Strongest Radioactive System

As Volk watched his horde spread out, their heavy boots crunching against the loose gravel and scattered rocks of the mountainside, he let out a silent breath. His hand rose to his brow, pretending to adjust his hood, but in truth, he was wiping away the thin sheen of sweat forming there. His fingers brushed over his scarred skin, cool against the heat of his concealed tension.

Do I really have to do this? he thought, his crimson eyes narrowing.

The mission screen in his vision still loomed at the edges, the timer ticking down mercilessly. The choices he had made thus far weighed heavily on his shoulders. The lies he told the Horde to keep them unified. The secrets he buried to keep them loyal. The things he had done in the dead of night to ensure their survival—things they could never know.

He adjusted his cloak once more, making sure the gesture seemed natural. He couldn't afford to show weakness. Not now. Not ever.

"Damn this mountain," he muttered under his breath, his voice too low for anyone to hear. The winds carried his words into the void as if the elements themselves conspired to drown him in silence. "Damn these harpies. Damn this mission system and its cursed games."

As if on cue, a sharp cry broke the quiet tension.

"Chief!"
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Volk turned sharply, his crimson eyes locking onto one of the scouts sprinting toward him. The Orc was breathless, his broad chest heaving as he skidded to a halt, scattering dust and loose stones. The scout's face was pale beneath his green skin, his eyes wide and wild with a mixture of excitement and fear.

"What is it?" Volk demanded, his tone sharp and clipped. He stepped forward, towering over the scout, his presence an unyielding wall. "Report."

The scout gulped down air, his voice cracking as he spoke. "I—I saw it! A giant bird, Chief! Huge, with wings that blocked out the sun!" He stretched his arms wide as if trying to demonstrate its size. "It was perched on a rocky spire, circling a village below. Looked like… like some kind of harpy tribe."

The Horde, scattered nearby, froze at the words. Their murmurs began as a ripple before growing into a wave of excited chatter. Weapons clanged against armor as the warriors exchanged glances, their faces lighting up with anticipation.

"A giant bird?" one of the Ogres rumbled, his voice a deep growl. "Could it be a harpy king? Or some kind of guardian beast?"

Volk raised a hand, silencing the noise instantly. His crimson gaze bore into the scout. "You're certain?"

The scout nodded vigorously. "Yes, Chief! Its feathers shone like silver in the sun. Its eyes glowed red. And it was massive—bigger than anything I've seen before! The harpies seemed to bow to it like it was some kind of god!"

Volk's jaw tightened. A giant bird. A harpy tribe. A guardian, perhaps? His mind raced with possibilities. This wasn't just a random gathering of harpies; this sounded like an organized force. A stronghold. And that bird… it could be a problem.

The timer ticked in his vision, an ever-present reminder of the stakes.

Volk straightened, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Everyone, prepare yourselves!"

The command struck like thunder. The Horde erupted into a flurry of motion. Orcs tightened their belts, adjusted their armor, and strapped their weapons into place. Ogres tested the weight of their clubs and axes, their massive forms casting long shadows against the rocky ground. The metallic symphony of blades sliding from sheaths and shields being locked into position filled the air.

"Check your gear!" Volk barked, his voice echoing across the mountain. "Sharpen your weapons! Ready your bows! Harpies are fast, and they won't fight fair. Expect them to come from the skies, from the shadows, from places you'd never think to look. Stay vigilant!"

The Orcs thumped their chests in unison, a resounding CLANG! that echoed like a war drum. Their eyes gleamed with determination as they fell into formation.

Volk stalked through their ranks, his crimson gaze sharp as he inspected their readiness. His voice carried over the din, issuing orders with a precision that left no room for doubt. "Shield bearers, to the front! Archers, I want eyes on the skies at all times. If you see even a feather, you call it out. Mages, focus on area spells—don't let them cluster together!"

The Horde moved with military efficiency, their actions practiced and deliberate. Even the massive Ogres, who were often slow to respond, followed Volk's commands with surprising speed.

"Keep your lines tight!" Volk continued, his voice rising as he strode to the front. "Do not stray. Do not lose focus. Harpies are predators. They'll target the weak and the distracted. If you see one of your comrades falter, you cover them. No one fights alone!"

The Horde roared their agreement, the sound reverberating across the mountains.

Volk paused, his eyes scanning the horizon. The wind carried the faint screech of distant birds, their cries sharp and mocking. He clenched his fist, the leather of his glove creaking under the strain.

He turned back to his Horde, his voice dropping to a growl that carried the weight of command. "Remember this: we are not just fighting harpies. We are hunting them. They think they own these skies, but they're wrong. Tonight, we take their stronghold. We take their pride. And we remind them why the Horde is unstoppable!"

The warriors responded with a thunderous roar, their bloodlust ignited. The anticipation of battle crackled in the air like a storm on the verge of breaking.

Volk drew his weapon, the blade gleaming like a shard of night. He raised it high, his crimson eyes blazing with intensity. "We move out," he declared, his voice a clarion call that demanded absolute obedience.

The Horde surged forward, their steps a unified march that shook the earth beneath them. Volk turned, his gaze fixed on the distant spires where the harpy tribe awaited. A grim smile tugged at his lips.

"Let us hunt those biiiiirds!"

The Horde began their march with Volk at the lead, his crimson eyes scanning the terrain like a hawk. The air was heavy with anticipation, every step echoing against the jagged cliffs and barren rock of the mountain range. At first, the path was unremarkable. The ground beneath their boots was dry and cracked, a patchwork of dirt and scattered stones. The only sound was the rhythmic clanking of armor and weapons, the occasional grunt from an Ogre adjusting the weight of their massive club.

Volk walked in silence, his weapon sheathed but his senses on high alert. His mind churned, analyzing every detail of the landscape. The peaks above loomed like silent sentinels, their sharp edges cutting into the pale sky. Thin wisps of clouds hung low, casting faint shadows across the rocky ground. Yet, for all its natural beauty, the area felt… empty. Too empty.

"There's nothing here," grumbled one of the Orcs, his voice low but audible enough to break the stillness.

"Keep moving," Volk snapped, his tone cutting through any potential dissent. He didn't look back, his focus locked forward. "Tracks don't always show themselves immediately. Harpies are clever. They don't leave a trail unless they want to."

The Horde continued, their march steady and relentless. The barren land began to change subtly. The ground grew softer, speckled with loose gravel and patches of dry grass. Volk's sharp eyes caught the faintest impressions in the dirt—small depressions that could easily be dismissed by the untrained. He knelt, brushing his gloved fingers over the marks.

"Tracks," he murmured to himself. His voice was low, almost drowned out by the shuffle of the Horde behind him. He rose swiftly, motioning for the group to keep moving.

As they pushed forward, more signs began to appear. A few scattered feathers, dark and jagged, stuck out from the earth like forgotten relics. Volk paused to pick one up, rolling it between his fingers. It was coarse and smelled faintly of sweat and blood. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"They're near," he muttered under his breath.

The tracks grew more frequent as the Horde moved deeper into the mountains. Scattered bones—small and brittle—littered the path. Claw marks gouged into nearby rocks told of harpy talons gripping for purchase. Volk's hand hovered near his weapon as the tension in the air grew thicker.

"There!" shouted one of the scouts, pointing toward a patch of dirt where the ground was churned up in violent patterns.

Volk strode forward, crouching to inspect the site. The indentations were deep and chaotic, as though a great struggle had taken place. Scraps of torn fabric clung to nearby bushes, and claw marks crisscrossed the ground. He narrowed his eyes, his mind piecing together the scene.

"A feeding ground," he said finally, his voice cold and calculating. He stood, brushing the dirt from his gloves. "They dragged something—or someone—here. Likely prey. They don't linger long in one spot. This is fresh."

The Horde murmured amongst themselves, their excitement bubbling beneath the surface. Volk raised a hand, silencing them with a single gesture.

"Stay focused," he ordered. "The tracks are getting clearer. They're leading us somewhere."

They pressed on, the signs of harpy activity growing more blatant with every step. Feathers littered the ground in increasing numbers, some of them smeared with dried blood. Broken branches and disturbed earth marked the passage of creatures both swift and brutal. The occasional low growl or grunt rippled through the Horde as the warriors tightened their grips on their weapons.

And then it came—a sound that froze the entire Horde in their tracks.

A piercing cry shattered the stillness, reverberating through the mountains like a thunderclap. The sound was sharp and mournful, a wailing screech that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Volk's head snapped up, his crimson eyes narrowing as he scanned the skies.

"What was that?" one of the Ogres rumbled, his deep voice tinged with unease.

"A bird," Volk said tersely, though his jaw tightened as the cry echoed again. This time, it was closer, louder, more desperate. It wasn't just any bird—it was massive, its voice carrying the weight of something ancient and primal.

The cry came again, a long, drawn-out wail that sent shivers through the Horde. It wasn't just a call; it was a lament, a sorrowful scream that seemed to claw at the soul.

"It's looking for something," Volk muttered under his breath, his gaze fixed on the horizon. His mind raced, analyzing the sound. A harpy? No. Something bigger. Something angrier.

The Horde pressed forward, their steps cautious now, every sound magnified in the oppressive quiet between the bird's cries. The path narrowed, forcing them into single file as they wound through a jagged pass. The cries grew louder, more insistent, each one laced with frustration and grief.

Volk's hand rested on the hilt of his weapon, his knuckles white beneath his gloves. His mind churned with possibilities. A guardian? A mate? A scout? Why is it crying? What's it searching for?

Finally, as they rounded a sharp bend, the source of the cries came into view.

Perched atop a massive spire of rock was a bird unlike anything Volk had ever seen. It was enormous, its wings folded against its body, but even at rest, its sheer size was awe-inspiring. Its feathers shimmered in the pale light, a blend of silver and charcoal that seemed to ripple like liquid metal. Its talons, each the size of a man's arm, gripped the rock with a force that made cracks spiderweb outward.

The bird's head tilted back as it let out another cry, its beak wide and sharp as a scythe. Its glowing red eyes scanned the horizon, blazing with fury and sorrow.

The Horde froze, their collective breath catching in their throats.

"There it is," Volk said quietly, his voice steady but laced with an edge of grim determination. He turned to his warriors, his crimson eyes burning with command.

"We've found our prey."