Strongest Radioactive System

Amidst the battlefield's chaos, Volk's towering form loomed like a dark monolith, standing impervious and unyielding.

His bellowing laughter filled the air, mocking the desperation etched on his opponents' faces.

The middle-aged woman and Bong Me-Eon moved with unison born of years of training, flinging spell after spell at Volk, desperately trying to break through his hardened defenses.

The ground trembled beneath them as each spell struck with resounding force, sending shards of rock and sparks of energy ricocheting around them. But for every inch they gained, Volk advanced two more, his massive frame absorbing their attacks with a chilling, unaffected resilience.

The middle-aged woman gritted her teeth, pushing herself harder, feeling the strain claw at her energy reserves.

Her voice rose above the din, "Sarcha Volfoareus!" chanting incantations that twisted the very air with darkness and eldritch light.

Spectral chains emerged, coiling around Volk's limbs in an attempt to bind him. Shadows coalesced into sharp-edged tendrils that shot toward him, seeking to pierce and hold.

Her hands blazed with fire, casting streaks of flame that spiraled and wove around her dark magic, forming a vicious storm aimed at the towering Orc leader.

"DIE, BEAST!" she spat, her voice hoarse from the relentless chanting.

The spellwork was flawless, every incantation precisely executed, yet Volk only laughed, a guttural sound that rumbled from deep within his chest.

He moved with surprising agility for his massive frame, twisting his body to evade the worst of the flames. And as one spectral chain coiled around his arm, he jerked it forward, shattering it with brute force.

His tusked grin grew, and his eyes gleamed with a cold, calculating malice as he glanced between the two mages, sizing them up like prey.

Suddenly, with a maneuver that was almost too quick to track, Volk lunged, his massive arm sweeping across the battlefield in a brutal arc.

Bong Me-Eon's reflexes kicked in, her eyes widening as she barely managed to throw up a protective barrier.

However, the sheer force of Volk's attack cracked the barrier like glass, sending her stumbling back.

Before she could react, his arm shot out, his fingers curling around her torso with an iron grip.

A gasp of horror escaped her lips as she felt the unyielding pressure of his fingers closing in.

Her heart pounded, fear clawing at her throat as she struggled in vain against his hold.

The middle-aged woman's eyes widened in alarm, her fierce expression breaking for the first time as she watched her disciple trapped in the clutches of the monstrous horde leader.

Panic surged within her pumping blood vessels, a visceral, agonizing panic that spurred her into action.

"Release her!" she roared, her voice laced with desperation.

She unleashed another barrage of spells, each one crafted with deadly precision.

Dark tendrils of energy lashed out, snapping at Volk's arm, slicing through the air with crackling intensity.

Bolts of necrotic fire burst forth from her hands, streaking toward his fingers in an attempt to sear them open.

The air itself seemed to thicken with magic, every inch saturated with her raw fury and power.

But Volk merely shifted Bong Me-Eon, holding her directly in front of him like a living shield.

The middle-aged woman froze, her heart pounding as she realized her disciple was now in the line of fire.

She faltered, her spells weakening mid-flight, dissipating into harmless sparks before they even touched Volk.

"Clever girl," he sneered, his voice dripping with mocking contempt.

He watched her struggle, relishing her anguish as she faltered, caught between her need to save Bong Me-Eon and the impossibility of attacking without endangering her.

The middle-aged woman tried to muster another spell, but her energy was flagging. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, her vision blurring at the edges.

She had pushed herself to the brink, expended nearly everything in her desperate attempt to free her disciple.

Her shoulders sagged, and a cold, sinking realization crept into her chest.

Volk's laughter echoed again, deep and thunderous.

He looked down at Bong Me-Eon, his grin widening as he leaned closer, his breath hot and foul against her face.

The cruel glint in his eyes spoke of the pain he was about to inflict, the utter disregard for her life as nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game.

He turned his gaze back to the middle-aged woman, and with a voice dripping with malice, he taunted her.

"WHAT IF…" he growled, drawing out each word, savoring the dread in her eyes. "WHAT IF VOLK PINCHED HER?"

The threat hung heavy in the air, sending a cold chill down the middle-aged woman's spine.

She could only watch, helpless, as Volk's fingers began to close, his grip tightening around Bong Me-Eon's fragile form.

Bong Me-Eon's face contorted in agony, her breaths coming in short, pained gasps as she felt the pressure build.

Her ribs creaked under the strain, each breath a struggle as the vise around her tightened.

The middle-aged woman staggered forward, her hands trembling as she tried to summon something, anything, that could save her disciple.

However, the world around her was spinning, her energy drained, her strength nearly spent.

She could only watch, horror-stricken, as Volk's fingers pressed down, inching ever closer to crushing the life from Bong Me-Eon.

And then— SHRAK!

A searing darkness cleaved through the battlefield, slicing through Volk's wrist with surgical precision.

The impact was immediate, a violent flash of black energy that seemed to eat away at his flesh, as though death itself had materialized to sever his grasp.

His hand, still clutching Bong Me-Eon, separated from his arm, tumbling through the air before crashing to the ground.

Bong Me-Eon collapsed as Volk's grip released her, her body wracked with pain but free.

She scrambled back, gasping, her hands instinctively clutching her bruised ribs.

The middle-aged woman rushed to her side, pulling her back further as she held her tightly, her face a mask of worry and relief.

Volk staggered back, his severed arm a ghastly sight, black blood pouring from the stump in thick, steaming rivulets that scorched the earth below.

His face twisted into a snarl, his eyes blazing with a wrath that was both fierce and unrestrained.

GRRRRRRR!!

He clutched his stump, letting out a bellow of rage that resonated through the battlefield, a cry of pain and fury that seemed to shake the heavens.

"WHO DARE ATTACK VOLK?!"