Strongest Radioactive System

The cave was dark, its vast walls swallowing the flickering torchlight and stretching into a shadowed abyss.

The air inside was heavy, stale, and tinged with the metallic scent of blood.

The horde of Orcs and Ogres had stumbled in, panting and injured, their massive frames huddled together in exhaustion.

Deep gashes marred their limbs, jagged wounds oozing thick blood that pooled slowly on the cold stone floor.

Every heavy breath they took echoed against the stone walls like low, mournful groans.

For a time, there was only silence—a crushing, oppressive silence—broken only by the faint whimpering of a wounded Orc who clutched his bleeding side.

A single torch was thrust into the ground, its flame sputtering weakly as if it, too, might die out at any moment.

Then, one of the larger Ogres stepped forward, his footsteps booming like distant thunder.

His face was contorted in a mixture of pain and anger, a snarl curling his lips. He jabbed a thick, bloodied finger toward the rest of the horde.

"ENOUGH! We can't sit here like cowards!" His voice roared through the cave, shaking loose dust and pebbles from above.

"They attacked us! They slaughtered our brothers! Are we going to let those winged bastards pick us apart and mock us? Huh? IS THAT WHAT WE ARE NOW?!"
Enjoy exclusive adventures from empire

The gathered warriors let out low growls and murmurs of agreement, their collective anger simmering like lava beneath their wounded forms.

Orcs muttered curses under their breath. Ogres pounded their fists into the stone floor, the vibrations carrying their frustration deeper into the cave's depths.

"Revenge," snarled a smaller but fierce-looking Orc captain, his tusks stained red from blood.

"We take revenge. We don't let this insult stand. Those birds won't leave this cave alive once they come looking for us."

"Aye! They'll regret flying low enough to fight us!"

Another voice joined in, a grizzled Orc warrior whose face was marred by deep scars and burns. His single remaining eye blazed with vengeance.

"We trap this cave. Make it their grave. Bury them in stone and fire! They'll choke on their own pride!"

An Ogre at the back growled lowly.

"Traps alone aren't enough. Those harpies are fast, faster than we are. If we fight them in the open again, we'll be cut down before we even see them coming. We can't afford to lose more of our numbers."

The crowd stirred at this, their murmurs turning more heated as disagreements broke out.

"Then what do you suggest?!" barked one of the larger Orc captains, his thick arms crossed as he glared at the Ogre who spoke. "Sit here and wait to die? Because that's all that'll happen if we don't strike back now."

"No, you fool," snapped the Ogre, baring his jagged teeth.

"We need to lure them inside. Trap them where their wings are useless. Once they're in here, they're ours. We'll crush them. Break their bones with our hands. Rip their wings from their backs and hang their carcasses from the walls!"

The Orcs erupted into approving snarls, their bloodlust momentarily overriding their exhaustion.

"And how do we do that, huh?" someone shouted from the crowd. "How do we drag them in here? They're cowards! They won't fight us in tight spaces. They'll just keep striking us from above!"

A silence fell again, though this one was thick with tension.

The problem was clear.

The harpies had the advantage in speed and height.

Even now, hiding in the cave, Volk's horde was trapped—cornered like prey, wounded, and bleeding out. Any misstep could see them wiped out entirely.

"Smoke," suggested one of the quieter Orcs suddenly, stepping forward and catching the attention of the others.

"We burn wood at the cave entrance. Thick smoke. Clouds they can't see through. They'll have to come inside or fly blind."

A few heads nodded at this, but another Orc growled. "And what happens when they don't come? Huh? When they just wait outside, circling us like vultures? We'll die in here, choking on the same smoke we make! That's suicide!"

The tension boiled over as warriors began shouting over one another. Ideas and plans were hurled like spears, each one met with either snarls of agreement or scornful growls.

"Collapse the entrance! Trap them inside with us! We'll fight them to the last!"

"No! Collapse the entrance and we'll be buried too, idiot!"

"Use bait! Send out scouts to lure them in! We'll ambush them once they're close enough!"

"Too risky. We're too weak. If they catch the scouts, they'll slaughter them and come back for us anyway!"

Back and forth the arguments raged, their voices bouncing off the stone walls in a cacophony of frustration and desperation.

Volk sat silently through it all, his massive frame hunched forward on a rock at the cave's center.

His crimson eyes stared down at the floor, unblinking and unreadable, while the horde's chaotic discussion swirled around him like a storm.

Minutes passed.

Perhaps an hour.

The fire from the single torch crackled faintly, the only steady sound amidst the noise.

The wounded groaned softly in the corners, their bodies tended to by others, but their fate seemed no better than the rest.

Finally, the shouting began to die down. Exhaustion had crept into their voices—desperation taking its place.

Many warriors slumped back against the stone walls, their initial fire replaced with wary determination.

"So traps it is, then," muttered the scarred Orc captain bitterly, spitting blood to the side. "We'll rig the whole cave—walls, floor, even the ceiling. If those damn harpies follow us in here, they won't live to see daylight again. We'll crush them. Even if it's the last thing we do."

Grunts of agreement rippled through the group, and slowly, the warriors began to nod. It wasn't perfect, but it was a plan—a sliver of hope in the darkness.

And then—

"Wait."

Volk's voice cut through the air like a blade, low and rumbling but full of an undeniable authority.

The warriors froze mid-movement, all heads turning toward him.

Volk slowly rose to his feet, his towering form casting a long, monstrous shadow across the cave floor.

His red eyes gleamed faintly in the torchlight as he stared down at the gathered horde, his expression calm, controlled—but dangerous.

"I have a better idea."

The words were spoken softly, but they carried with them an ominous weight—one that made even the fiercest warriors shift uneasily on their feet.

For a moment, there was only silence.

The sound of dripping blood echoed faintly in the distance, the only noise as Volk's words settled over the group like a heavy fog.

Then, quietly, Volk began to smile.