Strongest Radioactive System

Volk stood frozen, and his head was trying to dig deep to his brain on what to do as the system notification glared in front of his eyes:

| Mission Failed.

| Basic-level Muay Thai Kickboxing received.

| Dreadmaw Clan will experience annihilation in 7 hours. |

His heart thundered in his chest, and his breath came in ragged gasps.

"No.

"This cannot be it."

Desperation clawed at his insides, threatening to explode inside him.

"I will not die like this.

"I will not let my people die like this!"

His teeth ground together, and his hands balled into fists so tight that his knuckles turned white.

"NO!"

Volk roared, shaking the very air around him.

The sound was primal, wild, as if something deep within him had finally broken free.

"I will not let this happen!" His voice cracked, but he didn't care. He couldn't care.

The ground trembled beneath his feet as his voice echoed through the clearing.

"I WILL NOT DIE LIKE THIS!"

The Elves and Orcs around him flinched at his outburst, their eyes wide with confusion and fear. But Volk was beyond reason now.

His desperation was boiling over, and all he could think about was finding a way—any way—to turn the tide of fate.

"FIND THOSE SPIES!" Volk screamed, his voice growing more frantic with each word.

"WE CAN STILL ESCAPE!" His eyes darted wildly across the crowd, as if he could somehow will them into action with sheer force of will.

"IF WE CAN'T ESCAPE, WE CAN FIGHT BACK!"

He felt his throat burn as he screamed, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. "STAND UP! BE STRONG!" His voice cracked again, but the madness in his eyes only intensified. "STAND UP AND BE STRONG!"

Every word, every scream felt like a desperate plea to the gods. But it wasn't the gods he needed to convince—it was these terrified, hopeless warriors around him.

His people, his clan.

The Elves and Orcs exchanged nervous glances, their bodies trembling with fear.

The weight of Volk's words was like an anchor pulling them deeper into despair.

They all knew what he was saying was true. But even in the face of his desperate screams, their hearts sank lower and lower.

How could they fight against the impossible?

They had all heard the stories.

The Red Elven Warlocks and Dark Elven Witches—two opposing forces that used lesser races as pawns in their never-ending war.

To them, the hornless Orc tribes and the Elves were nothing more than prizes, trophies to be claimed in their deadly sport.

Whoever seized them first would be the victor.

It was a game of power and conquest, and the Orcs and Elves were nothing but the spoils.

Volk's screams grew louder, more frenzied, as he paced back and forth, clutching his head as if trying to physically shake the desperation out of his mind.

"WE HAVE TO FIGHT!" he bellowed. "WE CAN'T JUST SIT HERE AND WAIT TO DIE! WE HAVE TO—"

But his voice was swallowed by the weight of their hopelessness.

One by one, the warriors around him began to crumble.

Their faces were pale, their hands shaking.

Even those who had once stood tall and proud now seemed weak, helpless, their spirits broken by the knowledge that no matter how strong they were, no matter how hard they fought, they could never win.

Volk saw the look in their eyes—the look of surrender.

"No, no, no! This isn't how it's supposed to end!"

His chest heaved with the effort of his screams, his throat raw and aching, but still he pushed on.

"DON'T LET THEM GO!" His voice cracked again, his desperation bleeding into every word. "WE CAN DO THIS! WE CAN FIGHT BACK!"

But even as the words left his lips, Volk could see the truth etched on their faces. They knew what was coming.

They had heard the stories of the Red Elven Warlocks and the Dark Elven Witches clashing in all-out war.

They knew that the hornless Orc tribes were nothing more than collateral damage, a casualty of a war between rulers of different realms.

Volk's screams echoed across the clearing, but the Orcs and Elves stood motionless, frozen in fear. His heart pounded in his chest, every beat a reminder of the time slipping away.

Suddenly, an Orc stepped forward and placed a hand on Volk's shoulder.

"Kaz'rogal," he said, his face etched with the deep lines of countless battles fought and lost, stared into Volk's eyes with a mixture of pity and understanding.

"Enough, little Kaz'rogal." Kaz'rogal's voice was calm, steady. It cut through Volk's rambling like a cold wind. "We understand."

Volk shook his head, refusing to believe it. "No!" He jerked away from the elder's grasp. "We can still fight! We can still—"

Kaz'rogal's expression didn't change, but there was something heavy in his gaze. "Kaz'rogal, listen to me. You know what happens when the Red Elven Warlocks and the Dark Elven Witches clash."

Volk froze, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

Kaz'rogal continued, his voice barely a whisper now, but every word felt like a hammer blow to Volk's soul.

"Whenever those two armies clash, it's all-out war. And we... we are nothing to them. We are but two percent of their pawns. We are insignificant in their eyes, Volk."

His eyes clouded with sorrow as he spoke, the truth too heavy for him to bear.

"They will kill each other, and they will kill us for sure. We are merely the consequences of their game of conquest. There is no escape."

Volk's lips trembled as he struggled to find words. How did it come to this? How had they fallen so far?

"How did this happen?" Volk asked, his voice barely a whisper, his mind refusing to accept the grim reality.

Kaz'rogal sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the knowledge he carried.

"A dead Warlock is the reason. It's not your fault, little Labor Orc." The elder's voice was thick with sorrow. "If that Warlock had survived, he would have called for backup, too. But now... now, both sides are coming. And we are caught in the middle."

Volk's breath caught in his throat. A dead Warlock?

The weight of the elder's words crashed down on him, leaving him feeling utterly powerless.

For a moment, Volk could hardly breathe. Had it really come to this?

Just as the full weight of the situation began to crush him, another system notification appeared in his vision.

The cold, emotionless text blinked before his eyes:

| Ding!

| Mission: Suggest an escape place.

| Rewards: Survival of the few.

| Failure: Complete Annihilation. |

Volk's eyes widened as he stared at the screen, his heart pounding so loudly he could barely hear his own thoughts. His entire body felt numb, his mind blank.

An escape plan? His mind reeled as the words echoed in his head. He had no plan. No strategy. And now, he had mere hours before everything he had ever known was destroyed.

As the notification faded from view, Volk's legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees. His hands shook as he stared into the distance, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind.

Is there a way out of this? Can I really save them?

Volk's chest tightened as the full weight of the mission sank in.

Seven hours.

That was all he had left.