, like a sinister fog creeping closer.

One by one, the mushrooms erupted.

Not like before, with mild clouds of spores drifting lazily into the air.

No, this time the spores were unleashed with a force that could only be described as cataclysmic.

From the trembling fungi burst thick, choking clouds of deadly spores, rolling out like a tsunami of smoke.

The air itself seemed to turn to poison as the clouds expanded, the blackish-green mist swallowing everything in its path.

The spores moved like a living entity, a massive wave of death that rolled through the city streets, consuming buildings, rubble, and anything in its path.

The sound of it was horrifying—a low, rumbling growl as the mist thickened, blotting out the sky as it moved.

…

Meanwhile, Volk stood among his celebrating Horde.

"VOLK VOLK VOLK!"

The Ogres and Orcs around him roared and cheered, their voices booming in triumph.

Volk himself grinned wide, his massive chest heaving with satisfaction as he basked in the praise of his Horde.

They were alive!

They were strong!

He had saved them!

But then, the cheering stopped.

Volk's eyes narrowed, sensing something wrong.

He turned, and there, in the distance, he saw it—a massive tsunami of smoke, darker and thicker than before, rolling toward them with terrifying speed.

It wasn't just a mist this time; it was a wall of death, surging forward like a living, breathing entity.

The death spores were back, and they were more powerful than ever.

Volk's grin faded for a moment, replaced by a grim understanding.

He hated that mist.

Hated how it weakened his Horde, how it threatened to undo everything. But then, a wicked smirk curled on his lips.

This was nothing.

Nothing that Volk and his Horde couldn't handle.

He threw his head back and roared.

"HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORDE!"

The sound was so loud, it made the very ground vibrate.

Every Ogre and Orc within earshot stopped in their tracks, turning toward Volk with wide, eager eyes.

They listened intently, awaiting their leader's command.

Volk's massive hand pointed toward the oncoming wave of deathly mist, his glowing eyes burning with fury. "YOU SEE THAT? YOU SEE THAT CLOUD?" he shouted, his voice deep and guttural. "THAT CLOUD TRY TAKE YOU DOWN AGAIN! VOLK SAY... NO!

WE HORDE STRONGER! WE SMASH CLOUD!"

The Ogres and Orcs roared in response, their blood boiling at the thought of another challenge.

Volk's grin widened.

He knew he had them.

"LISTEN CLOSE!" he bellowed. "YOU TAKE HANDS... LIKE THIS!"

He raised his massive palms together, spreading his fingers wide as he demonstrated.

The Horde mimicked him, watching his every move closely.

"SPREAD FINGERS... WIDE! HANDS STRONG! THEN... YOU CLAP!"

Volk slammed his palms together with a thunderous WHAM!, the force of it sending a gust of wind spiraling out from him.

"CLAP! SMASH CLOUD! MAKE WIND! BIG WIND! WE BLOW CLOUD AWAY!"

The Ogres and Orcs looked at each other, determination flickering in their eyes. Searᴄh the Nôvelƒire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

They spread their hands, preparing to clap just as Volk had shown them.

"ALL TOGETHER!"

Volk roared.

"YOU CLAP WHEN VOLK SAY! READY! READY!"

The tension in the air was palpable as the Horde readied themselves, hands spread wide, arms tensed, waiting for the signal.

The death cloud surged closer, its black mass filling the horizon.

The ground trembled as the spores rolled toward them, but Volk stood tall, unafraid.

"NOW!" he shouted. "CLAP!"

WHAM!

Thousands of Ogres and Orcs clapped in unison, their massive palms slamming together with a sound like a cannon blast.

The force was incredible, a shockwave of wind that tore through the battlefield, pushing back against the death cloud.

But Volk wasn't done.

"AGAIN! CLAP AGAIN! HARDER!"

WHAM!

Another clap, louder than the first.

The wind intensified, swirling with more power as it pressed against the spores.

"AGAIN! CLAP! CLAP!"

Volk's voice boomed over the battlefield as he led the Horde in a furious rhythm of clapping, each one stronger, louder than the last.

The air quivered with the force of their combined power, the ground shaking beneath their feet.

With each clap, the wind built in strength, howling through the streets like a living thing.

The spores in the distance began to buckle under the pressure, their advance slowing as the wind pushed harder and harder against them.

WHAM! WHAM!

The Ogres and Orcs clapped with everything they had, their roars mixing with the sound of their hands slamming together.

Volk's voice rang out over the chaos, urging them on.

"SMASH CLOUD! SMASH IT!"

The wind swirled into a vortex, spinning faster and faster, gathering strength with every clap.

The death cloud wavered, the spores within it scattering, unable to withstand the force.

Then, with one final, earth-shattering WHAM, the wind exploded outward in a massive gust, tearing through the battlefield.

The death cloud was ripped apart, its thick, poisonous mist scattered into nothingness, blown away like dust on the wind.

The Horde erupted into cheers, their voices filling the air with triumphant roars. They had done it. They had smashed the cloud. They had survived.

And Volk stood at the center of it all, his chest heaving with pride, his fists clenched in victory. His Horde was strong. His Horde was unstoppable.

"HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORDE!!!" He roared, "STROOOOOOONG!!!!" he roared again, his voice filled with the thrill of triumph, and the Horde roared back, their voices shaking the very sky.