Strongest Radioactive System

His fellow Dreadmaw Clan Orcs stared at him in disbelief.

Their leader was always a force to be reckoned with, but this? He transformed four times because of the Warlocks and they knew it should not be permanent.

However, can they also transform?

The idea that they could simply "awaken" again after their battle against the Warlock Zenveil seemed ridiculous.

They exchanged uneasy glances, unsure whether Volk was being serious or had simply lost his mind.

Grok'Thar was the first to break the silence.

He laughed, a short, barking sound that echoed off the cave walls. "Volk," he said, shaking his head. "That's impossible! We already used our Grum-gar forms. No one just awakens again like that. Not after a fight like this.

What are you thinking?"

Grashk joined in, scratching his chin with a smirk. "Aye, Volk. You've led us through some insane battles, but this? There's no way. We can't just... reset, like we're some sort of machine."

Another Orc chimed in, nodding along. "Yeah, Grum-gar is something we build up over time, through hard battles and pushing our limits. We're all drained after fighting Zenveil. The idea of us just... doing it again is nonsense!"

The others began to laugh, with their voices filling the cavern with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

Volk's intensity seemed misplaced, even comical, in the face of such an absurd suggestion.

They had all fought with every ounce of strength they had, and now, they were simply trying to recover.

Gurrak, the youngest of the group, wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. "Maybe we can do it tomorrow, eh, Volk?" He grinned, his tusks glinting in the dim light.

"We'll all wake up refreshed, maybe have a bit of breakfast, and then, bam! Grum-gar again! I mean, why wait? Let's do it now!" His tone was teasing, mocking the very idea.

The Orcs roared with laughter, slapping each other on the back and shaking their heads.

The sheer ridiculousness of the conversation had turned a tense situation into something of a joke.

Even the thought of facing the Bloodfang Clan couldn't keep them from chuckling at the absurdity.

But Volk wasn't laughing. His eyes remained locked on Gurrak, his expression deadly serious. "Do it," he said, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

The laughter died instantly. Gurrak blinked, confused. "Huh?"

"I said do it," Volk repeated, his tone unwavering. "Try to transform. If we can do it now, we'll be ready if the Bloodfang Clan comes for us. We'll crush them if they try to take our crystals."

Gurrak's throat went dry, and he swallowed nervously.

He glanced around at the other Orcs, seeking some kind of reassurance, but they were just as stunned as he was.

The weight of Volk's command was settling over them like a heavy cloak.

This wasn't a joke anymore.

Their leader was serious.

"You're... you're serious?" Gurrak stammered, looking back at Volk. His mind raced. It was impossible, wasn't it? But Volk's eyes bore into him, and the weight of his command was undeniable.

Seeing no way out, Gurrak sighed and straightened his back. "Alright," he muttered, rubbing his hands together nervously. "I'll give it a try... but don't expect anything."

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

The familiar feeling of energy coursing through his veins wasn't there, at least not in the same way it had been before their battle. But as he concentrated, something strange happened.

A tingling sensation spread through his body, slow at first, but then it grew stronger, more intense.

The other Orcs watched with wide eyes as Gurrak's muscles began to bulge, his veins popping out like thick cords.

His skin darkened, his frame expanding as his body slowly transformed. His legs grew thicker, his arms like tree trunks, and his back arched as the sheer mass of his Grum-gar form took over.

His tusks elongated, his face contorting into a more savage, primal form.

Gurrak opened his eyes, now glowing with a feral light, and took a step forward.

The ground beneath him cracked from the pressure of his weight. His form was still growing, slow and deliberate, like a boulder rolling down a hill, unstoppable and inevitable.

The other Orcs stood there, dumbfounded.

They watched in stunned silence, the air thick with disbelief.

Gurrak had actually done it. He had transformed.

Even though he had already used his Grum-gar form in the battle against Zenveil, he had somehow managed to trigger it again.

THUD.

The crystals the Orcs were carrying fell to the ground, one by one, as they stared, slack-jawed, at Gurrak's massive form.

The sound echoed ominously through the cavern, but no one moved.

No one spoke.

They were all transfixed by the impossible transformation happening right before their eyes.

Gurrak, breathing heavily, looked down at his new form, his voice a low growl. "I... I did it." His tone was filled with disbelief, as though even he couldn't believe what had just happened. But before he could say more, Volk's voice cut through the air once again.

"Wait!" Volk commanded, raising a hand to stop the celebration that was just about to erupt.

The Orcs froze, their cheers dying in their throats as they turned their attention back to Volk. His eyes glinted with intensity. "Now, turn into your second mutation of the Grum-gar form."

Gurrak's jaw dropped slightly.

He had barely believed he could manage the first transformation, let alone a second. His heart raced as he looked around at the other Orcs, their eyes now gleaming with hope.

The weight of their expectations pressed down on him, but something inside him stirred—something primal, something powerful.

Gurrak clenched his fists, his muscles tightening further. "Alright," he growled. "Let's see if it's possible."

With a roar, Gurrak's body expanded once more. His shoulders broadened, his arms swelled to even more terrifying proportions, and his legs grew like thick pillars of stone.

His skin darkened further, thickening as his form became even more monstrous. His already massive body grew larger, more menacing, and his face twisted into a visage of pure rage and power.

The Orcs watched in awe as Gurrak entered his second mutation. His body now towered over them, nearly twice the size of a normal Grum-gar.

The sheer presence of him was overwhelming, like a mountain standing among hills. He took another step forward, and the ground trembled beneath him.

Yet, before the Orcs could begin to celebrate, Volk's voice rang out once more.

"Now, turn into the third mutation!"

The Orcs gasped in unison.

The third mutation was rare—almost unheard of for an Orc who hadn't yet surpassed Fifth Mag'Durotan.

Those who achieved such a feat were considered the rarest talent, with a chance to become champions of their clans, and here was Volk, demanding that Gurrak attempt it now, in front of them all.

Gurrak's eyes widened, but the determination burning in his chest drowned out his doubt.

If this was possible, then he could become something more than just another Orc in the Dreadmaw Clan.

He could become one those rare talent.

With a final roar that shook the very cavern, Gurrak's body erupted into its third mutation.

His muscles rippled with power, his skin became nearly stone-like in its density, and his form expanded to a monstrous size. His teeth elongated into tusks that jutted out like daggers, and his eyes burned with the light of pure, untamed rage.

The transformation was slow, almost majestic in its brutality.

Each second felt like an eternity as Gurrak's body reshaped itself into something beyond what any of them had ever seen.

His presence was overwhelming, like his very existence radiating raw power.

The Orcs stood there, with their hearts pounding heavily in their chests.

They stared at Gurrak with awe and dread, for what stood before them was not just an Orc—it was a monster, a force of nature, a being of pure, unrelenting destruction.

Gurrak, breathing heavily, looked down at himself, his voice a deep, rumbling growl. "I... I did it."