As the hour passed, the catacomb echoed with the clattering and shuffling of the Orc clans moving about.
Volk had given the command for every clan, including the Dreadmaw, to hunt.
Only a handful of the Orcs remained behind—those skilled in preparing and cooking the at for their eventual feast.
The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and sweat as the clans scattered into the labyrinthine depths, searching for creatures that road in the darkness.
The preparation area buzzed with activity. Fires crackled, spits were assembled, and the few Orcs left to tend the fires sharpened their knives and prepared the space for the grand al.
Volk, leaning casually against the rough stone wall of the catacomb, suddenly felt a soft pulse from the system.
His brow furrowed as a notification screen appeared before his eyes.
| Ding!
| Please plant this to a place the Host desires to open the dinsional crack. |
He tilted his head, considering the ssage.
The screen blinked out of existence, and a suspended light appeared before him, hovering just inches from his face.
Without hesitation, Volk reached out, grasping the light in his hand.
It was warm, pulsing with faint energy that humd softly against his palm.
He glanced around the chamber, spotting a small, jagged gap in the stone wall to his right.
With purposeful steps, Volk walked toward it, the suspended light still cradled in his hand.
As he approached the wall, he crouched, observing the tiny fissure closely.
With a steady hand, he pressed the light into the gap.
Nothing happened.
Volk stood there for a mont, staring at the crack in the wall.
His eyes narrowed, one could see there was a flicker of impatience running through his head.
He was about to turn away when he rembered the system's instructions.
He had two more hours to wait.
With a grunt of frustration, Volk rose to his full height, turning on his heel to rejoin the preparations.
The light would do its work in ti.
For now, there was food to prepare, and a horde to feed.
He made his way back to the main chamber where the cooks were busy skinning the beasts from earlier hunts.
The sound of knives slicing through flesh filled the air, accompanied by the sizzling of at roasting over open flas.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Volk's stomach growled faintly, the scent of cooking food making his mouth water. But before he could say a word, the first group of hunters returned from the depths of the catacomb, dragging the lifeless bodies of massive, grotesque creatures behind them.
One by one, the Orcs began to pile the carcasses in front of Volk.
A monstrous collection of mutated beasts, twisted by the radioactive energy of the catacombs, lay before him.
The creatures' skins shimred with an unnatural glow, their twisted forms bristling with jagged limbs and contorted muscles.
Several of the Orcs began to mutter to each other, their voices low but audible.
"Why are we puttin' all this in front of the Warchief?" one Orc grumbled, scratching the back of his neck.
"Maybe it's so sort of ritual," another whispered back, his eyes darting toward Volk. "Maybe he's gonna bless the at or sothin'."
The first Orc frowned, unimpressed but found it funny. "Bless the at? Since when do we need blessings to eat?"
A third Orc, standing slightly apart from the others, leaned in, his voice hushed as if he was sharing so great secret.
"I heard the Warchief plans to reduce the hazard. Make it tastier, you know? Get rid of the bad energy from these things."
The others exchanged looks of intrigue, their suspicions only growing.
Before anyone could speculate further, Volk stepped forward, his imposing fra casting a long shadow over the pile of monstrous corpses.
The murmurs ceased instantly, and all eyes turned to him.
He stood silently for a mont, his eyes scanning the pile of twisted beasts.
Then, without warning, Volk's body tensed, and a faint hum filled the air. His hands clenched into fists, and a surge of invisible energy radiated from his body, absorbing over the carcasses like a water drain.
"ZEEENNNG!"
A low hum reverberated through the chamber, and the radioactive energy within the creatures began to pulse and shimr.
The Orcs watched in stunned silence as the eerie glow around the corpses faded, sucked into Volk's form.
The twisted, unnatural energy was siphoned from the dead beasts, absorbed into Volk's body as if it were nothing more than air.
Within monts, the corpses of the creatures lay still, their radioactive energy completely drained.
Volk stood over them, his eyes glinting with satisfaction.
The Orcs erupted into cheers, their voices echoing off the stone walls.
They hadn't seen anything like it before, and the excitent was palpable.
The beasts were now ready for the feast, safe from their forr taint.
"Let the feast begin!"
Volk bellowed, his voice booming across the chamber.
The Orcs roared in response, their excitent boiling over as they quickly set to work preparing the at for the grand al.
Soon, the chamber was filled with the rich, savory aroma of roasting flesh.
Fires crackle as enormous haunches of at were skewered and turned over open flas.
Fat dripped and sizzled into the fire, sending plus of smoke rising toward the stone ceiling.
The sounds of laughter and rrint filled the air as the Orcs sat in groups, tearing into the cooked at with ravenous hunger.
Even the chieftains, still nursing their bruises from their earlier fight with Volk, joined in the celebration.
They sat on thick logs, laughing heartily and sharing stories of past battles as they gnawed on chunks of at.
Despite the injuries they had sustained, their spirits were high, and the camaraderie among the clans was palpable.
Around the fire, the Orcs passed around large mugs filled with so kind of potent drink, the liquid sloshing over the sides as they clinked their mugs together in toasts.
"Hahahaha! I thought I'd never taste proper at again!" one of the chieftains roared, his voice thick with amusent.
"Aye, and to think this was all thanks to our new Warchief!" another chieftain added, raising his mug high.
"Never thought I'd be celebratin' like this after the beatin' he gave us!" another chid in, his face twisted into a toothy grin.
For two full hours, the feast continued.
The Orcs ate and drank until their bellies were full, their laughter and cheers echoing throughout the catacomb.
Even the youngest Orcs, who had been silent earlier, joined in the celebration, reveling in the unity of the clans under Volk's leadership.
But amidst the revelry, Volk remained calm, his eyes sharp, watching over the gathered clans.
He didn't eat much—just enough to keep his strength up.
His mind was elsewhere, turning over the events that had led them here, and what was yet to co.
Suddenly, in the middle of the laughter and roaring firelight, Volk's smile faded.
His muscles tensed as he sensed sothing—sothing off.
His head snapped toward the far end of the chamber, where the crack in the wall lay.
The noise around him seed to fade into the background as his senses sharpened.
There was sothing… a presence.
It was subtle, but unmistakable.
Volk's eyes narrowed as he stood, his knuckles cracking as he flexed his hands.
He stepped away from the fire, moving toward the source of the disturbance.
The atmosphere in the catacomb shifted as the Orcs around him fell silent, sensing the change in their young Warchief's deanor.
The feast ca to an abrupt halt.
All eyes turned to Volk as he walked.
Sothing was coming.
He stopped, standing at the edge of the chamber, his eyes locked on the crack in the wall.
The air around him grew colder, and a faint rumble echoed through the stone, as if the very catacomb itself was awakening.
Sothing was about to happen.
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